Gal’s parents probably would have applauded.
If we go to the Archon resistance, he’ll run right up against the ledge of that opportunity. I want to believe in the way it seems to tear him up inside. But his duty to his blood is everything.
My stomach twists. “We can try it. We’ll strike out and see what’s there for us. And if it goes sideways, I’ve carried you out of worse.”
Gal’s gaze drops to the streets, his eyes tracking a few pedestrians far below. “Someday there’s going to be a time when you can’t,” he says, swallowing like the words are caught in his throat. “You keep making all these sacrifices for me. I can’t possibly live up to them.”
“It’s not an exchange, dumbass.”
“I know,” Gal says sharply. “I just don’t…I don’t want to be the terms that decide your life’s path, Ettian.”
It’s a little late for that, but I don’t dare say it. “Let’s focus on our path out of this mess,” I tell him. “And speaking of messes…” I tighten my grip on his shoulder, crushing him against my side. “The rut were you thinking, telling Wen that you’re my boyfriend?” I snarl in his ear.
“Sorry.”
“No ap—”
“Shut up. Look, I was hoping it’d get her off our case. No one wants to be a third wheel, right?”
The comment stings, but not for the reasons he might assume. If Gal understood anything about what it’s like to be out on the streets, he’d know that being a third wheel is the difference between a groggy, paranoid stupor and a solid night of sleep, between a mewling, weak stomach and enough stolen food for everyone. I sigh. “Well, it looks like we’re stuck with our third wheel for the time being. Which means we’re stuck in this charade, unless you want to explain to her why we’ve suddenly decided to call it quits.”
Gal grimaces. “She’s too smart. She’s going to figure out something’s up.”
“Hey, you’re a good liar.” I jostle his shoulder, and his arm tightens around my waist.
“I suppose. And if we’re going to march right up to an Archon resistance base and try to dismantle it from the inside,” he says, leaning so close that his breath ghosts over my cheek, “I’m going to need an excuse to whisper in your ear.”
Stop that, I groan internally. One way or another, this adventure is doing its damnedest to kill me.
When we make our way back across the roof, we find Wen lounging in the shade of her umbrella with her head propped up on my pack. She cracks her unburned eye open as our footsteps approach. “Decision made?” she asks, sitting up.
Gal bends to scoop up his own pack. “If you think the resistance can help, lead the way.”
Wen scrambles to her feet, swinging the umbrella up onto her shoulder. She kicks my pack at me, and I flinch, thinking of the precious cargo buried in it. “Better get a move on, then. Daylight’s wasting, and it’s a long way by rooftop.” She turns on her heel and strolls off toward the edge.
Gal leans close and hisses, “Is she serious? I can’t tell if she’s serious.”
Wen snaps her umbrella shut, tucks it under her arm, and takes a running leap, landing crouched on the next building over.
I sigh. “She’s serious. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 14
TRAVERSING THE ROOFTOPS of Isla’s north side isn’t the worst way to travel, but it wears me down in ways not even the academy’s drills could have prepared me for. My shoulders ache from my pack, and after a certain point, I feel like there’s no way I’ll be able to make the jumps from building to building. Gal flags beside me. Wen, as always, skips on ahead.
“There’s a monorail that goes straight to the base,” she explains while we’re bent over, catching our breaths. “But with the Cutters on alert, we’re better off waiting until tomorrow morning to catch it.” I glare, and she shrugs. “They’re ruthless, but they sure aren’t morning people.”
So as the sun settles on the city’s horizon, Wen leads us to a cache. Tucked under a loose metal plate on the roof of an apartment building is a ratty spare blanket, a can of some variety of beans, and a few spare clothes—though I’m not sure some of the shredded scraps qualify.
Gal and I exchange a glance, but Wen’s already wrapping herself securely in the tattered blanket, leaning back under the overhang that protects her makeshift hidey-hole.
Don’t feel sorry for her, I tell myself over and over again. Once you feel sorry for her, you start getting attached, and once you start getting attached you start letting your guard down. And once you start letting your guard down, she slits your throat and Gal’s with that goddamn umbrella and takes everything you carry.
Gal crouches next to her, rooting in his bag. He pulls out a ration pack and hands it to her so carelessly that it hits me all at once how unfamiliar he is with hunger. Wen holds the pack loosely, glancing between it and Gal like she’s not sure if he actually meant to give it to her. He doesn’t notice her hesitation, already digging back in for another meal.
Wen’s gaze flicks to me. I don’t know what to do with it. As I crouch and settle under the overhang with her, I give her a nod that tries to be encouraging and probably ends up condescending. She purses her lips.
“So,” Gal says as he rips his own ration pack open. “We rest here for the night?”
Wen nods. She sets aside the can of beans and pinches the plastic in her hands carefully, tugging it open with unexpected daintiness, like she means to save it for later.
My heart sinks at the sight. I pull my own dinner out, my stomach rumbling. I haven’t eaten since the meager breakfast I stuffed down my throat this morning before I set off to buy a ship. The ration pack doesn’t offer much in the way of flavor. The meat-based mush inside is meant to be reheated, and the crackers that accompany it are dry and tasteless—probably manufactured somewhere in the Archon territories. Still, it’s difficult to resist the urge to inhale it all at once.
Wen doesn’t. She eats like the food’s about to disappear and licks the plastic tray when she’s done, draining the last bits of juice into her mouth. When she catches Gal staring, she makes a face at him, and he laughs like he’s charmed.
“Tell me about yourself,” he says in between careful, moderated bites of his own rations. “How’d you get into this mess in the first place?”
Wen hesitates, turning the tray over and over in her hands. “Destiny,” she says at last, leaning back and tossing the container aside. “Born for it. You know how it is.”