It takes us years, but we find the blue-eyed man and his daughter, and we discover that she is not such a little thing anymore. We have learned, over the years of our captivity, the name for the look on the man’s face that so fascinated us. And now her face bears it too, but for someone else, a boy her age. She is in love for the first time, and we feel it as if we are in love for the first time too.
The blue-eyed man holds a hatred in his heart for the boy, and as time moves forward, all the future possibilities for the boy his daughter loves narrow into one: he will die, and her heart will break.
What we cannot see is what will happen to her heart after.
THE ROARING IN MY EARS won’t stop, even as the plush carpeting in the corridor swallows up the sounds of my stumbling steps alongside Gideon’s. The small handbag at my side feels as though it’s made of lead, the weight of the unfired gun inside it heavier than any physical burden could be.
I was in the room with him. My mind won’t let the words fade. I was in the room with Roderick LaRoux and I didn’t kill him.
But the faint shimmer surrounding the dais guaranteed the presence of a security field, and with Gideon at my side I never would’ve gotten close enough for my one shot to have a chance of hitting its target. The security team was right there. For a moment I lost myself, and if Gideon hadn’t grabbed my arm, I think I might have tried anyway. I might have wasted my one shot.
Though I know the smart thing was to walk away and wait for a better moment, I can’t help feeling like I should’ve found a way around it. I’m running through a list of a thousand things I should’ve done—convinced Gideon that we needed to disable security shipwide to decrease our chances of being caught, gotten him to remove the field for me. Rushed the dais when the room’s attention was on the daughter and her fiancé. Anything would’ve done, especially since I wouldn’t have needed to stay under the radar any longer. This was supposed to be a one-way trip.
And instead I just stood there, the Knave’s hand on my elbow, his lips by my ear, while Roderick LaRoux and his whole happy family stood up there and smiled. It’s all I can do not to scream—or cry—or throw up.
The corridor leading to the exhibit and the elevators beyond is dark, the carpet the decadent red that would’ve been the style when the Icarus made her doomed maiden voyage. My bare feet make no sound, and even Gideon’s footfalls are nearly silent. The muffled music and laughter from the ballroom fall away as we move. Rooms open up on either side of us, re-creations of what the Icarus once looked like to show how her passengers lived before they died. To the right, a simulation of the observation deck; to the left, a series of cabins and common rooms from various levels of the ship, from the staff’s quarters up through the military personnel deck, on through to first class. Beside each is a sign informing Daedalus visitors that by donning their “Icarus Experience” glasses, they can view what these rooms looked like after the crash.
Without, I suspect, the dead bodies.
I swallow hard, wrapping my arms across my chest to stop myself from shivering.
Gideon glances at me and his hands fly to his lapels. “Are you cold?” he whispers, his voice shattering the silence—and the spell holding me.
“No,” I murmur, forcing myself to sound calm. He lets his hands fall. “Let’s get down to engineering.” I brush past him, trying desperately to organize my thoughts.
Gideon still believes we’re both here to find the rift, sabotage LaRoux’s plans. Let him think so—maybe I can still use him after all. To access the computer he’ll need to bypass security, and perhaps I can get him to take out the security field protecting the dais as well. Or else I can trip an alarm while he’s doing his thing, and while security’s busy chasing him, I can loop back around to the ballroom.
He claims to want to expose LaRoux’s wrongdoing to the galaxy. I can’t believe he’s so na?ve as to think that would accomplish anything. What justice would there be in seeing a man like LaRoux arrested? Even if his lawyers failed to clear him of all charges, the best-case scenario would see him spend a few months at most in a “prison” cell that would make my penthouse look more like the halfway house where I slept last night. Far more likely, it’d all get pinned on some underling in his company, and LaRoux would get to dominate the next fifty news cycles expressing his shock and horror at what was done in his name. He’d probably throw another benefit for the families “affected” by the crash, and by the massacres on Avon, and end up coming out of it all more loved than ever. Though the number of us who see him with clear eyes is growing, we’re still a drop in the ocean of the masses, and against the narrative people want to believe, we’d simply be washed away.