“We both know that’s not true. She’s dead.”

Dead.

Dead.

“Tarver.” I try his name again, and it sounds better on my lips than my own. “I don’t—”

“Don’t say it!” He’s on his feet, electrified, blazing in the glare of the dark cave. “You say it like—like her.”

Then I remember. “Your Lilac.”

He’s across the space between us before my eyes can follow him, pushing me back against the wall; his hand grasps my shoulder, sending ribbons of pain down my arm.

“Don’t say that.”

The grief and horror on his face cut deep. I don’t recognize my own hand as it reaches for his face.

“Tarver, it’s me.”

His hand clenching my shoulder shifts, slides up to touch my cheek. Fire. It’s all I can do not to jerk away. Grief and anger battle on his features, banishing the flicker of hope that surges there.

“What are you?” he repeats, whispering this time. I realize the gun was pressed against me only when he lowers it, letting it clatter to the ground.

I wish he had pulled the trigger. It would have been easier.

I make myself look in his eyes, fighting every instinct to flee, to find some way back to the dark and the cold and the quiet.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you and Miss LaRoux wonder why the structure was abandoned?”

“We wondered, but there wasn’t much we could do about it.”

“Why is that?”

“We had no information.”

“And no theories?”

“We had better things to do than speculate.”

THIRTY-FOUR

TARVER

I HAVE TO KEEP HER CALM. She could be anything. she could do anything.

I’ve brought her back to the cave, and she’s been huddling in the corner for nearly three hours. When I come close, she flinches; when I move, she squeezes her eyes shut. Whatever she is, she doesn’t feel like much of a threat.

That’s not the problem.

The problem is that she looks like Lilac, and she sounds like Lilac, and I can’t stand this.

I reach for the canteen and take a long swig. When I set it down on the rock floor of the cave, her breath catches. The sound hurts her ears. I try to remind myself that she’s something created, not the original. Not her. But is there really a difference? My mind whispers the question.

“Are you in pain?” I can’t use her name.

“Everything hurts.” She speaks in a tight whisper, trying to keep her voice steady, failing. “The sun, the air. It’s like when we came out of the snow in the mountains, so frozen you can’t feel anything, until everything starts to burn in the thaw.”

“Do you know what’s happening?” My voice is rough, agonized. How does she know about the mountains?

“No.” The word’s nearly lost as she swallows. “What did you do?”

I didn’t do anything. This is just another one of the ways this planet screws with your mind. “What do you remember?”

“I don’t know.” She’s still whispering. “Nothing.” And then a moment later: “I remember you. Your face. A picture of you…of your family. I remember poetry.”

This is impossible. How can she know? God, if only she didn’t sound like Lilac. My heart twists inside me. She’s still huddled against the rock wall like she’s trying to melt through it, and as I watch, one hand creeps down to her side, fingers pressing to the spot where her wound was. There’s only the ruined satin of her green dress.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, because she looks just like my girl, and I can’t help myself. I don’t want her to be scared. “I don’t understand either, but you’re here, you’re safe.”

But is she? She came from nothing, will she dissolve right back? Creating a canteen’s one thing. This is a human being.

I can be kind to her as long as she lasts, at least.

“How long was I gone?” Her voice is still quiet, quavering.

“A few days.” A few days. Forever. I don’t know. You’re still gone.

We lapse into silence, each retreating to our own thoughts. Tiredness creeps over me until it can’t be denied, and she watches me wordlessly as I unlace my boots, stretching out on the blankets.

I can’t bring myself to imagine she’s dangerous. If they wanted to create something that could harm me, one of those giant cats that chased her up a tree would have done.

What they gave me instead might make me want to die, but she won’t kill me herself. I know a man can follow a mirage to his death, but at this moment that seems like a good way to die.

She stays curled up in her corner, and in the shadows I can hear her breathing. I don’t know how much time goes by.

She’s the one who speaks next, her voice echoing out of the black, soft and tired. “I’m sorry I left you.”

This creature, or whatever it is, is so like her it’s hard to remember she isn’t real. Is there any harm in letting myself pretend, just for a moment? In the darkness, it’s easier to say things I can’t say in the light. “I’m sorry I let you set the fuse. I shouldn’t have.” Those words twist like a knife. Nothing else matters, except that I let her light that match.

I’ll never be able to say these things to my Lilac, but saying it now is better than not saying it at all.

“Oh, Tarver.” For a brief moment her voice takes on a hint of color. It’s not amusement, but it’s a faint upward tilt, the barest echo of a smile. It’s even more heartbreaking than her fear. “You think you could have talked me out of it? You didn’t stand a chance.”