"Do you think she's okay?"
Chike paused long enough to toss an exasperated look back in Aldric's direction.
Aldric chewed his lip. "I mean, I'm sure she is. She's very capable, so I know she's doing just fine. But then—what if she isn't?"
Now Chike stopped, turning so he could face Aldric squarely. The interior of the boat was a dark and inexplicably narrow network of damp, mildew-scented corridors; both men had to hunch over slightly to keep from slamming their heads against the pipework above. "Aldric," Chike said. "I'm not usually a violent person, but if you say one more word about Zuri, I might have to smack you."
Aldric groaned. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried."
"Oh, are you really?"
The amount of sarcasm in his voice was jarring. Aldric was personally wounded. "Chike!"
"Listen, Aldric," he said, turning back around, continuing their precarious trek through the darkness, the water sloshing against the boat's side a constant background melody. "You're only proving the point she made earlier by worrying about her so much. I'm not one hundred percent sure what happened between you two, but you know you can't protect her from everything. And that's not your job in the first place."
It was odd that it came to him here, but the image that flashed in his mind then was of his sister, Aurora. The last time he'd seen her had been winter, months ago, the snow falling in a thick and heavy blanket over all of Meathe and stifling every sound. It was dusk, the sky a purplish gray, the color of a bruise. White-blond hair clung to her chapped lips as she urged him, Don't worry about me. The best you can do for me is escape.
He'd been shaking so hard, likely from both the cold and his nerves, that all he could do was stammer: But Rory—
She shook her head. Let me fight my own fight for once. Go, Ricky.
Now, Aldric frowned at the silhouette of his shoes. Not much was different between then and now, was it?
"Yeah," he said after a moment. "I think you're right, Chike."
"I usually am," Chike added, his voice soft. "It's just that you never listen to me."
"Hey. Yes I do."
"No, you don't."
"I do."
"Hm," said Chike. "Very rarely."
Aldric halted in place. "Doors."
Chike stopped, too, his head whipping around until he noted what Aldric was talking about. The hall had widened enough for them to stand side by side, and the corridor was now lined with set after set of heavy padlocked doors, a sickly yellow overhead light illuminating their path.
Chike pointed at Aldric, then pointed to the left. He turned his thumb towards his chest, and jerked his head right. Still without uttering a word, Aldric signaled his agreement.
Most of the doors were unlocked, but the few that were locked Aldric took care of well enough with his ice. None of them led to anything substantial. They were maintenance closets and pantries, dry storage rooms and cargo holds. No sign of Vernon or his cursed tapestry.
Chike and Aldric converged at the single door that marked the end of the hallway. If there was nothing here, they'd have to turn back the way they had come and find a new route. Aldric found his hands trembling in a way they hadn't since he was very young. Impossibly, he was afraid.
Aldric tried the knob. It fell in with ease.
They stepped inside, Aldric preceding Chike, and the first thing that ambushed them was the skin-rippling, bone-chilling cold of the room, as if they had stepped through some arctic portal. Even for Aldric, whose abilities had gifted him a certain tolerance for lower temperatures, it was abysmal.
This room, too, was dark. Aldric spread out his hands, but they touched nothing. It was bigger than any other place in the ship they'd searched thus far.
"Aldric," said Chike, his voice suddenly wary. "I think we should—"
A heavy thud cut him off, making both of them jump. Aldric whirled. The light from the hallway was gone, closing them in the dismal darkness. He strode to the door, yanking on it, but it was like trying to force open a brick wall.
They were stuck.
His mind spinning—there's a way out, there has to be a way out of here—Aldric backed up, a hand resting on his forehead. He only stopped when his back struck something hard and metal, releasing a loud twang with the force of it. He turned, squinting until he could make out what it was: a metal storage rack, brimming with bulky, amorphous shapes wrapped in brown paper.
Chike was already shuddering slightly. "What?" he demanded. His usual calm had quickly evaporated from his voice. "What is it?"
"Bad news," said Aldric, after a tense moment, blinking wide-eyed at his companion. "I think we're locked in some sort of freezer."
Cool river water soaked the bottom of Zuri's torn skirt, trailing in small, frigid rivulets down her calves. On the ship's deck, she crouched behind the cover of the railing, peeking just above it. The beaches were bare, Sinje a ghost city beyond it. The ships still sat idle at the dock, however, the engines humming but going nowhere.
There was still time. Not a lot of it, but some nonetheless.
The silence of everything—no voices, no footsteps, nothing but the low creak and whine of the ship's metal—should have comforted her, for at least she wasn't in any immediate danger. Yet for Zuri it had the opposite effect. The lack of noise almost exacerbated her aloneness, like a cold breeze nipping at her skin. It didn't matter if she knew the other Celestials were nearby, facing the same dangerous task she was. Here, with this yawning stillness in front of her, she was entirely by herself.
She stopped, curled her hands into fists until her nails pricked her palms. She was scared, yes, but that was why she'd done this anyway. She couldn't afford to stop here.
