Her sharp-edged mind nearly finds the truth of Lae in me as I watch them together, but I push it away to a safer place. Some things are meant to be discovered in their own time. And seeing them together, I have a feeling they’ll meet her one day.
None of us use words, because none of us need to—our exchange is lightning quick, and the threads fly between us in the most beautiful, wild, chaotic, and perfect rainbow,
and we share our stories, and
we say I love you,
and the tapestry grows,
and
and
and …
… I begin to see.
Oh.
Oh, I see.
I see something I didn’t before, as I planned my end.
Something new sweeps through me, a possibility I’d never even imagined, so full of battle and so ardent in my defense. As if I’m slowly waking up from a very long sleep, and blinking my eyes to help them focus on what’s in front of me, I begin to see… .
It’s there in the way Fin holds fast to us, even though it takes every ounce of his strength to keep his mind connected with his clan.
It’s there in the way Scar wraps every one of us up in her love, her acceptance, the way she has every moment we’ve been together.
It’s there in the way Ty thinks of each of us before himself, in the way he fights for what is right no matter how tired he grows.
It’s there in the way Kal pushes always to find his best self, to believe in our best selves, to set aside all the world has told him to be and become what he chooses instead.
It’s there in the ferocity of Saedii’s love and loyalty, in her unflinching commitment to what she knows must be done.
They help me see something here, joined with them all.
Something I already knew.
I knew it was true when Esh told me to burn away all my bonds and ties, and I rebelled. I knew it was true when Caersan told me that the powerful take what they will, and I defied him to defend those around us.
I’ve known it all along, because my squad has shown me every time they’ve stood beside me, and they’re showing me again, right now. And they haven’t been the only ones to teach me this lesson I’ve been so slow in learning.
Tyler showed me in the first moment of Squad 312’s story, when he gave up his chance at a perfect squad to do what his heart told him was right, and he found me … and that moment was just the first in an avalanche.
Lae and Dacca and Elin and Toshh showed me too, when they stood and fought instead of running to buy themselves just one more day.
Cat showed me, when she gave up her body and future to save her squad.
Zila showed me, when she gave up the life she knew to make a life for us.
Caersan showed me, in his final act, when he saved us. Because his final act was one of love, and it was his most powerful.
Love is more powerful than rage, or hate.
And it always will be.
Love can change everything.
And yes, it would work, if I set a fire inside the Ra’haam and burned it from the inside out. But maybe, just maybe …
The rainbow of threads between us weaves together tighter, unbearably beautiful, and we’re our most honest selves in this instant. No wisecracks from Fin, no superiority from Saedii. Just us.
Us, trusting each other to see and be seen.
To meet what we find with …
“It has to come from love,” I say, finally understanding, here in the middle of a frozen battlefield.
“Cat’s still in there,” Tyler replies. “She’s still a part of it. We love her. And she loves us. Her last act was to try and protect me.”
“Admiral Adams is in there,” Scarlett says.
“Half the academy we’ve spent all these years training with,” Finian adds. “Our teachers, our friends.”
“Everyone who is a part of the Ra’haam loved someone,” Kal says, his fingers curling through mine. “Everyone was a parent, a child, a friend, a lover, a neighbor… .”
A parent.
“My father is in there,” I whisper. “He still calls to me.”
“It cannot be done by force.”
Saedii is trying out the words, speaking them slowly. A part of her still rebels against it, but she looks up, and meets my eyes.
“Or rather, it should not be.”
“There is no love in violence,” Kal murmurs.
“Can you do this?” Fin asks, holding tight to Scarlett’s hand.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Tyler says. “Squad 312. Forever.”
“Be’shmai, can you do it?” Kal asks quietly.
I rise to my feet. “Let’s find out.”
I turn toward the door that leads out to the hallway, and the instant I open it, I’m in the middle of a jungle.
The air is warm and damp, my clothes sticking to my skin, and the light is dim. Treetops crowd together above me, casting everything below into twilight, vines looping and curling from trunk to trunk. The forest floor is crowded with leaf litter and small, hopeful saplings straining toward the light.
And it’s perfectly, eerily silent—no rustling in the undergrowth, no birds or monkeys, no insects chirruping and humming, none of the thousand sounds that should be making up a symphony all around me.
I glance down and see the rainbow threads knotted to my wrist, stretching away behind me, but I don’t look back.
Instead, I take my first step.
The jungle comes alive, vines writhing and reaching for me, and I’m here, but I’m also on the bridge of the Neridaa, kneeling beside Kal. And I’m at my parents’ kitchen table, and I’m watching a frozen battlefield suspended in space, ships caught like flies in amber, their crews still alive, hailing each other, all asking the same questions, demanding the same answers.
I have to fight to clear a path, pulling the creepers from my arms and ducking under thorny branches, catching hints of the frozen battle from the corner of my eye, a tantalizing waft of my mother’s baking bread.
And then I begin to glimpse the people.
I don’t know any of them, and they’re always almost out of sight, hidden by vines and branches and trees, and when I move toward them, they’re never there when I burst from the greenery, scratched and sweating.
“Wait,” I call out, pushing between two trees growing so close together I have to turn sideways, have to take hold of the rainbow threads tied to my wrist and ease them through so they’re not cut. “Wait, I need to talk to you!”
A man turns, and around me the spaceships I’m holding in place all tremble, and the crystal of the Weapon glints, and I am Aurora Jie-Lin O’Malley, but I am Tyler Jericho Jones as well.
“We thought you were never coming,” says Admiral Adams, smiling as he folds cybernetic arms across his chest. “It’s time for you to join us.”
“No,” Tyler and I say together, my voice echoing in his.
“It’s all right,” the man says, and he’s so comforting, so sure, as the vines coil around his shoulders and across his chest like a pet snake. “There’s no need to be afraid.”
“This isn’t right,” we protest.
He tilts a smile at us and spreads his arms to encompass the jungle. “This is where you should be. Together, loved, with us. We know it’s frightening to make the leap. But sometimes, you must have faith.”