“But it might,” I insist, taking a step closer to him. “It could. The only thing stopping you is your feelings. How do I know you won’t just change your mind again?”
Hunter runs his fingers through his hair, bewildered. “Tess, I just saved your life. And defied the Trust, the people who made me. How can you even suggest that?”
I show him my tronic, the curled letters softly glowing in the afternoon light. “Because no feeling is final, Hunter. People change.”
He stares down at me, his lower lip parted in an expression of confused astonishment. I stare back defiantly, not giving an inch. I care about Hunter and I don’t like telling him I don’t trust him. Because honestly, I do trust him. Almost beyond my own will, I feel I could trust Hunter with my life. But I can’t be naive.
Hunter’s words are halting but sure. “Abel was right about me, Tess. As soon as I let myself admit how I feel about you, everything changed. Now the idea of killing even one person in the Badlands doesn’t seem efficient. It seems barbaric. Insane.” He takes a step back, one hand rubbing his jaw with stark concern. “I can’t even believe you’re still speaking to me after what I said I’d do. What I’ve already done.” His eyes widen with horror, voice rising in panic. “That girl. The girl the Quicks killed. You knew her. She was with you. She was with Kudzu, wasn’t she?”
“Hunter—”
“Wasn’t she!”
“Yes.”
His eyes grow wild, hands bunching into fists at his side. “I helped kill her. I authorized the Quicks to kill your friend!”
I move to him quickly, reaching up to take his hands. “You didn’t know that—”
“I killed her!”
“You did not,” I say firmly. “The Trust killed Lana, not you.” I unclench his fists to hold both hands tightly. “Listen to me. What’s done is done.” I try to make my voice as soothing as possible. “Okay? We can’t change the past. You just can’t ever do it again.”
“I have no intention,” he mutters. “Believe me.”
I do. We stand in silence for a few moments, until his shoulders lose their tightness and he looks somewhat normal again.
Then he says, “I don’t entirely agree with you.”
“About what?”
“About no feeling being final.” Hunter’s hands move to rest on my shoulders. They feel solid and warm. His eyes drill into mine. “My feelings for you won’t change.”
I’m in clothes that literally stink. My head is shaved, and I’m covered in cuts and bruises and dried blood, not all of it mine. The idea of anyone, let alone Hunter, having real feelings for me seems absurd. “What feelings?”
A quizzical, happy smile sneaks onto his face. His words sound innocent and unflinchingly honest. “I’m in love with you.”
I feel as if someone just threw a bucket of water over me.
“You didn’t know,” he says, studying my reaction. “You are surprised. You are . . . unhappy?”
“N-No, Hunter,” I stutter. “You’re not in love with me.”
“Yes, I am.”
I cross my arms over my chest. I can feel my heart hammering through my shirt. “What you’re feeling is just . . . excitement. That we made it out.”
“No,” he says.
“It’s not.”
“It’ll fade,” I insist. “What you think is love is just a chemical called dopamine and that doesn’t last. Whatever you’re feeling will be gone in a week.”
“No. It won’t.” He looks like he always does: curious, calm, utterly fascinated by me. “How do you know all this?” he asks. “Have you ever been in love?”
I exhale noisily. “We should get back to the others.”
“Tess, have you ever been in love?”
I bite my lip and stare at the patchwork of leaves on the ground. “I don’t know,” I confess, somewhat unwillingly. “No, I guess.”
“Then how do you know this isn’t love?” Hunter closes the distance between us, and suddenly his arms are around my waist and lifting me up as if I weigh no more than sunlight.
A squeal escapes me before I can stop it. “What are you doing?” I sound strangely giggly and not at all like myself.
He deposits me easily on a tall, moss-covered tree stump. “Sweeping you off your feet?”
“That’s a metaphor.” My cheeks are growing warm. He’s standing between my legs, hands resting lightly on my waist. My hands lie sweaty and tense in my lap.
“Is it?” he asks. His eyes move around my face, taking in every part of it. He touches the neat scar on my forehead, a light touch so impossibly gentle. His eyes meet mine again, and he smiles. “You really are very beautiful. I think you’re the most beautiful girl that I’ve ever met.”
