He wiped away her tears, a corner of his mouth rising slightly. “There you go, not believing me again.”
Any other time she would’ve appreciated the humor, but not now.
She shook her head. “I can’t be here anymore. It’s only a matter of time before . . .” She swallowed. “I can’t hurt anyone again, Christian. I can’t.” For a moment, the hum in her chest spiked, sharp and dangerous. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the fear. “I’m going to turn myself in.”
She heard him stop breathing. When she opened her eyes, the pain she found in his stare nearly broke her into pieces.
“Don’t.” His voice shook. “Please, don’t. I know you’re scared, Gemma, but that isn’t the way. We can figure this out.”
“How?” Another tear fell. “I said okay to this, remember? I let the orb turn me into a monster.”
Christian shook his head. “You are not a monster. You are so far from it. If we need to run deep into the desert until you master whatever this is, I will find us a way. Not to just survive but to thrive. I know this planet. I can protect you—protect us.”
“I would never ask you to do that.”
“I don’t need you to. Whatever the price, Gem, I will gladly pay it. Because I’d rather burn at your side than live safe without you.”
The words struck her harder than any vow he’d ever made.
The tremor in her chest slowed as if his certainty had wrapped itself around her fear. She pressed her forehead to his, clinging to the warmth of his breath.
“Then where do we go?” Her voice was fragile but steadier than before.
“I’ll figure something out. We’ll say our goodbyes in the morning—to Hawk, Imara, Lysa, your sister. We’ll tell themenough so they don’t worry—and then we’ll leave. I can sneak us out through one of the Falaichte tunnels.”
Christian’s resolve anchored her, even as the idea of leaving everything—Nadine, her friends, the fragile hope of freedom—ripped at her insides. Still, she nodded. It was the only choice that didn’t end with her hands soaked in blood.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered the promise, as though saying it too loud might make her falter.
“Tomorrow.” His hand slipped against the back of her neck, guiding them down onto the cot gently until her head rested against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, solid, something she could count on, even when everything else felt like it was breaking apart.
For a long moment, they didn’t speak. The tent was hushed but for the faint noise of distant generators. Somewhere outside, a soft laugh rose and fell before fading into quiet.
“You should sleep,” he muttered into her hair.
“I don’t want to close my eyes.”
He kissed the crown of her head. “Then don’t. Just breathe with me.”
Cheek pressed against his chest, she followed the rise and fall of his lungs until her own breath slowed to match. Christian’s arm tightened around her—a tether, something to hold her here in this moment until tomorrow, when they left Perileos for good and ran out into the unknown.
Little by little, exhaustion reclaimed her. But this time, as she drifted, it was to the rhythm of his heartbeat instead of the echo of her fears.
He woke to Gemma pressed against his side, the soft weight of her head on his chest. For the first time in too long, there wasn’t tension in his shoulders the moment his eyes opened. Just the faint shuffle of people stirring beyond the tent walls and the steady rhythm of her breath.
When Gemma stirred, he kissed her temple. “Morning.”
She tilted her face toward him, and the small smile that answered was enough to make his chest ache. For one fragile moment, he let himself imagine a future where mornings like this weren’t borrowed.
Hope. It felt dangerous, but it was there, all the same.
They changed into fresh clothes in silence, fingers brushing, eyes catching—little reassurances to each other. Christian told himself they just had to get through the goodbyes. Then they could vanish into the desert, find some pocket of quiet, and start over.
But the second they stepped out into Tent City, his stomach twisted. The air wasn’t right. Instead of the usual flow of people heading to duties, a mass of bodies clustered near the command tent. The rumble of voices was sharp, cutting, and too loud for morning.
“Something’s wrong,” he said, taking Gemma’s hand in his and ambling toward the crowd.
As they drew nearer, the noise became words jagged with anger. And then Cho’s voice, unmistakable, pitched in, cutting through the crowd.
