“What about Master Ira?” he asks.
“The Master was hoping I’d join his ranks in the Order. He even started training me in the Three Pillars—the Order’s ways. When I chose the Academy instead, he was stunned. Like I’d twisted his teachings and used them for evil. He probably regrets ever admitting me into his children’s home, and I can’t say I blame him. I’m a paid fighter now. I’ll take lives, if the Legion requires it. It goes against everything Master Ira believes. We haven’t spoken since.”
Lament’s eyebrows make sharp little arches. “So Professor Morton wasn’t lying about that part.”
“No.”
“And… you’ve tried contacting Master Ira?”
“Many times, actually. He’s never replied.”
I’ve sent the Master dozens of messages over the years. At first, I thought he just needed time to come to terms with my decision. Then I began to suspect the truth—that he’d written me out of his life for good.
I should have expected it. He’d been too forgiving already. And yet, as the weeks wore into months that wore into years, I couldn’t stop reaching out. I wanted him to understand. Wanted him to look at me the way he had the first time he’d found me with a ray gun and said,I am not leavingyou behind.I used to call him after a hard day at the Academy, or a good one. Leave a voice message, even though I never heard back.
Hey, Master Ira. I placed first in this year’s fitness test…
Master Ira, hi, I know you probably aren’t listening to these, but I won Best All-Around Cadet…
Hi, Master Ira, sorry to bug you again, I just—sorry…
Lament’s shifting on the couch like he wants to get up and pace. “Sounds rather self-righteous of the man, especially coming from someone who preaches understanding. He runs achildren’s home.”
“If you knew him, you’d get it.”
“I doubt that.”
“I’ve put it behind me. It’s fine. Really.”
Lament’s face is taut, his brows gathered, mouth turned down sort of… protectively? Which is doing strange things to my insides.
I cast about for something to say and land on, “Is that the time?”
Lament looks at the clock and blinks, like he’s as surprised by the hour as I am. It’s three in the morning. “I didn’t realize…” He bites the inside of his cheek. “I should probably go. And you should get some sleep.”
Disappointment froths in my belly. “Yeah. Okay. You too,” I add when he’s already halfway to the door. “You’re not going to work on Moon Dancer tonight, right? You need sleep, too.”
He just gives me this small smile and exits, clicking the latch softly behind him.
13
Morning announces itself demurely,the coffeepot ticking on, the overhead lights slowly brightening to simulate daylight. I drag myself through a shower and head to the kitchen, passing through the automatic doors that open and announce “A wombat’s teeth never stop growing!” All the Sixers (minus Lament) are already here. Jester is pulling plates from the cabinets, Caspen is wiping down the table, and Vera is at the stove juggling pans on all six burners, preparing what appears to be an enormous breakfast spread: scrambled eggs, hash browns, roasted potatoes, pancakes, sausages, broccoli.
“Smells amazing,” I say, grabbing a seat at the table next to Toph. “But, broccoli?”
“It’s for Lament,” Vera says. Because of course it is.
“He’s constantly harping on us to eat more veggies,” adds one of the Youvu Hums.
“That’s because your insides are barren wastelands,” Lament cuts in, striding into the kitchen. He’s buttoned into his whites, his hair tucked behind his ears, face clean-shaven. The sight of him looking all put together—looking like anything, really—does something funny to my stomach. Lament catches my gaze and his lip lifts at the corner and…
Yeah. I just… yeah.
“Hey.” Vera points at Lament with her spatula. “What’s wrong with your face?”
His hand shoots up. “What?”
“That thing you’re doing with your mouth. Is that… is that asmile?”
