If he’d said that to me only yesterday, I don’t think I would have believed him. But now I do. Now something’s shifted, and I can see, I was right, all along. Marco, this Marco, was there the whole time. I just had to find him.
Esme is trying—and failing—to mask her shock. She’s never seen me so much as hold hands with anyone, and now, here I am, her big strong brother, a mess in a stranger’s arms. Her eyes glance between us, and a million questions dance on her lips.
“Marco told me he’s Tomás’s son,” she says at last. “Lucas’s brother.”
My heart stops. It’s been so many weeks since that lie slipped out of me, I’d almost forgotten all about it. I can only nod, blood frozen with icy fear, this perfect moment threatening to crumble around me.
“She didn’t see what happened to them,” Marco tells me. “She was put onto a ship with the children and elderly.”
I simply nod again, not trusting myself to speak. The weight of this lie sits like a stone in my chest, threatening to crush me whole.
“They’re probably still there, on Atrea.” Esme picks up her sketchbook, brushing grass from the pages. “Rebuilding.”
Marco’s face brightens. “Yes. Yes, you’re right.”
I look at him then, searching for tiny cracks in his belief. There are none. His dark eyes hold nothing but hope, nothing but certainty that his family waits for him across the ocean.
“I will be home with them soon,” he says, andoh,how my heart breaks. “And… if it’s okay with your brother, Esme, I will take you with me. I’ll take you home. And then…” He swallows hard. “And then, one day, we’ll all be together again on Atrea.”
I want to believe him. I really do. So I put on a show, for Esme, for him, forme, and grin widely. “Finally, I’ll have support whipping you into shape, Esme.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m perfectly in shape!”
“Marco didn’t believe me when I said you spent more time sketching at rock pools than training.”
Esme lunges forward, catching me off guard, jabbing me under the ribs with sharp fingers.
Fire explodes through my torso. Every bruise from yesterday’s fight screams in protest, muscles seizing. I tumble to the grass, yelping in pain as Esme and Marco roar with laughter.
“She seems pretty good to me, Robin. Perhaps you’re so embarrassed to be easily beaten by your thirteen-year-old sister that you resort to lies and slander.”
I force myself to my feet, muscles protesting every movement. “That’s it. You’re dead.”
Esme shrieks and bolts across the garden, her blonde hair streaming behind her like a banner. I chase after her, my body screaming complaints with every step, but I don’t care. She dodges around the fountain, scramblesover a stone bench, darts between flower beds with the agility of someone who’s spent years escaping trouble.
“Run, Esme!” Marco shouts from the sidelines, clapping. “He’s gaining on you!”
She glances back at me, grinning wickedly, then trips over her own feet and goes down in a tangle of limbs beside the roses. I pounce, tickling her sides until she’s gasping for breath between peals of laughter.
“Mercy! Mercy!” she gasps.
“Never!”
But I stop anyway, collapsing beside her on the soft grass. The pain in my ribs is worth it for this—for her laughter, for the way her eyes crinkle at the corners just like they used to back home. For this moment, where we’re not prisoners or slaves or gladiators. We’re just siblings again.
Marco joins us on the grass, his smile soft as he watches us catch our breath.
After a while, Maria appears with a feast spread across a checkered blanket—roasted chicken with herbs, fresh bread still warm from the oven, fruit that makes Esme’s eyes bulge. She’s never seen so much food in one place. Maria instantly mothers her, offering to refill her water, to help paint her bedroom the color of the Atrean sky, to braid her wild hair. I can’t help but smile. Esme has always had that effect on people. It’s reassuring to know that for the time she’s here, she’ll be well cared for.
We lie on the grass afterward, talking as shadows lengthen across the garden. I tell Esme about Deathball, about my matches, about giant mutant lizards and hordes of infected men. I hold nothing back. She deserves the truth. She needs to understand that I could die at any moment, but that Marco and Maria will help her. When Marco tells her the two of them are family now, my throat closes, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Esme tells Marco she knows I won’t die, that I’m the toughest fighter on our side of the island. Marco promises her he’s going to protect me, that he’s going to make it so I’m captain when he leaves. That I’ll get to live here, in this beautiful villa with its lush garden.
All too soon the sun starts to set. Panic creeps in at the thought of leaving them. Then Marco reaches for my hand, takes it, interlaces our fingers.
“You’ll… you’ll stay? Tonight?”
I stare at him and a million reasons why I shouldn’t line up on my tongue.
