TEN

THE MOMENT LOCKS IN PLACE, MY MIND frozen like a blank screen as shivers ripple from my fingertips to my throat. Suddenly I’m falling, but I never jumped. It’s the sensation of the world slipping away.

This is what my mother was trying to tell me, why she pushed me to seek answers from Dante. How is this possible? Dante is barely a year or two older than me.

A voice calls me back, and I find I’m still on the edge of the fountain.

“Come on, you’re getting wet,” Dante says.

And in that moment, he sounds downright fatherly.

“You’re lying,” I say, pulling my arm from him.

“It’s right here,” he says, holding out the digifile. “Your parents encoded it in your techprint.”

“My father is dead,” I spit at him. “Benn Lewys died on the night of my retrieval. Whoever you are, whatever happened between you and my mom, nothing changes that.”

I don’t stop running until I’m back inside. He doesn’t stop calling after me.

*   *   *

Jost’s bedroom is across from mine. I stare at his door, knowing it’s late, knowing I don’t want to talk, knowing he’s asleep.

But also knowing that the door will open if I twist the knob.

I do it. His room is too dark to see much. A single beam of light from the security system outside evades the blackout curtains, cutting across the floor and falling on Jost’s still form. I tiptoe to his bedside and watch him sleep. A pillow is twisted in his arms and his hair covers his face. He breathes slowly and rhythmically, and I count each inhale and exhale, willing the steadiness of it to calm me.

When it doesn’t, I climb into bed next to him. He rolls over and wraps an arm around my waist, but his eyes don’t open.

“You’re still dressed.”

I press into him. I don’t want to explain why I’m awake. I don’t want to share what I’ve seen or learned today. Not yet. Not while I still don’t understand any of it.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

“I haven’t even tried yet,” I admit.

“Do you want—”

I know he’s going to say talk, but I don’t give him a chance to ask. I don’t want to talk. I don’t even want to think, so I stop the question with a kiss.

He doesn’t object.

In fact, his whole body says yes. His fingers find my jaw and he holds my mouth to his. His grip loosens and his hands slip into my hair, holding me to him. The room falls away. There is only him, and the wonder of how soft his lips are. This is the only real thing I have left. The taut muscles of his back, coiled like wire, as he hovers over me. The way my body aches to float up, to close the space he’s left open between us, but his hands hold me in place.

I stretch against him. His touch erases the agony I feel in my chest, leaving traces of fire where our skin connects.

“I need you,” I murmur into his ear, and he responds by drawing me up, his hands cocooning my back. He cradles me gently as our limbs lengthen and intertwine like vines growing into one another until I can no longer remember where I end and he begins.

But the barriers between us remain intact, and his lips leave mine as he drops them to my ear. “What are you running from, Ad?”

He knows me too well. I rejoice in this knowledge even as I deny it. “I’m not running.”

Jost drops to his back, his hand wrapping into my own. “I won’t make you talk, Adelice, but I wish you would.”

I’m not ready to face this—not even with him, so I turn to him and run a tremulous finger down his cheek. “I’m not running from anything,” I whisper. “I’m running to something. I’m running to you.”

He doesn’t ask to talk again.