Pressa nods down at the medicine bag she tossed onto the bunk bed between us. “I think he might have been trustworthy, a long time ago. He has the characteristics of someone from the Undercity, you know? You always find a way to make things work, until the world makes it impossible. And even then, you have to hang on.”

I’m quiet at her words. The world had thrown Pressa out, and yet she somehow still managed to hold on to the goodness in herself, had never truly wavered from what was right. And I found myself wondering about the fine lines in our lives that turn us one way or the other—that the hardships my brother or June faced twisted them in one direction, while Hann went in another.

“When this is all over,” I finally say, “I’m going back to the Republic.”

Pressa smiles again. It’s a sadder expression this time, like she’d known all along, and the sadness twists my heart into a knot. “I never thought you were going to stay here in Antarctica,” she replies.

I look at her. “You didn’t?”

“Eden, you’ve lived your whole life with your shoes pointed in the direction of the Republic. That glint’s in your eyes every time I see you. It’s where you belong.” She puts a hand on my arm, and I think back to when she’d helped me up after the others in the university had shoved me to the ground. I think about what she’s doing right now, with me. If I head back to the Republic, I won’t get to lean on Pressa anymore.

“I…” I don’t know how to finish my sentence. I’ll miss her? I’ve liked her ever since we first became friends? That when we hang out late at night, I love watching her beautiful eyes flash in the dim light, reflecting the glow of everything around her?

She just smiles at me and leans closer. “Just visit me sometimes, okay?” she whispers. “So I can see how you’re doing.”

I swallow, searching for a good way to tell her how I feel. And in the middle of that search, I realize that what I’ve wanted to do all along was just to show her.

I lean toward her in the silence. Then I kiss her.

It’s a light kiss, my lips gentle against hers. She stiffens in surprise at my gesture, enough for me to pull away and give her a hesitant look. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so forward about it.

But before I can apologize, Pressa wraps her arms around me and pulls me back. She kisses me again, harder this time.

Every thought I have scatters. I can’t believe that I never knew this is what should have happened between us, that I never made a move earlier. There’s a bitterness in our kiss that reminds me how little time we might have left. I pull her close, wanting more, regretting that I’d held back so long.

At last we pull apart, our breaths shallow. Pressa looks down, a rare moment of fragility coming across her face. She laughs a little. “I’ve always wanted you to do that,” she murmurs, peering up at me through her canopy of lashes.

“Well,” I murmur back, “thank goodness I did something about it.”

Our conversation’s interrupted by an abrupt knock on the door. We dart apart as one of the guards comes in. He doesn’t smile at us. Instead, his eyes lock, cold and unfeeling, on mine. “Hurry up, both of you,” he tells us. “Hann doesn’t have all day to waste showing you the system facilities.”

I stand back up and give the man a firm look. Beside me, Pressa rises and lifts her chin, steadying herself back into calmness.

“Right behind you,” I say to the guard.

He glares at me again, casts an ugly glance at Pressa, and turns around, motioning for us to follow him. It won’t be long now before all our plans come to a head. Pressa and I exchange a quick glance before I follow the man out the door.

That’s when I realize that the tiny insect drone Daniel gave me is no longer in my pocket.

A jolt of panic rushes through me even as I try to keep my expression calm behind the man. But Pressa senses my sudden fear. She gives me a questioning look before she realizes what happened. Her eyes widen.

Maybe the drone fell out of my pocket.

But a feeling of dread swells in my chest. Somehow, I know that it wasn’t an accident. Somehow, I know.

Dominic Hann took it.

DANIEL

Another fitful sleep.

This time it’s a dream of my past, another series of memory fragments I’m struggling to piece together. Some of it doesn’t make sense at all—a bundle of sea daisies floating in the middle of the ocean, a lone figure struggling through a frozen tundra. But when my dream finally settles, it lands on a memory from childhood.

It’s of when I’d already been living on the streets for a year. Tess is nowhere in sight; I haven’t even met her yet. I’m still limping badly at this age, and when I finally make my way past the rooftops and stop behind a chimney near my mother’s house, I’m drenched in sweat.

My hands are bloody and raw from pulling myself up onto ledges. The hollow in my stomach feels like a cavern. All damn day, I struggled to find enough food to fill up that emptiness—but the day was difficult. No trash to be found. Guards patrolling the newly docked supply ships. I barely escaped the clutches of a street stall merchant selling pygmy-pig entrails strung on sticks. The smell was so intoxicating that I forgot myself for a moment and lingered too long. He lunged at me with a butcher knife. I got away, but not before he managed to catch me with the edge of the blade and sliced clean through my side.

I sway weakly. My hand stays pressed against my skin, but blood is still leaking out of the wound, staining everything black. I look desperately down at my mother’s home. The candles are lit inside. She’s home, and probably so are my brothers. As if on cue, I see John’s silhouette walk past the window.

They don’t know I’m alive. If I reveal myself to them, how will they react? What will the Republic do to them if they somehow make my family talk?

Another stab of pain lances its way up my side, and a soft groan escapes me. I lean my head back against the chimney and close my eyes. I can’t stay like this. If I do, I’ll die. In the morning, someone will find my lifeless body up on the roof, and a car will come to drag me away to some unmarked mass grave.

The side door to our home swings open, and a rectangle of golden light momentarily beams across the alley. John emerges with a bag of trash. The screen door claps shut behind him as he heads down the block to toss the bag into one of the bins.

I hesitate again, blinking sweat out of my eyes. My world is spinning now, my head dizzy from the loss of blood. Still, I find myself holding back.

Another wave of nausea hits me. I grit my teeth and swear. Then I finally begin making my way painstakingly down the side of the building. My hands cling desperately to the gutter running along the wall. The cold, slick metal is tricky, and I nearly fall several times.

At last, I reach the ground and collapse with a grunt. I pull myself up laboriously, then stagger toward my house right as John starts making his way back to the door. He steps inside, turning away from me.

I open my mouth to call out for him, but I’m too weak. As the screen shuts behind him and he locks the inside door, I crawl up to the steps. One, two, three. I reach the closed door, gather the last of my strength, and knock.

For a moment, I don’t think the sound is strong enough to be heard. I wait a few seconds, listening for my brother, and then try knocking again. Still nothing.