He scrunches his nose. “I would not have guessed that.”
“Because I’m brave and fearless?”
“Because you’re a moron about danger.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Says the man who routinely jets off to chase monsters.”
He has the decency to blush. “That’s… fair.”
The window to apologize—to organize the mess of my thoughts andsay something—is closing. A part of me doesn’t want to let it. But: “How… I mean… how are you?”
He gets quiet. “Still processing everything.” He looks down. “What we learned. About the mist. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Yeah,” I agree, and wish I could come up with something to add, something along the lines of what I said before (when he couldn’t hear me) about how long he’s hunted for answers about Bast, and how difficult it must be to have found them, only to be attacked and bleed out and be rushed into surgery before he had a chance to digest any of it, and how it’s okay if he doesn’t feel okay yet, if he’s still hurting, because I knowIwould be—
“I thought it would give me closure, knowing the truth,” he says, so softly I have to lean in to catch the words. “I thought if I could understand the reason Moon Dancer crashed, maybe I’d start to put it all behind me. And now I have the answer, or most of it, but I still feel like something’s not adding up.”
“What do you mean?”
Lament opens his mouth, then closes it again. He seems to think. “Thetimelines don’t match,” he eventually admits. “Ran Doc Min said the voroxide is a recent development. It hasn’t started to spread around Venthros yet, let alone the galaxy, and according to FPS, it won’tstartspreading until Mount Kilmon erupts. But if that’s true, how did the vapor reach Bast and me in Moon Dancer? How did it wind up on Purvuva?”
“Maybe there are multiple sources of voroxide,” I say.
“Maybe.” But he doesn’t sound convinced.
I wonder for the first time if maybe Vera’s right. If Lament is holding on to this mystery because he’s grief-stricken, and maybe the kindest thing to do would be to encourage him to just let it all go. As soon as I have the thought, I feel like a traitor. That’s not fair to Lament, and if I’m not on his side—me, the person who literallygets it—who else will be?
Ashamed, and trying not to look ashamed, I nod toward his shoulder. “How’s the injury?”
He shrugs.
“Did Illiviamona give you anything for the pain?”
“Yes.” He’s suddenly very interested in theFrog Smasherscore flashing yellow on the screen. (Avi’s winning.) “The medicine will make me fuzzy, though. I don’t really want to take it.”
“That Iwouldhave guessed.”
A sideways glance. “Oh?”
“You don’t like to be out of control.”
“No, I—” He fumbles. “I guess not.”
I wonder again about the note. If he found it, if he read it, I’d be able to tell, right?
“There’s no pressure to take pain meds if you don’t want them,” I say. “But if you do want them, you should know it’s okay. You’re allowed to have relief. You’re… I mean.” I give a self-conscious shrug. “You’re safe here.”
A small smile. “What if the rabid apes return?”
“They won’t.” A pause. “Okay, theyprobablywon’t.”
His eyes go exaggeratedly round. “Consider me reassured.”
“Oh, come on. Even if we were attacked again, didn’t you see what I did to the last batch?”
“I seem to remember you nearly losing a battle for the door.”
“You were bleeding out. Your memory cannot be trusted.”
