Amelia was still wearing that faux-leather jacket that hugged her inallthe right ways. This time, to counter the station’s chill, she’d added a white scarf. It made her look cozy and, frankly, adorable. She buried her chin in the scarf, meeting Torian’s gaze through the window.
Torian wasn’t sure if she should talk to Amelia again, after how things had ended earlier that day. She also couldn’t deny the magnetic pull toward the woman outside.
If Amelia was willing to talk, Torian would oblige. Maybe they could fix things.
“I’m stepping out, Moss. Is Lyric okay down there?”
Moss’s response was immediate. “Lyric has affirmed that I am a delightful conversationalist.”
Torian took that as a yes. She laughed. “Keep me updated. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“I cannot keep you updated if you leave my range.”
Right. “Then hold down the fort. I shouldn’t be long.”
“This starship is not a fort.”
Torian rolled her eyes and jogged to the living area to tug on her boots. Since it was apparently cold enough for a scarf, Torian retrieved her favorite sweater: a thick knitted piece that used to be her mother’s. Torian slid into it, breathing deeply. Her mother’s scent—which had a subtle sweetness mingling with grease from her repair job—still lingered in the synthetic yarn, which was always a comfort.
Nothing better than a hand-knitted sweater,her mother had told Torian once, as she cuddled beside Celise in bed.It’s important to have crafts that can quiet your mind.
Torian had equated that to attempting to raise plants, failing miserably, and then switching to model starship sculptures. Celise, meanwhile, had learned to crochet, although it fell to the wayside when she started medical school.
Still, Celise had been nice enough to let Torian keep their mother’s sweater when she died. Torian hugged it to herself now, then drew a fortifying breath and stepped off the ship.
Amelia was still standing on the dock, shifting her weight, and her eyes roamed over the burgundy sweater. A series of emotions flickered over her face, so quickly Torian almost missed them: warmth, regret, a bitterness that melted into something more fond.
“You look cozy,” Amelia remarked. “Rhymarrans wear sweaters like that. Lots of sheep and alpaca there for yarn.”
“Well, this is synthetic, because I’m not from Rhymarra.”
And I never will be, apparently.
Amelia opened her mouth, then closed it. She flicked two fingers. “Can I show you something?”
Torian tilted her head, glanced back at theDestitute. But Moss hadn’t interrupted her since Lyric arrived, so clearly, they’d be fine together. Amelia’s crew was still protecting the hangar as a whole. Her ship would be safe.
She nodded. “Sure.”
They left the hangar. Amelia walked with purpose throughColony 4’s lowest ring. The Snuggling Day crowds had died down, and already the banners had flicked to the next holiday: Cockroach Killing Day. Torian hoped they’d be long gone beforethosefestivities kicked off.
As they walked, Amelia said out of the blue: “This is where Rhymarra shipped me after my citizenship exams.”
Torian nearly tripped over her own feet, her mind blanking. “What?”
“You heard me.” Amelia kept her gaze straight ahead.
“You’reRhymarran?”
“I was. Once.” Now Amelia offered a pained smile, tugging at the sleeve of Torian’s oversized sweater. “I never thought about synthetic fibers. Or the realities of living in space. I just assumed everyone had flowy skirts and fresh produce and enough money to obtain a decent standard of living.”
Torian was still trying to right her own brain. Never once had she heard a rumor that Amelia was anything less than a proud spacer—and a strong member of the Fleet. Her accent was indistinguishable from station lifers’. Her cutthroat attitude wasexactlywhat station folk needed growing up.
“I can’t believe that. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Amelia shrugged. “I don’t tell many people.” They walked in silence for a bit, turning down an empty, narrow corridor. Unlike the alley to Lyric’s place, here the ceiling lowered and the walls closed in. At the opposite end of the corridor was a door, and Amelia seemed intent on leading them there. “I wanted to clarify, I guess. That comment I made earlier, about Rhymarra’s university refusing to help you and Celise.”
Guilt slid through Torian’s veins. She cleared her throat. “I overreacted, I think.”