“You haven’t met that many girls,” I reply, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “You’re a rogue science experiment.”
“Okay,” he relents. “You are the most beautiful girl that has ever entered my consciousness in any form. And I can write my own memories, so . . .”
“Emily Anderson.” I narrow my eyes.
“Let’s not dwell on a fictional ten-year-old.” He continues to stare at me. I’ve never noticed how soft his lips look. “You know what my favorite thing about you is?”
“My many scars?”
He smiles. “Your eyes.” Then, off my look of surprise: “What?”
“That’s one of the things I like best about you,” I murmur.
“I can see you thinking,” he says softly. “And I like it. I like the way you think. That’s what makes you beautiful.” He presses both hands into my hips. “You’re like a fascinatingly complex algorithm.”
“An algorithm?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Who also feels beautiful, and sounds—” He frowns. “Well, you do a lot of yelling.”
I giggle, feeling oozy, like my bones are made of wet clay.
“You make me malfunction, Tess,” he continues, leaning forward to murmur shivery deep into my ear. “That’s how beautiful you are.”
I can no longer stop my arms from moving up to circle his neck. I twist my fingers into his dark, slightly coarse hair, scratching an itch I’ve had for weeks. Then my finger trails down the back of his neck and cautiously, so cautiously, down his jaw and to his lips. A smile lifts the corners of his mouth as my fingertips trace over the bow of his upper lip, the half-moon of his lower. I wonder how it is I never noticed he doesn’t breathe. When my fingers finish their journey, they sneak back into his hair, twisting, playing, feeling every texture. My forehead comes to rest against his, and my skin is flushed and alive. I close my eyes, every nerve in my body singing.
“Can I be honest, Tess?” he whispers.
“Have you not been so far?”
“I really want to kiss you.”
I can’t concentrate on anything except him: in my arms, me in his, his face so close to mine. My answer is barely a whisper. “I think I want to kiss you too.”
“No, I really, really want to kiss you,” Hunter replies, eyes on my mouth. “That desire is overtaking every other function I have, except for standard programming and security, but they never shut off.”
“Robot.” My lips are just half an inch from his, so I speak the words directly into his mouth. “That’s my new nickname for you. Do you like it?”
I feel him smile, our lips a millimeter apart. “I love it.”
“Guys!” Ling’s voice cracks through the clearing. Hunter and I jolt away from each other, just as she appears. “Naz couldn’t—oh.” She stops abruptly, eyes bugging at the sight of our entanglement. Naz and Achilles are right behind her.
My entire face feels blood red. I bumble my way off the tree stump. “We were just—” My command of the English language deserts me completely.
“I bet you were,” Ling says, then holds her wrists up. “We couldn’t break them. Let’s just go.”
“Yes.” I cough. “Go. We should. Now.”
Hunter follows me toward the others. He takes both of L
ing’s wrists and jerks them apart in one fluid motion. Ling gasps as the metal hand-locks snap easily. Then he does the same to Achilles.
“Could you do that the whole time?” Naz asks, dropping the rock she’d been using in irritation.
Hunter glances at me, somewhere between guilt and elation. “You needed to rest before the trek,” he says unconvincingly, moving into the scrub. I’m rewarded with a scowl from Naz, raised eyebrows from Ling, and a high five from Achilles.
chapter 20
We start moving north. Ling and Naz lead the way. Hunter follows, shifting heavy stones and holding aside thick branches. I carry the mirror matter, obsessed with trying to keep the silver liquid in the sun as much as I can. It feels warm and safe in my hand; but then, I’m just feeling warm and safe, period. The memory of my almost-kiss with Hunter replays in my head constantly.
The hike feels easy, even enjoyable. The air smells fresh. The dappled afternoon light is alive with insects and birds. I notice things about the foliage that I never have before: the way twisting silver snail tracks look like a child’s drawing or how moss feels like damp carpet and is the same color as Hunter’s eyes.
