AJ took a step back. “Why do you keep that thing?”
“She’s my pet,” said Noah. He rubbed Bud’s chest, soothing her.
“What’s a pet?” said AJ. This was good. Really scintillating stuff. She hoped Ian was riveted in the control room.
Noah’s eyes crinkled knowingly as he stroked the dog. “She’s a companion, a friend. I take care of her and she keeps me company.” His gaze met AJ’s, unguarded. “She’s all I have left of…home.”
His candor tugged on the cord of their connection, and AJ’s anger rose in response.
Whose fault is that?
Don’t. React.She took another breath and reached for the bars. “Here.”
As Noah held the dog, she pressed the button, activating thehydraulics, and shoved the plate into his cell. As the bars lowered, Bud sniffed the food, then trotted over to the cot.
AJ stood to go, rubbing her wrists. Noah rose to meet her. “What do they call you?”
Why was he prolonging this? AJ hesitated before saying, “Ana.”
“Ana,” he repeated. “I’m Rho.”
AJ looked at him agape. So far as she knew, Noah had yet to reveal his character’s name on the show. What was he playing at, sharing it with her? They stood together in silence, taking each other in. God, his face was familiar.
AJ felt a tug near her sternum.
She took a step back. “I should go.”
Noah looked her dead in the eye. “You felt that. Just now.”
His words had nothing to do with Ana’s telepathy.
AJ’s breath caught. “Don’t.”
The sounds of the set had begun to recede. They were starting to go under.
Walk away,said that hard part of AJ. But she couldn’t. Long hours of muscle memory wound around her ankles like vines.
Noah was scanning her now, his gaze jet-black. As he spoke, his voice dipped low. “I feel you too.”
AJ’s lip trembled as the channel between them opened.
The last time she had gotten a real read on Noah had been backstage at Spring Con, and his emotions had been a turbulent ocean.
The landscape was different now. Rho’s feelings swirled up above, a red cloud, drawing from a darkened expanse below. This was Noah himself.
AJ felt a chill.
The sea was gone, replaced by an endless black sadness, arid as a lake of ash. What little remained was quiet. Tight. Controlled. Manicured beds neatly maintained under a vast shadow.
Such implacable sorrow. As AJ took it in, an image of Noah’s mother flitted through her mind. Perhaps she had passed. But this grief was endless—
Almost. AJ could still feel their connection cutting in at the horizon, a single ray of light.
“What happened to you?” she breathed, and realized too late there were tears in her eyes.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said, distracted. “You…you’ve cut yourself off from act—your abilities?” His eyes were glistening too, and AJ knew he’d sensed something of her pain. It should have made her feel exposed, but it didn’t. She felt weirdly…calm.
“I’m only cut off from what hurts me.”
