“They’ve found a way to reach into another dimension?” His voice is hushed.

“And it’s unstable. What makes hyperspace travel so dangerous is that these rifts always want to close; it’s their natural tendency. They’ve found a way to hold open this dimensional rift, but if you touch it, it’ll collapse. There’ll be an energy blast like the one that fused the circuits on the ship. Or worse.”

He shakes his head, looking down at the sheet once more. “‘Continued extraction of test subjects is dependent on rift stability.’ The rest of it’s burned, I can’t read it.”

“Test subject extraction,” I echo. “They’re pulling something out of the other dimension to experiment on? But what? And where is this rift?”

“Behind that door, I’ll bet. I’m more interested in the test subjects themselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“This.” He reaches behind him, pulls a fragment of paper from a pile. It’s barely more than a quarter of a page, the rest burned away, but there is some writing legible in the corner. He passes it to me.

“‘Subjects display remarkable telepathic abi—’” I read, forced to stop where the page is gone, and skip down the remaining lines of text. “‘…phased life-forms…energy-based…noncorporeal…temporary energy-matter conversion…’”

The rest of the text is lost in the crumbling ash, leaving black streaks across my palm.

“The whispers.”

“The whispers,” he agrees.

My head spins. There are answers in here somewhere, in the scorched remains of my father’s secret research facility. These beings, experimental test subjects to my father’s teams, have led us across the wilderness to this spot. If we’re right, then Tarver and I are not so different from them—all of us castaways on a forgotten world.

“I wish we knew what they want. Perhaps they could get us past the door.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He lifts his head, eyes meeting mine. His mouth twitches like he’s about to speak, and I know what he’s going to say. Together. We’ll figure it out together.

I turn away before he can form the words. Just his glance is enough to set my very blood on fire. He’s become so sure of me in such a short time. He thinks I don’t notice when he watches me move, thinks I don’t see the way he reaches after me, stopping just short of taking my hand. He’s impatient, but not urgent—he wants me back, but he’s waiting. He thinks we have time.

But I know what the whispers were telling me in the corridor below. They brought the flower back and didn’t—like me. I am here, and not here. Perhaps the effort required to flicker the lights took their attention away from sustaining the flower. The words are there on the charred sheet of paper. Temporary energy-matter conversion. How long will I last?

Long enough to help Tarver get home? I try to imagine myself drifting to infinitesimal pieces on the wind, turning to dust like the flower did. It’s easier to contemplate it if I’m not real after all—if I’m only a copy, a remnant of the girl who used to be here. I remember everything of my life, of Lilac’s life. But is memory enough?

The question of the dress haunts me too, coming back to me at every turn. I know he thinks of it too. I left this dress behind in the wreck of the Icarus, discarded for more practical clothing. Each rip and run in the satin is identical to those the original had. I can trace my journey on it—here, the first tear, caught on a thorn as we watched the Icarus fall. There, rubbed raw as I climbed the tree to escape the cat beast. Each mark and stain bearing witness to what I’ve been through. Except that this isn’t that dress.

So whose story does this impostor tell?

“I need to see the body.”

We’re both startled, heads snapping up. It’s not until I see the horror registering on Tarver’s face that I realize I was the one who spoke. The fragment of paper slips from my nerveless hand, fluttering to the floor, streaming ash.

“The—what?”

“The body.” I assume he buried it—me. These thoughts ought to make me sick, ought to frighten me. Why do I think them only blankly?

“Lilac,” he whispers. “No. No. What good can come of that?”

“I need you to take me there.” My hands remember how to work again, clenching into fists pressed against my thighs. “What if there’s a body there? What if there isn’t?”

Tarver’s face has gone pale, something I never thought I’d see again after he recovered from his illness. My heart breaks a little, but not enough for me to crumble.

“Where did this dress come from?” I press. “We both know I left it on the laundry floor, back at the Icarus. Tarver, I have to know.”

“I don’t,” he retorts, suddenly fierce. He leans across the space between us, seeking my gaze. “Lilac, I have you back. That’s all I want. I don’t want to ask questions.”

To look at us one would think he was the one who’d come back from the dead. Maybe in some way he has. The way he looks at me now, like I’m water in a desert—how can I take that away from him? I make myself nod, and he relaxes.

He believes in me now.

The only problem is that I’m not so sure I do.

“I made up a bed for us in one of the rooms,” Tarver offers, leading the way down the hallway. When we reach the sleeping quarters, I see what he means—he’s pushed two sets of bunks together side by side, making a larger bed on the bottom, the top bunks forming a canopy above it.