"You look thin," Simon says when I slink home. I didn't expect him here.
"Yeah, haven't had the time or stomach to do more than watch food move by at the speed of light."
He slides over to the side of his cot, his elbows resting against his knees. "You should eat something. Let me make you a sandwich."
"I'm fine."
"You look awful."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious, Nika. You look real bad. Are you sleeping?"
I wave away his questions. "Louis was asking after you. You might want to go pay him a visit before he kills himself over his unrequited love."
Simon gives me his dad-look—the only one he has ever mastered. "I'm not dropping this," it says, "until I hear an acceptable answer."
"I can sleep when we're off this pile of debris. Until then, it's my duty as Commander of one of the ARCs to make sure everyone is way more prepared than me. On that note, what should I tell Louis? Have you packed? Are you ready to go? He seems to be very interested in the state of your clothes." I mock a little too hard.
Simon waves me off this time. "Louis can go to hell. He was screwing me toward the end of the Sink's life there and—" He rolls his eyes when he catches my smirk. "On sales, Nika. Sales. Holy Heap on a hand crank, get your mind out of the gutter."
This feels a little more normal, but not entirely.
"What are you up to today?" I ask out of politeness. I don't believe he'll actually give me a straight answer.
"To break it off with Tahn."
I double-take. "For real?"
"Yeah, for real. We have ten days left, right? I found out we're on the same ARC, so I'm going to have to break this off now. I don't know if I'd have the guts to do it later when we're stuck together on the ship."
"That's a really good idea." I slide next to him and put my hand on his erratically bouncing knee. "What's got you worried?"
"Not much. No one likes a break-up."
There's nothing left to say. He's stalling. He's distracting me away from what's actually twisting his brain around a bolt.
"And it's going to be awkward as hell, but at least it will be done. Yeah." He pushes himself off his knees to stand. "I'm going to get it over with now."
Simon on a mission is dangerous. Not because he's volatile, but because when he makes a decision, he moves through with tunnel-vision all the way to the end, ignoring the glaring red flags around him. From what I can tell, he hasn't thought about the consequences. This was a phenomenal idea at the time, and therefore, it will happen.
Impulsiveness must be an inherited trait through association. I am my father's daughter.
Drumming my fingers on the table, I consider my options. I can stay here to blink away a few more hours of sleep before heading back to ARC10. Or I can follow him and makes sure this impending disaster doesn't totally ruin him. As proud as I am of my father, I don't trust Tahn to accept the news well.
I push myself off the counter and head out the door before it closes.
So he doesn't think I'm spying on him, questioning his capability, or sticking my fists where they don't belong, I follow Simon at a distance. He barrels forward. Me? My muscles, bones, blood, everything—I'm as heavy as cinder blocks as I lag through the Rotunda behind my father.
This shouldn't take long. I'll just keep an eye on it and then high-tail it back to the pod to sleep.
Simon's destination is the welder's workshop on Level 3. Tahn is somewhere immersed in the sparking crowd of other metal-workers bent over projects. They're deep in concentration with black masks hovering over flames that sprout from the metal like the tails of stars. Nearly twenty of them work in dim lighting with the red flare of their explosive candles heating, melting, and welding the iron pieces in high demand for the big move.
"Tahn, I need to speak with you," Simon says over the noise.
A set of sparks from the middle shut off as the flame dies in the gloved hands. A black mask flicks up to reveal a weathered face with mild, watery eyes. He appears harmless. He always has.
When he stretches his body off the bench to meet my father at the quieter end of the room, I remember the place where my fingers fit perfectly around his windpipe—those same fingertips itch now.
Tahn and Simon wander to a secluded corridor where screaming steel and violent streaks of gleaming fire interrupt the shadows. A catwalk swings gently above theirs. After spying a ladder, I climb it to snag the best seat in the house. I can't hear what they're saying, but Simon gesticulates with confidence. With his hands by his sides, Tahn appears to be listening. As long as his hands stay right there, I won't intervene.
