I move after her and duck my head to find her lips with mine. It’s all I want to do. She surges up against me like she’s been waiting for this, lips parting, arms curling around my neck. Everything crowds together—grief, desire, anger, and beneath it all, a desperate hint of hope, and I can feel the sharing of it in the energy that wells up between us. I drag my hand up from her waist, my fingertips finding bare skin and the dip of her spine as hers tighten in my hair. She gasps against my mouth, a split second pause, and then we’re together again as if we’d been parted for an eternity.

With a strained noise she breaks away and turns her head to stop me from picking up the kiss where we left off. Her breath comes quick and heavy, and I lean in closer to pin her against the door, my hips finding hers. This is what I want.

“God, Flynn, we can’t.” She’s panting the words. “We can’t.”

I bend my head to kiss her beneath the line of her jaw, and I feel her body shift against mine. “One true thing,” I breathe into her hair, remembering what she said the night I brought her back to the base. The night I washed the blood from her hands. “Something real in all of this. This is real.”

“We’re enemies. That’s what’s real.” Despite her protests, her arms are tight around me, unwilling to let go. I press a kiss to her temple and rest my forehead against her dark hair.

“I’m not your enemy, Jubilee Chase,” I whisper. “And I don’t think you’re mine.” I lean after her until I can capture her mouth again. My hands burn where I touch her, everything else fading away into the background, drowned out by this, by her, by us.

The music coming from the bar changes, and as if the shift broke the moment, Jubilee gasps and mumbles, “It’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t care.” And I don’t, finding bare skin at her neck beside the chain of her dog tags, hearing her lose her words as I nip, push her collar aside to find the juncture between her neck and shoulder, kiss her soft skin.

Her body arches against mine, responding to my touch. A split second later, though, she goes still, and I lift my head to find her biting her lip, grief in her eyes.

“Flynn, we can’t.” Her lips are flushed, eyes dark, but as she swallows and tries to collect herself, I can see the determination bleeding back into her gaze. “It’s not that it’s too dangerous for us, Flynn. It’s too dangerous for them. If you had to choose, if it came down to it, who would you save? Your people, or me?”

She lets me brush her hair back from her face, trail my rough fingertips down the smooth skin of her cheek, waiting as I try to gather my scattered thoughts. I picked my side in the cavern when we ran from McBride, but I don’t know which side I chose. Was I trying to save this girl, or was I trying to stop a war? I can’t let myself think ahead to the day when I’ll have to choose one or the other.

It all threatens to well back up, the tangle of things I’m too exhausted to face. There’s only one thing I know with absolute certainty, and as I whisper her name and lean in to her again, she lets me. Her hand leaves my chest and invites me in—she cups my cheek as our lips meet, drawing me away from the frantic heat and toward something slower, something quiet. Something real.

We both pause to breathe after a time, and she ducks her head. I kiss her temple and wait for her to speak.

“Sooner or later one of us will have to make a choice, and if we do this we’ll make the wrong one. We’re the only ones who can see what’s happening. They need us.” She turns to slip out of my arms, putting herself out of my reach—or me out of hers.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being needed?” Suddenly that’s all I am—tired, heartsick for my sister, my cousin, my friends. Worn down by McBride’s anger, Sofia’s grief, by my own helplessness. I want refuge. I want Jubilee.

“Not until this moment.” She’s stricken, but she stands there by the door, and she doesn’t reach out to me. Everything in me aches, but I don’t reach out to her either. Because she’s right.

“Go.” It takes everything in me to let her leave. For the sake of people who’d shoot me on sight. Who think she’s a murderer and I’m a traitor.

She doesn’t speak, standing and staring at me for two long, slow breaths. Then her hand fumbles for the door handle, wrenching it open so she can stumble out into the night. The door bangs shut behind her so hard it misses the latch, shuddering open again with its momentum.

I slam my palm against the wall, feeling the sting of it, the pain shooting up all the way to my shoulder. As the door eases back open, I can see her walking away. I watch her as she passes under the floodlights.

Just before the door swings closed, I think I see her catch her step, start to slow. Then the gap I’m watching through is gone, and with a click, we’re both alone.

The girl is waiting. She’s at a spaceport she’s never seen before, orbiting a planet she doesn’t recognize. All she has are the clothes she’s wearing, but she’s glued to the viewport, heart jumping with each new ship that eases into the docking bays. She’s certain she’ll recognize hers when she sees it.

A man comes to find her, to tell her that the exploration vessel she’s been hired on is ready to depart. He escorts her to the right docking bay, where a small but sleek ship waits for her. The viewports are glimmering gold-and-green, and through them she catches glimpses of people—a child with dark hair, a sullen teenager with a fake ident, an older woman she doesn’t recognize.

Her escort, who is also somehow the captain too, gestures toward the gangplank.

“Well?”

Somewhere, deep, deep in her thoughts, something stirs—the certainty that this never happened, that it couldn’t be happening now. This isn’t how her life will go. It’ll be dark, and cold, and likely very short; and the glittering lights of the spaceliner were never for her.

“I can’t,” she whispers, the words wrenching at her soul. The captain turns toward her, and she can see her own heartache reflected in his green, green eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

I DON’T REMEMBER THE WALK back to my quarters. But abruptly I’m there, my head still spinning, skin tingling. It’s easy enough to run myself through the motions as I get ready for bed, my routine ground into me through years of being too tired at the end of the day to do anything else. I can’t let myself think, can’t let myself dwell on the fiery adrenaline surging through me. I can’t let myself replay what happened with Flynn.