The soft electric hum of the rift rises without warning, and as the sparks grow unbearably bright, it lifts to a high-pitched scream, building in pressure every second.
Across the room, Lee’s screaming something at us, but I can’t hear her over the noise. I make out the words at the last instant—get away. Moving as one, Sofia and I scramble over the mound of debris, throwing ourselves down the other side as Tarver dives for the edge of the room, and Flynn and Lee roll together behind a block of stone. My heart’s racing, my ears are ringing, my lungs are constricting as the room trembles—it feels like any second the Daedalus will disintegrate around us.
A deafening roar swallows up the scream of the rift, and as I close my eyes, my last glimpse is of the metal frame containing the light exploding into a thousand glittering shards, hanging in the air like stars. The blue sparks snake outward in a frenzied dance, splintering all around us.
And then there’s silence. Perfect silence.
Sofia moves first, crawling back up the pile of debris that sheltered us, and reaching back to offer me her hand. I take it, curling my fingers through hers as I scramble up beside her to prop myself up on my elbows. The others are creeping out from their hiding places to stare too—the light is still there, once more coalesced into the tall oval shape of the rift. But where it was once a cold, pale blue glow, the rift now shines with a golden light, shimmering and rich.
And the machinery containing it—the cage—is gone.
For several long seconds we all simply watch it, trying to force our exhausted brains into action one more time, trying to understand what to do next. Then the frame of the Daedalus gives a shuddering groan, and it’s as if we’re startled back to life.
Tarver climbs to his feet, stumbling two steps forward, as if he’s going to walk straight into the rift. But he stops short, simply staring at it as the light plays over his haunted face.
There’s a figure crumpled at the base of the rift, and gingerly it pushes up to its feet, sending up a cloud of dust that settles slowly back to earth once more.
White dust clings to the hem of her black dress, and her hair’s half undone, falling down her back. She’s no longer flawless—she’s splendidly, gloriously, imperfectly human.
It’s Lilac.
She’s shivering as if with sudden cold, dust turning her red hair the color of ash. Only the steady warmth of Sofia’s hand in mine tells me I’m not dreaming or hallucinating. Lilac’s eyes rake the room, darting from person to person, but it’s who she doesn’t look at that stands out—she’ll look anywhere but at the ex-soldier by the fallen chandelier, whose eyes won’t leave her face.
No one speaks, too afraid of what her response might be—no one wants to break the spell, the hope, that her mind is her own again. In the silence there are a million possibilities, and for this brief instant she can be just Lilac again, even if the next brings all of it crashing down again.
Finally, she’s the one to shatter the quiet. “Somebody say something,” she murmurs. “Please?”
“Oh my God, it’s her.” That’s Jubilee, who comes lurching to her feet and breaks into an unsteady jog toward the girl in the rubble, Flynn a step behind her.
Lilac’s blue eyes, round and haunted, flick toward her. She swallows, fearful, and for a moment I can feel her uncertainty like my own. How does a girl begin to apologize for attempting to destroy mankind? But before she can speak, Jubilee, unhesitating, throws herself at her friend, pulling her into a hug and squeezing free a laugh that’s only slightly hysterical with exhaustion and release, and Flynn’s arms wrap around the both of them.
My legs finally obey orders, and I begin to scramble down the other side of the pile of broken marble we’d been sheltering behind, Sofia’s hand still in mine.
Lilac, her arms still tangled around Jubilee, lifts her head and looks our way. She sees me first, and I recognize the flicker that crosses her face—it’s the ghost of Simon that she sees in me, and her smile softens. “Thank you,” she whispers.
Her eyes meet Sofia’s, and something passes between the two of them—recognition, memory, understanding, forgiveness, all in an instant.
But still she hasn’t looked at Tarver, who’s motionless, rooted to the spot where he stood as Lilac came back through the dimensional portal. Her eyes fix somewhere past Jubilee’s shoulder, every line of her body tense, as if fighting some invisible force trying to drag her face toward him.
Jubilee glances toward her old captain, then gives Lilac’s arm a squeeze and she and Flynn release her, stepping back.