THE SIX CASSIANS SEEMED to be spinning faster. Cora pressed a hand to her head, trying to stop the sensation that the room was moving. But it was moving, she realized—it was swaying back and forth, tossed around by the coming storm.
She was out of time.
She whirled toward the first Cassian, then the second, then the third. She let her mind clear of worries: about the storm and about the Axion just on the other side of those walls, waiting to kill her and everyone she loved. She ignored the throbbing pain in the back of her skull. She didn’t think about how, if she lost, the entire known universe was doomed.
She focused instead on her memories of Cassian. The paragon burst spread through her as a warm sensation. The first time she had ever seen him, in her dreams, when he had been so beautiful that she mistook him for an angel. And then the time in the snow when he had made stars appear in the night sky to comfort her. And she thought about their first kiss. Standing in the ocean, the warm salty waves lapping at their thighs, as he had pulled her into an embrace. I want to know what it feels like, he had told her. And electricity had sparked between them as their lips touched, shooting straight to her heart.
She pressed a hand to her chest, holding on to that feeling, multiplied by ten by the warmth of the paragon burst.
Knowing him, as he knew her.
Knowing him beyond appearance, beyond name or rank, knowing him more deeply than the stock algorithm ever would. Knowing him as deeply as she loved him.
Her head jerked toward the fourth Cassian.
He looked in every way identical to the others. His black suit showed no signs of dust or tears or battle; his left arm was extended, not revealing any kind of wound. The look on his face was just as masklike as the rest.
And yet there was something different about him.
Her heart beat extra hard. A warm shock of feeling. A spark.
She crossed the room, grabbed his outstretched hand, and pulled him into the center of the room. “You,” she said, staring into his eyes. “It’s you.”
The music stopped.
She was afraid it was the storm causing more interference, but then the other Cassians vanished, one by one. The chandelier overhead flickered and disappeared, followed by the ornate walls and the marble floor, until they were standing on a plain metal grid. Her dress faded into plain black clothes, and her hair fell loose around her face, once more tangled and dirty. His fine suit changed back to a torn uniform.
He suddenly clutched his left arm, crying out in pain.
“Cassian!” She caught him as he stumbled. She led him to the wall, which he leaned against for support. “Are you all right?”
“I couldn’t move,” he said, wincing in pain. “I had to do what the Gauntlet wanted me to do. I wasn’t in control of my own body.”
“It’s okay now,” she said. “I’m sorry I had to hurt your arm—I didn’t know how to tell you apart from the others.”
“How did you?” he asked.
She looked into his eyes. There had been a time when making eye contact with him had been nearly impossible. But now she felt a thrill at connecting with him on this level, of truly knowing him. “Remember when I told you that I wanted to know you as well as you know me?”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “You were lying. You were trying to trick me.”
“I guess it wasn’t entirely a lie,” she said. “It turns out I do know you already. Your heart. The stock algorithm can’t disguise that.”
She pulled back, resting a hand on either side of his face, looking into those eyes that weren’t so different from her own. He leaned in at the same time she did, and their lips met. She felt that familiar spark. Though they had touched often enough for her to be used to it, it still surprised her. She leaned closer, wanting to feel more of his warmth. He wrapped a hand around her back, holding her close.
“I love you, Cassian.”
A rumble overhead made them both look up.
A door opened in the ceiling.
Her heart started thumping anxiously as her fingers squeezed against his shoulders, wanting to hold on to this moment with him, this small moment of victory, of pure love.
Because there was only one puzzle left. And she knew it would be the hardest of all.
The ceiling was ten feet high, so Cassian made a stirrup with his hands for Cora to step into. “You climb up first,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and then placed a bare foot into his palms. He lifted her easily, even with his hurt left arm, and she reached for the doorway, catching the edge, pulling herself up with her improved strength.
She flexed her sore fingers, looking back down through the doorway.
“Your turn,” she called.
He knelt down, preparing to jump—but the door slid shut.