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That is . . . not true. We—we go fast, sometimes, when no one . . . no one can see . . .

You are wrong. I have never. Gone. Fast.

* * *

Cora made a sound. A tiny sound, a nothing sound. Almost like she was whimpering in her sleep. Signy might have found it concerning, but Cora had warned her that involuntary noises or nonsense bursts of speech might be part of the experience. Signy accepted the sound. She understood that Cora was simultaneously herself and not herself up here.

She kept her hand on Cora’s shoulder, wishing she could know what she was thinking.

* * *

It is always going to feel

like my fault.

Then you’re always going to

be wrong.

I don’t know that we deserve

what we have.

Of course we don’t. Nobody

deserves anything. The

universe is not a payroll

office. Things just happen,

whether you earned

them or not.

I struggle with that.

I know you do.

Why don’t you?

Because I never believed that

to begin with.

* * *

Another whimper. Another mumble. A yawp, loud and short.

That’s fine, Signy told herself. That’s fine, that’s normal, she said—

Cora’s shoulder slumped beneath Signy’s touch. And her head—it was difficult to tell, in micrograv, but for all the world, it looked like Cora’s head had gone slack.

“Cora?” Signy said, hoping she wasn’t distracting her. “Cora, are you okay?”

* * *

Colibri, Colibri, dance and sky, please, I need you to listen to me—