“Arrow will come here after he lands. Play nice,” Sylph said. Chase growled something, and Sylph flicked her in the forehead. Hard. “Let go, Nyx. Fall in love. It’s fucking fantastic.”
Chase heard Sylph leave. She wanted to roll back to sleep, but instead she slipped down from the bunk and peered out the door. Riot met Sylph in the hall. He was nervous, banging his fist against his thigh. Sylph ordered him to quit it in a way that proved she was nervous too.
Whatever was amassing just west of the d-line had the whole country scared out of their minds. Congress was set to declare war at any moment—waiting for the strike that felt so imminent that no one was catching a full breath.
Sylph and Riot might never come back from this hop. That was the naked truth. And all of a sudden, Chase was stricken by the idea of losing them. She had to get her wings back.
? ? ?
When Tristan came in, he found her staring at him from the top bunk. He tried to smile and failed. “I thought you’d be asleep.”
Chase looked over every inch of him. He was in his flight suit, sweat sticking it to him in places and his hair frayed. Half-asleep Pippin had called him manly gorgeous. Yeah, that was right. The almost-dark played with Tristan’s profile, and she felt a hint of his magnetism.
She wanted to reach out, but she’d been right to worry about seeing him. He made everything heavy. He made the gravity crank up and her heart bear down.
Tristan kissed the back of her wrist. “I’m not here to seduce you, so stay up there.” It was a good attempt at a tease. She could give him that much.
“You look beat.”
“The sky was a traffic jam.” He didn’t have to say anything about drones. She could see it all over his face.
“I need to get back in the air,” she said.
“You will. Give it a few weeks.” He touched her cheek, his hand warm.
“But this standoff will be over in days or hours.” Chase sat up, fired. “You’re exhausted. Sylph is terrified. You need another pilot in the rotation. Now.”
Tristan was going to say something, but he shook his head. “Patience, Chase.”
“Yeah, well, that’s never been a talent of mine.” She jumped down from the bunk and glared at Tristan’s vivid exhaustion. She knew she should be careful with him. But she couldn’t; her own pain was too close to cresting. “You got right back up there after JAFA.”
“I did, but it didn’t feel right. I was on the edge. I could have killed myself.” Now he was riled. “If I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t have been able to do it at all.” He tossed his helmet at her. Hard. She caught it and almost threw it right back—but he was unzipping his flight suit. All the way.
“What are you doing?”
“I need a shower.” Tristan pulled off his undershirt and let the top half of his uniform hang low on his hips. Chase’s whole body went loose as he went into the bathroom and turned on the water. She dropped onto Pippin’s bed, watching the edge of him through the cracked open door. He stepped out of his flight suit and pulled the curtain around him.
Tristan Router was in her shower.
“Christ.”
She cradled his red helmet. Traced each letter of his stenciled call sign. Unbelievable. Tristan was in her shower, and she was feeling the lowest she’d ever been, and yet she didn’t want to barge in and distract herself.
What happened to the girl who used skin to escape?
The water shut off, and she couldn’t keep herself from watching through the crack as he dried off. Hints of pink-pale skin all over the place. He secured a towel around his waist. His hair dripped down his shoulders, seeming longer and blacker than usual. He sat on the bed. “I’ll fight with you if it’ll help, but I’d rather you trust me. I know this ache, Chase,” he said. “Let me help like you helped me.”
It took her forever, and it revved up her nerves in a way that ached, but she nodded.
He kissed her softly, and she pulled him, still a little wet, alongside her. When they lined up like that, it felt like nothing short of flying. His fingers wove with hers. “How do you feel?”
“Angry. Empty sometimes,” she admitted. “Scared. That’s the worst part.”
His mouth pressed a kiss to her shoulder that made the whole room settle.
“What do you think about when you remember JAFA?” she asked.
“A leg.” He leaned back and put a hand over his eyes. “When we heard the blasts, Romeo and I were asleep. By the time we made it out of our room, part of the building had collapsed. We found someone pinned under a bit of ceiling. One leg sticking out. I don’t know who that was. It was just a leg, but whoever it was, I knew them. I knew everyone at JAFA.”
He held her tighter, and she spilled her heaviest ache into the twisting silence.
“He didn’t make sense,” she said so quietly that she almost didn’t hear herself. “Well, he told me he was confused. He was trying to diagnose himself. To joke even.”
“That sounds like Pippin,” Tristan said gently.
“He knew exactly what was happening, which was kind of annoying, and then his words got all mangled. That freaked out both of us.”
Up…and down. Fools fly. No.
Listen, Chase.
The tears came. Heavy and ugly and unstoppable. It felt like drowning, and Tristan made her sit up and drink water. He shook her by the shoulders but nothing stemmed. Chase remembered the trials on repeat. No rewind this time. She saw the terrible, straightforward truth. The drone. The tight spin of the cockpit.
The sand and lake and that curse-blue sky.
She said Pippin’s name, and it made her feel like she’d been set on fire.
When her heartbeat became a dragging limp, Chase felt his lips on hers. She pushed back with a mouth desperate for anything else. He pulled himself on top of her, and his weight held everything still.
He was real. The thought was a sole star in her gone-black sky.