She walked around the ship's upper deck first, ducking around corners and below the railing when she worried someone might see her. Her boots echoed hollowly with every single step.
Zuri swallowed her discomfort, reaching at last for the door that led below deck. The handle was cold beneath her shaky fingers; she pushed it open, disappearing into the shadow.
A once bright world diminished into subtlety: there was only her breath, the slam of her heart against her chest, the sound of rushing water below the boat and through the entanglement of pipes overhead. Sweat beaded on her skin. She brushed the wall with her hand, the metal cool and damp beneath the tips of her fingers. There was no light, no evidence at all of human presence.
Almost as if the ship were empty.
Zuri's mind raced. How could that be? She had watched from the shoreline as soldiers filed on, laughing and talking, nudging each other, as if they weren't boarding a ship to a warfront, as if nothing at all was amiss. Except no laughter swelled against the walls here, no voices bounced off of each other. She'd entered a void.
Something curled around her bicep. Before she could even think to scream, she was yanked into a dark alcove, her back striking the wall with an echoing thunk.
Panting, Zuri whipped out her free arm, closing her hand around her attacker's throat. She heard a gasp—an oddly familiar gasp, at that—and then: "Fuck, Zuri, it's—it's me."
Zuri lowered her hand, squinting until she made out his face, his hair, lank with sweat, falling into his yellow eyes. "Sorin," she said. She had the feeling she should have been more surprised. "You—oh, you asshole. I should choke you!"
Even in the dimness, she could tell he was taken aback. He sighed, loosening his grip on her arm. "All I did was make a mess of things, Zuri. If you hadn't agreed to work with me then the explosion at Mulaim never would have happened. I was doing you all a favor."
"No you weren't," Zuri said viciously. "You were doing what you do best. You were running away."
His hesitation was slight, but Zuri noticed it. "Oh, spare me," he said. "What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?"
"Same thing you're doing here, if I had to guess. Looking for Vernon so he can put a stop to this."
Sorin said nothing, just frowned at her, pushing a sharp breath out through his nose.
"He's here, isn't he?" It was simultaneously the most hopeful and the most terrified Zuri had ever felt. She studied his expression, and let out a scoff of disbelief. "By Kiro, he is here. You figured it out long before we did, and instead of telling us, you just up and disappeared? What is wrong with you?"
He shook his head. "I told you, Zuri, it was better—"
"For who?" Zuri snapped, and suddenly her hands were moving of their own volition, her fingers snatching at his collar, yanking him forward. "Don't say it was better for me, because you're not even thinking about me. You never do. You only ever think about you."
Sorin swallowed. It must have dawned on him as it dawned on Zuri how close they were, the only thing separating the two of them a barely inch-wide space. "That's not true," he croaked. He closed his eyes, swallowed again, his voice brittle as wet paper: "You have no idea how wrong you are about that."
"Oh, am I now? Am I wrong? Because everything you've done lately says differently."
He winced, raising his chin, chest rising and falling with every rapid breath. "Zuri, I know. I know, okay? It's just—now's really not the time for this."
If not now, when? she wanted to say, but held her tongue. Instead she simply stared at him, her jaw clenched. She was furious with him, and yet beneath that fury something else burned and burned until it all bled together in a dizzying flare of passion.
She couldn't explain it, but she didn't think the point of it was to explain it.
"Sorin," Zuri said after a moment, her voice lower now, nearly a whisper. She uncurled her fist, her nails brushing Sorin's collarbone. "I have made up my mind, or rather my heart seems to have made it up for me. I see you, okay? How much you care even after everything you've lost. I see you, and I want you. So please. Please stop running from me. From...us."
Sorin shuddered as if something had struck him. Then he was tilting his head down, resting his forehead against hers, his index finger ghosting across her cheek. "I'm sorry, Zuri," he said then, and she adored the way he said her name, like it was precious, a work of art encased within only four letters. "But there is a reason I run. No matter how closely I hold on to something, I'm just so much better at losing things than I am at keeping them."
Zuri inhaled. She'd never wanted more to hold him than she did then, to fold him into her arms and promise again and again that she wasn't leaving him—to do whatever it took to make him believe it. There was too much to say. Too much to do.
She didn't get the chance.
A loud thud interrupted them, and a glaring white light flicked on, searing Zuri's vision. Sorin grabbed Zuri's hand, his eyes saying what his mouth didn't: Stay behind me.
Zuri grasped his arm in both hands, as if that would stop him, somehow, from stepping out of their hiding place. "Sorin, wait."
"It's okay," he whispered, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him. "This is what we wanted, anyway. Everything will be fine."
Everything will be fine. People only said that when there was a reason to believe it wouldn't be.
Someone spoke, their voice lofty and proud: "Come on out now, you two. All of us are much too old for hide and seek, don't you think?"
Zuri shivered. She would recognize the voice anywhere.
It was Vernon Schmitt.