HOWL DOESN’T SPEAK AS WE hobble along, his good arm draped across my shoulder, the other cradled in his makeshift sling. Neither of us speaks until we’re down the hall and out of sight, a frustrated, inhuman scream issuing from the prison cell like an aftertaste in the air. But the door doesn’t open again.
I pause for a moment to loop June’s bag across my body so I won’t drop it by accident. Of all the things we end up with, it would be the gold-embossed lines of the ridiculous book inside, the princess’s impossible happy ending mocking us from between its tightly closed pages. The book and . . . “The gore tooth! Howl, do you still have the link to Sole?”
Howl looks down, his bare skin prickled in the cold air. We can both see the necklace is gone. “That little gore hole.” He glances back the way we came. But when he looks back there’s a shadow of a smile on his face.
“Why would he take it?”
“I told him who was on the other end. He and Sole used to be a thing. A big thing.” Howl groans when I start walking again, forcing his feet to follow. “There isn’t much help she could give us now, anyway. She has what was on that paper. That’s what matters most.”
“The central tower is where he said Gao Shun is.”
Howl nods. “Then I guess we go up.”
We go up a flight of stairs and then rest, Howl on his knees on the stone floor. Everything seems quiet, as if we’re in a tomb instead of a city that is supposed to be full of people. The floor doesn’t shake anymore while we wait for Howl to catch his breath, the dark seeming to reach out to us from the blank doorways marking the long hall. Once Howl is ready to continue, we walk and walk, up more stairs, down more hallways until Howl’s weight is bending me over sideways, one of his feet dragging.
I grit my teeth, muscles screaming and my bones aching, wondering if he’ll collapse first or if I will. Will we ever find another person? A glowing arrow with the words GAO SHUN THIS WAY pointing us upward? Luokai said she was at the very top of this place, but not all stairways are going to lead there. And with the stones shaking as if bombs are falling, will Port North fall on our heads before we even come close?
The ground shivers under my feet even as I think about bombs, and something overhead fractures, the terrifying crack-crack-crack of stone caving in. Howl stumbles, and I fall under his weight just as a shower of stone chips rains down over our heads. Ceiling and stair groan as if Port North is giving up, ready to fall into the ocean and feed us to the fish that live at the bottom rather than face the onslaught of bombs raining down from above. Chunks of stone crash to the floor just ahead of us, the solid rock over our heads feeling as if it’s shifting forward.
I drag Howl toward a blank doorway, the two of us huddling in the braced space as rock rains down. I’ve only lived for sixteen—almost seventeen—years. I’ve seen more than anyone should be subjected to, thought I was dead more times than I care to count. We’re so close to finding the cure. This would be the stupidest of ends.
But, as the ceiling shivers overhead, the air so clogged with dust that there’s none left to breathe, all I can feel is him. His arm over mine, the warmth of his skin, the chalky dust gritty between us. Something in me settles as I pull him closer, as if somehow us being together will protect us from rock and stone.
I don’t want to die. But I don’t want to live in a world without him either. Is that not answer enough? Howl’s heartbeat pounds under my cheek, his arm around my shoulders and mine around his waist, his sling caught between us. The stone raining down around us seems to thunder and strike, only to leave an awful, entombing silence. A tear burns down my cheek, and I keep my eyes clenched shut, waiting for the world to finish crashing down on us.
But it doesn’t. It sits, watching. Waiting for us to have hope again.
Something inside me settles.
Howl coughs, his chest heaving as he attempts to free it of the dust roaming through the air. “I think I see . . . light?”
I open my eyes to find a glimmer of light dripping down from the stairwell just in front of us. Coughing, I pull myself up from the floor, pulling my shirt up over my nose to filter out some of the dust. Howl attempts to roll onto his knees but doesn’t make it onto his feet until I help him up. Together, we creep over the fallen chunks of stone up the stairs until the trickle of light becomes a thick band, then an actual crumbling circle of light, white-hot and searing into my eyes.
An opening to outside.
Is it possible we could reach Gao Shun from out there?
The opening is the remains of an entrance, the corners all cracked and leaning up against one another, the actual door flapping in a salty breeze. Though the door itself looks as if it might fall to pieces at any moment, the ceiling and the hallway supports seem to be all right. The light filtering through the opening hits a long wooden bench turned on its side. I prop Howl up against the wall, right the bench, then help him to sit, his body seeming almost to fold out from under him, no matter how much he swears at it.
“Sometimes I forget you grew up in the City,” Howl says when his back is against the wall, his head lolling to one side. “I mean, anyone could drag me up flights and flights of stairs, but using the pack as a shield back there was pretty cool. And that book thing at the end? I’d say you’d make a good Menghu if I didn’t think you’d leave me here out of spite. Without a razor, even, since I’m pretty sure it broke when I threw it at Luokai’s head.” He tiredly adjusts his arm, pain flicking across his face. “I’d probably die of itchy beard before anyone found me.”
