“Ican’t.” My voice cracks, my whole body coiling with sickness. “All my accomplishments, all the parts of my identity I thought were mine…” The world has a strange tint, like everything’s been covered in a sheer veil. Yet I can still see the shape of what’s hidden underneath. My mother’s face is there again, hovering before my eyes, yet this time, it’s overlapping with Lament’s face. The neat stack of mechanism volumes on his bedside table. His fingers squeezing my thigh. He’s trying to give me strength, but it’s like trying to pour water into a broken cup. It’s all just leaking through. “What is even real?”
“You’re real,” Lament says fiercely. “So what if some Determinists tried to nudge you into the Legion? I’ve seen you shoot. I’ve seen you under pressure. Keller—” His voice catches. “There’s no one like you.”
I want to laugh, but I’m afraid to hear that splintered sound again. “And you think I’m the bad liar.”
“He’s not lying,” Vera argues, scooting up on my other side. “We chose you, Keller. Of everyone, we wantedyouto join our fleet.”
My eyes slide to Lament, because we both know hedidn’twant that. He just shakes his head like he can read my thoughts and says, “I was wrong.”
“The thing—” I start, and the room is spinning a little less now, so it only takes one more try to get this out. “The thing that’s so fucked-up is this is what I’ve always wanted. I used to dream about my mom reappearing to tell me she missed me, that she loves me and only wants what’s best for me. And Nina literally just did that, verbatim, and it’s all such bullshit. As if a fewI miss yous can make up for the way she left.”
“Did she explain why?” Vera asks.
Somehow, through the haze, I’m able to relay the story. How Ran Doc Min’s goal is to infiltrate the Legion from the inside, how Determinist families are offering their kids up for the scheme. How I was one of them. As I speak, I wonder what my mother saw in me to think I was the kind of child who’d do better without her love and support. Did she sense a flaw within me? Hairline cracks in the glass? Not all orphans yearn for family. Some turn their backs on the concept altogether. But I did yearn for it, yearned so much that I left my old life behind to join the Academy in hopes of making it into the Legion—of finding what I’d lost. I aced every test, broke every fitness record, poured everything into being a top fleet recruit, because I thought it was what I wanted. But it’s whatshewanted, it was only ever whatshewanted, and that realization is threatening to undo me.
“Nina wants me to join them,” I finish miserably. “The Determinists. She says I’m ready now. Ran Doc Min has asked to meet me, apparently, so he can welcome me personally into his movement.”
“The hell he will,” Lament growls.
“Lament,” Vera warns.
Exhaustion pours over me. “I can’t believe this is happening.” My words come out slurred. “This can’t be real.”
“I know,” Vera says, with a gentleness that makes me want to cry. “Keller, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah,” is what I manage.
“You’re pale,” she continues. “And… you’re shaking.” She looks at Lament. “Should I get Illiviamona?”
“No,” I interrupt. “I don’t want… please. I’ll be fine. I just need…”
“Rest,” Vera finishes. “You need rest, okay? Maybe even try to sleep if you can. Your body is drained from shock, and you could probably use it.”
She’s right. Sleep is crawling up my spine, burrowing in my limbs. My eyes grow heavy.
“I’ll be back,” Vera tells Lament. “Take care of him.”
Lament’s voice is low. “Always.”
I hear the door close as Vera exits. Lament says, “Come here,” and pulls me down on the bed beside him. Gets me tucked against him. I should be stunned by this development. My mind should be whirling with what it means. But I’m too weak to do anything but grip needily to this lifeline, close my eyes, let myself be held. I count Lament’s heartbeats as he shushes me and says soft things likeIt’ll be okayandI’m hereandI won’t leave you like she did, Keller. Do you hear me? Never. Not ever.
It’s some indeterminate number of hours later that I stir again, wakefulness creeping over me like fog over a river. I balance there for a moment, half-dreaming, half-conscious. There’s a warmth fitted along my side. Familiar, the shape of it, the piney scent touching my senses. Comfortable. Comforting. On instinct, I make fists of fabric (someone’s shirt?) and bury my face deeper into that softness (someone’s skin?). There’s a quiet huff—not mine—and I open my eyes.
A single lamp illuminates the room. I see long limbs tangled with mine, white-blond hair, pale skin—
“Lament?”
He’s asleep beside me. We’re still in his room, in hisbed, the door closed, everything quiet. I don’t know how long we’ve been sleeping. I don’t know how we got so… entwined. Because we are. Very entwined. As I take stock, the situation shifts frombadtovery bad, because my body is waking up for real now, and I’m acutely aware of the way he smells, the fact that I’ve somehow got one leg thrown over his hip, the two of us knotted together like a pretzel sandwich.
My face is burning. My brain is cryingabort, abort.
I shift slowly, holding my breath, careful not to make any sudden movements. The more I look, the worseitlooks. His shirt is untucked. We’re sharing a pillow. Did my subconscious mind hatch a plan to maul Lament in his sleep? Is this some yet undiagnosed aftereffect of shock?Post-stupefaction cuddle syndrome.It hardly seems to matter that Lament and I are both fully clothed. I get myself up on my elbows and attempt—with a care normally reserved for angry children and wild animals—to remove my leg from his person without waking him, but Lament is Lament, and even in sleep, he remains committed to thwarting me.
The bed creaks. Lament stirs, then freezes beneath me. “Keller?”
I wrench backward, but this only tightens the knot of sheets, wedging us closer. My brain is short-circuiting. I am onfire. “Shit,” I croak, flailing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Hartman.” Lament’s voice is hoarse. I’m still thrashing, growing more panicked by the second. Are these sheetstryingto bind us together? “Hartman, stop, you’re going to—”