I observe their perforated bodies through the holes in the floor, waiting for warning signs. We hang from these fat catwalks, me, Simon, and Tahn. We're the only ones here to witness anything. It's better this way.
Tahn's body stiffens, beginning with his right hand—I anticipate the punch before Simon does. The clenching fingers swing once and knock Simon on the side of the head. My father stumbles backward, tapping at his jaw gingerly and holding his head high.
His assailant's face contorts. What used to be void of emotion is now creased in rage. His lip curls in a snarl. He pulls back for another hit.
I jump over the side of the catwalk and land in front of Simon who stumbles back, holding the railing.
"This is not your fight," Tahn warns me.
"This isn't supposed to be a fight," I respond, cutting him off from view of my father.
"Come on, Nika. I've done what I had to do."
"We're not done here, Lorn. You owe me." Tahn points a dirty finger at Simon.
Tapping at his cut cheek, Simon sidles up to me to address the shitbag directly. "There's nothing to give you. We're all leaving. It's over. There's nothing more I can do."
A twisted smile creeps over Tahn's face. "We're going to have five years together on our ship. You think it's over, but you're so wrong." He cocks his head to face me. "And this bitch isn't going to have a clue. You're going to be gone, Little Girl. Thousands of light years away. So far away, you'll never hear him squeal."
Quick, like the slam of a hammer, the crux of my elbow slams into his face.
He recoils as blood seeps through his nose and lip. I strike again, hitting him exactly in the same place.
His eyes widen in shock. His warm blood coats my arm. Clenched fists waver at our sides in anticipation of the other's next move.
"You better call the bitch off me, Lorn. You're going to regret it if she gets me angry."
"Janika, let's go home."
I advance on Tahn one more time, facing him eye to eye. He doesn't back down and neither do I.
"Don't fool yourself. I'll have eyes and ears aboard your ship. I'll know every step you take and every shit you squeeze out, you worthless dickhead." My teeth clench as I grind out the words. "We might not be on the same ship, but I am part of the command that keeps your useless carcass breathing. So, if you want to see what it's like to hold your limp dick to piss on another fucking planet—" My voice rumbles, groaning with the swaying metal of the catwalks. "You will not fuck with this Reaper's family."
We've inched so close, I can taste the copper of his blood in the hot air. If my tongue reached out, I'd lap up the real deal. His beady eyes remain immobile.
A jab of cold metal penetrates the skin below my ribs.
"Janika!" Simon's voice is mingles with the cacophonous noise of the workshop.
Tahn sprints out of the corridor. My hands hold my shirt where the blood gurgles out.
"Help!" Simon shouts as I lean over the railing, holding myself upright while the pain ebbs in and the blood flows out.
"Dad, it's not bad. I can walk."
"You've been stabbed! What do you mean it's not bad?" He panics.
"Just let me lean on you and make sure the doors are open when we try to move through them. Can you do that?"
"Honey, I'm so sorry."
"Dad! Listen to me." He finally pulls his attention to my face as opposed to my bleeding side. I need to act fast. "I need stitches. That's all. Please get me to Level Two."
"Right, okay. Good." He fumbles around to hoist me from the railing. He props me up enough to lean against him as we initiate our trek in an awkward three-legged hobble.
"Get out of the way!" he screams at people as we pass. They pull back as we limp by, blood leaking from my side.
Our notoriety from the Sink garners instant support. Many people drop what they're doing to rush ahead, prepare the Medics, and scan-open the doors for us. Another regular appears on my left. Someone clamps fresh linens against the bleeding wound.
"Almost there, Honey. Hang on."
The pain floods me. I collapse, unable to inch farther as three people replace blood-soaked linens. Pints of red coat the floor. Have I always bled this much?
The world spins. My father's face disappears into a black hole, taking the sounds of the URE with him.