“I left it in there with him so, one way or another, I think you’re stuck.” I smile, sitting down next to him, barely managing to repress a groan at allowing my overtaxed muscles to relax for a moment. “Lucky for you, I like it when you’re scruffy.”
“You like something about me?” Howl thinks for a second, a flicker of a smile cutting through the strain on his face. “I’m not really sure how to take that. I can understand, of course, I just didn’t expect—”
Another rumble of an explosion blisters through the stone under our feet, a delayed boom filtering through the opening, accompanied by a warm rush of air. That sounded like a bomb, not whatever weapon Gao Shun is using on the helis.
I look back at Howl. “You should take it exactly the way it sounds.” My heart gives an uncomfortable skip, the sweet taste of fear and hope in my mouth. And decision. “I . . . I’m sorry I left you at the Mountain. And tied you up. And was generally awful to you. I didn’t trust you enough before.” Silence coats the air between us, and though I can feel Howl staring at me, it takes me a second to meet his eyes. “But I think I do now.”
“You’re leaving me here, aren’t you?”
The air outside seems too quiet. Poisonous, as if it has already killed anyone else stupid enough to go out and attempt breathing it. “Yes.”
“It’s what I would do.” He presses his lips together, an expression I’ve seen on his face so many times I wish I could just see his thoughts written out as they connect rather than having to wonder. “You don’t have to do . . . that.”
“Leave you?”
“No, you don’t have to try to make things better between us. You don’t have to say anything. I was being selfish earlier. I want things to be fixed, but nothing is that tidy.”
“I want to.” My stomach twists. “What if this is the last chance I have to say it?”
He smiles, an ironic twist to his mouth. “Both of us have lived an entire lifetime of moments where it might be the last chance to say something.”
“I really am sorry for my side of what happened, though. And if this is the last, last chance, I’d rather you knew that than didn’t.”
“I’m sorry too.” He takes a deep breath, all signs of cockiness smothered. “I just don’t want you to say anything that isn’t true all the way. I don’t think I can survive watching you run away from me again, Sev.” He stops, shaking his head. “Sorry, that sounds dramatic. But please don’t tell me there’s a chance here if there isn’t. Or if it’s only a chance. Things are complicated. I think I’ve untangled my side, but if you haven’t . . .”
The question he’s not quite voicing tingles like an invitation at the tip of my tongue. I lean forward the two inches between us and kiss his cheek. Whispering, because even if I know this is right, it’s still hard to say out loud. “If I could take back running away from you, I would.”
He pulls away, a crease marking his forehead. “You ran because of what Sole said. I love Sole; she’s like my sister. And . . . she knew me before I left the Mountain.” He looks down, fiddling with my hand, running his finger down my thumb and along my palm. “There’s more you asked about before.” He looks at me, my memory of that awful morning under the owl’s tree seeming to cloud the air between us. “I couldn’t make myself tell you, and it’s hard to say it even now. The Menghu—even Sole—all think—”
I reach out and cover his mouth. I’m not going to close my eyes and hope whatever it is about Howl that frightened people isn’t there. But no matter what other people tell me, I think I’ve seen pretty clearly who Howl is. And for right now, that’s enough. “I know I don’t understand. I might not even have the capacity to understand who you were and the things you did before.” I let my hand fall, trying to find the words. “We’ve lived very different lives. Had very different choices.” And different reactions to them. Like my dreams and flashbacks. Howl doesn’t have them. But that doesn’t mean he mourns the dead any less. “In the months I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you hurt anyone just because you could. I’ve seen you do the opposite. If you want to tell me about whatever it is that bothers the other Menghu, then you can. But you don’t have to right at this very moment. You said you’re done with lying. I trust you.”
He stares at me, his mouth still open. My heart feels open too, as if I’ve left it standing in the center of an icy swirl of snow, naked for anyone to see. Hoping I’m right. Knowing that I am, but still feeling just how vulnerable it is. I reach out and gently touch his cheek. “I love you, Howl.” And kiss him lightly on the mouth.
Howl barely leans into me, and when I draw back, his eyes seem wet. “I love you too.” His smile is a little too soft and sad, the light hollowing out the dark circles under his eyes, the sharp edges of his cheekbones and the shadows of his long eyelashes.
“I need to go. Whatever was going on out there, it isn’t happening right now.”
“Yeah.” He blinks a few too many times, but then he nods. “Yes. Go. I’d just slow you down.”
“I’ll be back. With the cure. I’m not leaving you this time.”
“Wait. There’s one more thing we need to be clear about.” Howl takes a moment to find the words. “I really do want to live in a tree house. So let’s not have this be the last chance, okay?”
I can’t help but start to laugh, the sound filling me up, filling us both with something other than gravity. He reaches for me then, and even though I can feel exhaustion and pain riding every line of his body, we hold each other up.