I smile sheepishly. “That was after that time you made me do forty laps, and I threw up in front of everyone.”
“Charming,” he says dryly. He waves the letter. “You owe me another forty for this.”
I throw my head back, cursing under my breath.
“Water bottle and filter,” he says. “Finally, something of use.”
“I remember putting a couple of nut bars in there, too.”
“No flashlight,” he murmurs once he gets to the bottom of the pack. “There’s no electricity, we'll have to wait till morning. It’s too dangerous to travel through the rumble in the dark.”
“That sucks.” I stretch my legs. “What now?”
“Did you really think a hate note about me and that book was more important than a flashlight?” he asks. “Seriously?”
“I don’t see your pack,” I say defensively. “Also, I’m not obligated to share my raisin and cherry nutbar with you or my water.”
I snatch my pack and tear open the nutbar, glaring at him.
Ender's mouth tightens.
“May I have the second nutbar?”
“Eat shit.”
“Please,” he says between clenched teeth.
I pity him and toss him the second bar. He did ask so sweetly, after all. I aim for his face, but he easily snatches it with his left hand. I’m a little jealous of his reflexes.
“I suppose this will be our bed for the night.”
I stare disinterestedly at the grime-stained floor. If Ender didn’t do such a good job binding the wound, I’d worry about an infection.
“I’ve slept in worse conditions,” Ender remarks, searching for the cleanest corner in this dump.
He finally comes across a few tiles that are not fully covered in filth. He lies down, stretching his long legs.
“Come here.”
The words spoken in his deep voice make me shiver. I don’t want to sleep far from him and find a rat tangled in my braid. I’m kind of glad he called me over.
He folds his jacket and places it beside him.
“Your pillow, princess.”
I smile as I stretch beside him, laying my head on the jacket. The ceiling is yellowed and covered in grime, but when I blink, I see the night sky. Stars twinkle in the distance like little crystals. I suck in a sharp breath and look at Ender. His eyes are already locked on mine.
“Wow,” I muse, turning back to look at the sky. “I can’t get over how real you make it feel.”
“It took a lot of practice,” Ender admits.
“It helps that you got your powers earlier than most,” I say. “More time to hone it.”
“I suppose.” He half-shrugs, staring at the fake sky. “Always been an overachiever.”
I chuckle, and his head snaps in my direction. I remember thinking the same thing when he first told me.
Perhaps it’s my imagination, but his eyes are warmer. It is not as frigid as usual.
