Chapter 53
Aryl

I learn from the doctor, a woman with a kind but careworn face, that I’ve been out for three days. Three whole days. I’m back on One, at the Institute Hospital.

“Where’s Ver?” I croak, lifting my head to look for her and wincing at the pain.

“She’s here too, recovering,” the doctor replies, and my head settles back on the pillow.

She tells me Ver set off the emergency alarm in the factory, shutting down the power and drawing the attention of the authorities. They got me out before I sustained further injuries. As it is, the ones I have nearly killed me.

Every muscle group in my lower body will be useless for weeks: quads, hamstrings, adductors, abductors, gluteals. I’ll have to stay still. I wish I could do a slow, unfurling dance of despair.

When I venture a look in a mirror, I see the collage of scratches and cuts covering my face. Impact wounds tattoo my skin, from the blue-and-green patch over my right eye to the violet smudges crawling along my legs. Not even stage makeup can hide this mess.

When the artificial hand ripped out a chunk of my hair, skin came with it. That explains the gauze patches on my scalp. The hospital staff have grafted on new tissue cultured from my cells. The hair will grow back to its full length in two years or so, but the seam where new skin meets old will always be there.

Aside from that, there’s no permanent damage—except for the new accusations scarring my legal record. The trial’s been postponed, but only so that the Lucent City Police can add to the charges against Ver and me.

Ford’s the first to come see me when I’m allowed to have visitors. The staff have to stop him from hugging me, as it might hurt my bruised ribs. But we can talk all we want, as long as we keep the door open so the nurses can check on me.

“You’re not afraid to be seen with me?” I ask him, half joking. My dance friends won’t be showing up with get-well-soon gifts.

“Come on, Aryl. I’m trying to start fresh. I made sure you and Ver won’t get charged with spaceship theft; I told the police I loaned you the Mercenary.”

“Oh, thank Pangu,” I say dryly. “A criminal charge like that would’ve really weighed on my mind.” Still, I appreciate that he stepped up and told the truth. I can only imagine how that went over with his mom.

“I broke up with Rhea yesterday.”

“Yeah? Good for you.” Maybe he’s finally growing a spine. Rhea might retaliate, using her money or popularity to vack his life. But any consequences for Ford will be short-lived. As soon as she finds another high-status boyfriend, it’ll be like their relationship never happened.

“I’m going to miss her, but it’s for the best. I didn’t like who I became around her.”

I know what he means. I miss the feeling of belonging that Rhea gave me. The way people wanted to be near me so they could be near her. And I’ll miss the dancing. But I won’t miss the mask I had to wear, onstage and off.

“So enough about me.” He forces a sardonic smile. “What’s new with you?”

The story pours out in a hoarse whisper, and as I go on, his face changes from shock to terror to relief.

“Pauling Yuan,” he says. “They were going to name a star after him! Oh, this is going to mean big changes—if you can prove what you’re saying.”

I tell him about the recording I made in the factory.

Ford laughs, tears in his eyes. “Your dad will be so proud you thought of that. That reminds me—I talked to my mom about your parents. I haven’t convinced her to lift their house arrest yet, but I’ll keep trying.”

Speaking of my parents, there’s an incoming holo-call to the room. I accept it and my family’s faces appear. Dad looks like he hasn’t slept in years. Exhaustion has imprinted dark blue seashells under his eyes. Mom’s gained weight, her flesh heavy on her neck, and I know it’s because she eats everyone’s leftovers when she’s stressed. As for Ester, her shoulders are slumped under an invisible mass that’s never been there before—and there’s disappointment in her eyes.

Wasn’t I supposed to be an example for her? Didn’t my parents give me all their strength so that I could pave the way for my baby sister?

I did this to you, I think, guilt rising up like bile inside me.

Or did I? I could’ve been the perfect apprentice, the perfect citizen, but as long as I was a Two-er, this moon would’ve chewed me up for something. It would’ve treated me as a threat no matter what I did.

As I watch, Mom begins to cry. Dad puts a hand on her shoulder. Ester just looks scared. Mom usually covers her sadness with annoyance or anger. She never wants us to see her looking weak.

“We’ve only ever wanted the best for you,” Mom says.

“What we want doesn’t matter,” I say. And nobody disagrees.