But I also see a newly appointed task force at work. President Ikari had kept his word, at least—people with blue armbands are surveying Undercity civilians, interviewing them and listening to their grievances. Here and there, I see scattered groups of people gathered to hear someone giving a speech, or pockets of protesters waving signs in the air. The Levels hovering over their heads aren’t being deducted for their protesting.

The shop that Pressa’s father owned is still being repaired. One of their neighbors is nailing a new windowpane in, while two others are hoisting a new neon sign over the store. I pause to smile at the sight.

Pressa is standing outside the shop and calling directions up at the two working on the sign. Her left arm’s still in a cast, but she seems like she’s moving around pretty easily with it as she directs them.

When she sees me, she pauses to pat me on the shoulder. “Glad you came by today,” she says.

“Glad to see you smiling,” I reply, and she grins that familiar little grin of hers, leaning subtly against my shoulder as she does. It sends a warm current through my chest.

“I brought you something,” I tell her, then reach into my backpack and take out a frame encasing a delicate arrangement of dried flowers. It’s the first time I’ve ever given her something like this, and I blush as I hold it up for her. “I thought it might look nice in your father’s shop, you know, herbs and everything.”

Pressa holds the frame before her with a look of wonder. Her eyes shine with moisture. “Oh, Eden,” she breathes, tapping a finger gently against the glass. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

I beam, feeling my heart lift at her words. Then I reach into my pocket and take out a fresh flower, a small yellow bud that I hadn’t pressed into the frame. “And one for you,” I add, tucking it neatly behind her ear.

She looks up at me with a smile that brightens everything around us. She seems happier than the last time I saw her—and even though the death of her father still haunts her eyes, there’s also a sense of purpose there, that she can still find him if she preserves her father’s store here. I smile at her, taking in her beauty, and feel the sharp stab of leaving her behind.

I clear my throat and try not to think about it. “How’s Marren doing, managing the store?” I ask her.

“Good,” she says, squinting inside the shop’s windows, where her father’s assistant is now leaning over the counter and measuring out several spoonfuls of herbs for a customer. “You should’ve seen him the first few days. He was running around like a headless chicken. But I think he’s settled into a groove.”

We look on as Marren searches the shelves in vain, scratching his head as he tries to figure out where he has stocked all the new medicine the shop now carries. I can’t help laughing a little.

“Good groove,” I say.

Pressa smiles. “He’s always had it.”

Daniel, in his final AIS act, spoke up for Mr. Yu’s shop. Director Min legalized it after the city ran an inspection, giving it a permit to sell the higher-quality medications that had previously only been available to the Sky Floors. Without the fear of arrest hanging over everyone’s head, and with the new medicines, people have been flocking here from all over the Undercity. The shop’s bigger than it used to be, too, thanks to the compensation package that the city gave them for their reconstruction.

It doesn’t fix everything wrong with the system down here, of course—there are still too many others who can’t afford the luxury of healthcare. But at least the memory of her father will be preserved here.

Now Pressa looks at me. “You got a haircut,” she replies, running a hand playfully through my newly trimmed locks. “All set to make an impression in the Republic, aren’t you?”

She’s trying her best to cover up the strain in her voice, but I can hear it. It mirrors my own reluctance to leave. I run a hand absently through my curls and try to smile at her. “We’ll see about an impression,” I reply. “They’re starting me as early as next week.”

She shuffles her feet and glances down at the framed f lowers, then back to me. “Are you nervous?”

“After what we went through? Nah, I’m feeling pretty calm.” I hesitate. “I’m going to miss you, though.”

She winces at my words, and it’s all I can do to not wrap my arms around her right now and pull her into a kiss. “You have to leave so soon?”

I nod.

We both fall into an awkward silence. “Thank you,” Pressa finally says. “For putting in a good word for my father’s shop and making sure the community stays intact.”

“What are you going to do here?” I ask her. “Now that you’ve got Marren running the store?”

She shrugs, looking uncertainly around at the Undercity’s streets. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out,” she answers with a shrug. There is something lost in her gaze. “They said I can apply to the university, even with my Level. They might give me a scholarship. But…”

“But?” I ask.

She looks at me, and then down. “I don’t know.” And in her gaze, I see that same restlessness I’ve always felt, the feeling of not fitting in, the same need to do something bigger, to find myself in this strange world. The same thing that drew us together as friends from the beginning. “I’m ready to leave the Undercity,” she finally says. “I just don’t know where to go next.”

“Come with me,” I say.

The words spill out of my mouth without warning. Pressa looks at me in surprise.

“Come … with you?” she murmurs.

I hadn’t thought any of that through at all. But when I speak again, I find myself taking her by her hands and pulling her closer. “Come with me,” I repeat, my voice more eager this time. It’s so obvious now. “You’ve always said you never felt like you belonged in the Undercity—like there was an adventure out there, waiting for you to make it happen. Come to Los Angeles, to the Republic. Please. You could change everything there for the better. You could do everything you’ve ever wanted to do. And I could be there with you, we could…”

I trail off, too shy to ask her to be with me. But I can see the spark lighting in Pressa’s eyes, that addictive sense of life in her that I’d always admired. Her lips curve up. This is the adventure that had been waiting for her.

“Okay,” she says quietly, as if to herself, and then breaks into a wide grin. “Okay!”

Then she throws her uninjured arm around me without warning, hand still clutching the framed flowers, and I find myself hugging her in return, and we’re both laughing at the awkward angle of her one-armed embrace. She feels so good in my arms that I can’t imagine ever letting go.

On an impulse, I kiss her.

She leans into me and kisses me back, fully and firmly. It’s the most perfect kiss in the world. I hug her tight. Somewhere around us, I hear whistles, then the workers on the ladder teasing us gently before bursting into friendly laughter. I don’t move away. I just keep my arms around Pressa, holding her tight, feeling sure of our future for the first time, feeling happier than I’ve been in a long time.