After a while Ling falls in step beside me at the back of the group. “So all’s good with you and—” She nods at Hunter, who’s lifting a delighted Achilles up a steep incline ahead of us.
I shrug and make a noncommittal noise, but I can’t keep a silly grin off my face.
“He seems nice,” Ling says, stumbling just slightly over the pronoun.
“He is,” I agree. “And if nothing else, he’s going to make this whole dam thing happen. If . . . everything else falls into place.” Both of us know that what we find at Milkwood will decide for us what the plan actually is.
Ling nods and wipes a smudge of dirt from her arm.
I pause, one hand tight around a low-hanging vine. “I am really sorry, Ling.” I find myself saying. “I’m sorry I lied about Hunter. I’m sorry I betrayed Kudzu. I should have told you about him as soon as—”
“I get why you didn’t.” Ling stops me with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It was a tight spot to be in. Plus, you remember my stance on grudges.”
“They’re for whiny bitches,” I remember.
“Yup.” She sighs, stretching her neck left and right before fixing her gaze back on me. “We do crazy things for love. That’s just what happens.”
“We’re not in love,” I correct her quickly. “We’re just . . . friends.”
Ling dips her eyebrows in disbelief. “Friends who make out?”
“We didn’t,” I say awkwardly. “I mean, I don’t know if I should. He’s . . . and I’m . . .”
Ling’s eyes are sharp. “Do you trust him?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “I do.”
“Do you want to jump his bones?”
“Ling!”
“Do you?”
I fight a blush, eyes on the ground. “Maybe,” I admit.
“Then be open to it. Good guys are few and far between.”
“You’ve certainly changed your tune.”
“I’m not an idiot,” she says matter-of-factly. “He saved our lives. And I see the way he looks at you.” She hooks up an eyebrow and leans toward me, voice deep and breathy. “I want to protect you.”
“Shut up.” I whack her arm, but we’re both giggling.
Ling shoots me a smile. “I’m just really glad you’re okay, Tess.”
Out of nowhere, pain billows into my head. The chip. I suck in a gasp.
“Are you okay?” Ling grabs me, helping me stay upright.
“Tess!” Hunter calls. He must still be jamming it because it’s nowhere near as painful as before. It feels more like what happened on the flight deck—painful, but not completely traumatic.
I pull myself upright, breathing as deep as I can. “I’m fine,” I call back. The pain ebbs. “I’m okay,” I tell Ling. “Let’s keep moving.”
You’ll need more than that to stop me now, Gyan.
It’s late afternoon by the time we reach the outskirts of Milkwood. The sky is a dramatic palette of pink and purple, rose and gold. Naz waves at us to stay back as she scopes out the front of the coffee-colored building. It’s quiet except for the calls of unseen birds. She jerks her head at us to follow her around back.
From the edge of the scrub, we see the backyard is empty too. No folding chairs, no stray musical instruments.
“Is anyone even here?” I whisper.
Hunter’s darting eyes take everything in. “I’m not picking up anything on-cycle.”
“We’re not on-cycle,” Achilles says. “What about comms or off-cycle scratch?”
Hunter shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Weird,” Naz mutters, crouching in the dirt.
“Where is everyone?” Ling sounds worried. “You don’t think . . .”
We’re too late. The Trust has already found them. The Trust is here.
“Let’s get out of here,” Naz says suddenly. But just as she does, a girl’s voice calls out—thin and trembling.
“Naz?”
Our heads twitch in the direction of the voice. It came from the house.
“Gem?” Ling says hoarsely. She bolts upright, even as Naz pulls her to get back down. “Gem!” she screams.
“It’s Ling!” someone yells deliriously. The back door is thrown open and members of Kudzu push their way out. Bo, Tomm, Henny, Gem, Kissy, even Carlos, who bounds across the yard, barking joyfully.
“Bo!” Ling screams, sprinting toward him. She falls into his arms and begins sobbing uncontrollably. He holds her tight, and he’s crying too, kissing her wet cheeks over and over again.
