“Because you don’t sleep.”
“I sleep.”
Enough, though?I want to ask, but instead I say, “When?”
“During mission briefings, mostly. Sometimes on missions.”
“You seriously sleep during—?” I catch the twitch of his mouth. “You’re messing with me.”
He shoots me a half smile.
It’s incredibly distracting.
“So.” I take another step backward, as much to put some space between us as to get a better look at Moon Dancer. “Your plan is to use an out-of-commission spacecraft to hunt for the source of the deadly space mist. And you’re telling me the Legion won’t mind?”
“The Legion won’t know. They wrote Moon Dancer off as a total loss. They aren’t even aware we hauled her back.”
“You’ve managed to keep her hidden?”
“The other Sixers know she’s here, obviously. They’re the ones who helped with her recovery. And Archmon knows, since he’s sending me the compounder, but like I said, I trust him. Other than that, this workroom is private. No one has any reason to come…”
He trails off at the sound of approaching footsteps.
I glance at the door, which opens out onto the main flight deck. There’s a little round window in its center, but from this angle, I can’t see through. “You were saying?”
His eyes dart to mine. “Help me with the tarp.”
We hurriedly cover Moon Dancer. My pulse is rising, my palms sweating like they do when I’ve reached the final level of a video game and am down to my last life. And maybe those footsteps belong to another Sixer, maybe we’re reacting this way for nothing, but Lament looks like how I feel right now, skittish and a little bit wild. Once Moon Dancer is hidden, we exit the workroom and try to put some distance between ourselves and the door without outright running or acting in any way suspicious. Which would be easier if Lament didn’t keep glancing at me, and I didn’t feel compelled to glance back, our gazes hooking and holding, sparking with the energy of our shared escape.
We’ve almost made it to the elevator when a figure steps out from behind one of the spacecraft. Lament flings an arm across my chest, and Istutter to a halt. It’s the Director from Sergeant Forst’s office. Tweed-jacket guy. The one who announced my red card.
“Hello, Mr. Bringer. Mr. Hartman.”
So here’s the thing. I get that this person has every reason to know my name. He’s involved with the Legion, and he did recently champion my punishment for Purvuva. But it’s thewayhe says it that raises my hackles. Like he knows me. Or knows… things about me. It’s the second time since I’ve arrived on Skyhub that someone’s spoken my name like that, addressing me as if they know me when they shouldn’t.
Lament’s voice is tight when he says, “Professor Trey Morton.” Then he does that thing again, moving his body slightly in front of mine. “You shouldn’t be here.”
The professor gives a faint smile. “Am I interrupting something?”
“This flight deck is for Sixers only.”
“I need to speak to your partner.”
“Whatever you have to say—”
“I have a message,” Professor Morton tells me, interrupting Lament, “about Master Ira.”
My heart goes into free fall. “What?” I clear my throat and try to do what Lament does, shutting himself down, locking it all up, but I’ve never been good at hiding, and I can feel the distress all over my face. “What do you mean? How do you know Master Ira?”
“Ran Doc Min has predicted his demise.”
The world goes dark at the edges.
“Hartman.” Lament’s fingers close around my wrist. “Come on. We don’t have to listen to this.”
“You have not spoken to Master Ira in three years,” Professor Morton continues, “not since you ran away to join the Academy. He was so disappointed in you. So heartbroken by your betrayal. But that wasn’t fair of him, was it? Who washeto disown you, just because you chose the Legion over the Order? Who washeto cut off communication when you’d once been so close? Your life is not his life, your dreams are not his dreams. Heshould have been more understanding of your goals, but instead he cast you out. Just like your mother did.”
My throat is a desert. My ears are roaring. “How—how do you know all that?”