“Achilles! Naz!” Everyone is shouting at once, crying, screaming, hugging. Even Naz is shaking as Gem and Kissy throw themselves on her. They kiss her cheeks and cradle the nub of her arm. “Your arm. They took your arm,” Gem is gasping, “but they didn’t take you.”
I lock eyes with Henny. Wordlessly, she opens her arms, eyes shining with tears. I fall into them, and she wraps me up in a huge hug. I’m crying too, out of exhaustion and relief, and also from sadness. There are two people missing from this reunion: Lana and—
“Benji?” Tomm asks, looking around wildly. “Where’s Benji?”
Ling shakes her head slowly, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “He didn’t make it. He just . . . He didn’t make it.”
With this, the questions start. Where have we been? What happened to us? Did we get the mirror matter? Did we destroy Aevum? And, of course: “Who are you?” Gem calls to Hunter, who has been standing off to the side a little awkwardly.
I gesture for Hunter to come closer to me. He stays where he is, uncertainty written all over his face.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “They won’t bite.” I reach out my hand. He comes forward to take it, slowly. As soon as our fingertips touch, a flurry of electric shocks scoot up my arm and I have to stop myself from drawing in a breath. I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. He squeezes back. Then I turn to face Kudzu. My words are slow and measured. “This is Hunter. He is Aevum.”
There’s a long pause as everyone stares silently at us both. Kissy points at our fingers. “Are you guys . . . together?”
Hunter replies without pause, “Yes.”
Which is at the exact same time I exclaim, “No!” I drop his hand immediately. It hadn’t properly registered we were holding hands the way couples do.
“No,” Hunter corrects himself, taking in my expression. “No. We don’t even like each other.”
Longing for the day when his ability to read social cues becomes a little more sophisticated, I shoot Ling a confused look. As Bo pecks soft kisses on her cheeks, she frowns at me as if to say, “Be open to it.”
“We . . . like each other,” I tell everyone. I instinctively want to add “but we’re just friends,” but I stop myself. I glance at Hunter, who’s looking at me with equal parts expectation and confusion. I grab his hand and p
ull us out of the weight of Kudzu’s collective stare, my cheeks burning red.
Leaving Naz, Ling, and Achilles to explain our entire unwieldy adventure, I drag Hunter behind Naz’s weapons shed, mirror matter in hand. After keeping it in the sun all afternoon, I’m disappointed to see the tube is still only three-quarters full. “Here,” I say, handing it to him. “The sun’s down. You may as well keep this.”
He takes it from me, looking a little apprehensive.
“What?” I ask nervously. “Are you worried there’s not enough?”
“No,” he says softly. “I just—” He breaks off, unable to meet my eyes.
“What?” I repeat insistently. “Hunter, there’s a lot of really crazy stuff going down right now, and worried looks aren’t helping me stay calm.”
He raises his eyes to mine, thick eyebrows drawn together in consternation. “Are you sure you really want to see?” he asks. “How it . . . goes in?”
“Of course I do,” I say eagerly. “How does it work?”
Relief and pleasure chase each other across his face before he swivels away from me. His fingers find a small mole, a few inches below the bottom of his hairline. “Here,” he says. “Can you feel that?”
My fingers replace his, and I’m surprised to feel the mole is hard, like a bead. “I can feel it,” I say.
“Press it. Hard.”
I do. A circle of skin a little bigger than the size of the mirror matter tube flips down neatly. I squeak in surprise, than lean forward to get a better look. There’s a hole in Hunter’s head, a slanting space for the tube of mirror matter. Through the opening, I glimpse silver machinery, sleek and gleaming, and little lights blinking. Blue blood bubbles in clear tubes. It’s everything I saw in Abel’s basement lab come to life. I never got to see inside Magnus’s head like this. “That is so cool,” I say, giddy with excitement. “That’s a singularix! That’s your singularix!”
“Has anyone ever told you,” Hunter muses as I continue to stare openmouthed in fascination, “that you’re not like other girls?”
“Yeah, you, all the time,” I reply, my skin tickling with delight as I see another slosh of blue blood race up a tube. “I’m an algorithm, apparently. Want me to put this in?”
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