She tugged the hood of her cape up to hide her face as she stepped through the hatch and onto the hangar’s deck. Davion was already making a slow circuit of the ship, his brow furrowed as he inspected the outer hull for the first time since their escape from Centrallia. He wasn’t quite frowning, but she could tell that he wasn’t entirely happy with what he was seeing, either.
“Everything okay?” she asked, pulling the hatch closed behind her.
“Looks like it,” he said, pausing to inspect a scorch mark on the hull. His nose wrinkled a moment before he frowned. “They got too close,” he muttered, low enough that no one else would hear. “Either their gunners are getting better or I’ve gotten slower.”
“We’re both still alive,” she said quietly, threading her arm through his and stepping close. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed as she continued, “I’m pretty sure that’s what matters the most in this scenario. We’re not going to explode when we take off, right?”
“No,” he said, exhaling a long breath. “No, we’re not. I just don’t like how close it all was, that’s all. Kicks my paranoia into a higher gear that it needs to be at.”
“Or maybe right where it needs to be at,” she said. “You said we needed to be careful. I’m going to take you at your word when it comes to that.”
“Thanks,” he murmured. “I hope I live up to expectations.”
“You have so far,” she said. “I foresee that continuing.”
He nodded, brow furrowing for a moment before he sighed. “Right. Well, they should have a crew over to refuel us shortly. Let’s go see what we can find on the rings.”
“I’m guessing the rings are consumer central?”
One corner of his mouth curved into a smile and he nodded, turning and heading toward a wide hatchway at the far end of the hangar. People flowed through it from various ships, heading deeper into the station. “Yeah. Namis III has a set of five levels set up in a ring around a central hub that’re the mercantile districts. Food, shopping, entertainment, machine and supply shops, all that kind of thing. Anything someone passing through might need. Hell, some folks come here on vacation for a taste of something different.”
“Sounds eclectic,” she said, then grinned at him. He smiled back, glancing down for a moment.
“Just stay close,” he said. “As long as we stay together, we’ll be fine.”
“Safety in numbers?”
“Something like that.”
They fell into the uneven flow of people out of the hangar. “How long has it been since you were last here?” She asked softly, keeping her voice low enough that she hoped no one would overhear.
He frowned for a moment, thinking. “Four-ish years, I think,” he said. “Time can be hard.”
“I can only imagine,” she murmured. “Just barely, at that.”
He squeezed her arm. “It’ll be okay,” he said gently. “Just hang in there. You’re stronger than you think, all things considered.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t,” he said. When she looked up to meet his gaze, he was smiling faintly at her. “Trust me.”
“I do,” she murmured. “I do trust you.”
He drew her arm a little tighter against his side and she stepped closer. Standing that close, she realized he was at least as tense as she felt, though no one would know by looking at him. She exhaled a quiet breath, closing her eyes for a moment. It was long enough for them to clear the corridor from the hanger and reach a series of trams that would take them elsewhere on the station.
Davion drew her toward one of the tram cars, his pace picking up slightly. She hurried along at his side, hanging on a little tighter than she necessarily had meant to. The car he picked was relatively empty, occupied only by an older couple with a small child other than them. The relative privacy—she and Davion took a spot at one end of the car, leaving the couple and the child to the other end—was a comfort for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on beyond it perhaps being simply paranoia.
“What first?” She murmured to him, watching station lights flash by as the tram car started to move.
“Probably clothes,” he said. “Then supplies. Neither should take very long.”
She nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of her lower lip. “And then what?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “None of this was quite what I’d planned.”
“Neither of us planned any of this,” she said. “We’ll figure it out.”
He squeezed her arm. “One way or another.”
———
It took a few hours to pick up new clothing—several changes for each of them and additional necessary odds and ends. It struck her that he didn’t seem to worry too much about how much they spent, but after thinking about it for a while, it made sense that he wouldn’t. He probably had a stash of back pay and other cash squirreled away just in case and living in the Protected Zone, most of it was probably just laying in an account somewhere. He seemed distracted, though, as they finished at one of the shops, his gaze drawn to something going on not far away.
Someone had rigged up a projector and a screen and was playing a broadcast she could only assume was from elsewhere—some kind of speech. The man speaking was broad-shouldered and red-haired, fair-complexioned with a few freckles. He was taller than average and had a presence that even broadcast from light years away that was electric.
Her stomach twisted. He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
Davion’s fingers threaded through hers. “Are you hungry?” He asked, his voice quiet.
“Hm?” She started, glancing toward him, tearing her gaze from the screen and the man on it. “I mean, I could eat. Are you?”
He shrugged. “I could stand to wait until we’re done picking up supplies.”
She nodded, her gaze drifting back to the screen. The shot had shifted, clearly some kind of news broadcast, because now there was a pretty woman on screen talking, accompanied by a still image of another woman that hovered to one side of her.
Her breath caught.
That picture. That picture is me.
She let go of Davion’s hand, moving toward the screen. He startled, moving after her quickly.
“What’s—”
She held up a hand, straining to hear.
“—O’Shaughnessy continues to demand the release of his daughter, allegedly taken into custody by the Veritan League on Koltaris five months ago before a scheduled appearance at the University of Nicolaiev. O’Shaughnessy was president of the Pentarch up until two years ago when he was ousted by a military junta allegedly backed by Veritan separatists. Today’s speech from Altaiir is the third in recent days O’Shaughnessy has given asking that his daughter be released unharmed and the first to directly name the Veritan League as the culpable party. There has been no response from the Veritan League at this time, though sources close to the situation indicated that an official statement will be released in the coming days.”
She felt light-headed. Bile crept higher in her throat.
Davion touched her shoulder and she whirled on him.
“You knew,” she hissed. “You knew and didn’t tell me.”
His eyes widened even as his expression went slack. “Kelcie—”
“You fucking knew who I was and what happened and you didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He swallowed, his hand falling away from her shoulder. “What would you have done if I had? What would it have changed?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she hissed, mindful enough to keep her voice low even though all she really wanted to do was scream at him. “At least I would have known.”
She spun away from him, heading blindly down the curve of the ring, thoughts a maelstrom.
Her father was looking for her.
Her father was making speeches and demands that she be freed. Did he know? Did he have any idea that she was actually safe, already free?
Davion had known and hadn’t told her—he hadn’t told her everything. He’d given her a name and nothing else.
Why? Why would he do that? She wanted to throw up. It hadn’t been a lie of anything but omission, but it hurt more than she wanted to think about.
She squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling, hands squeezing into fists.
Then she began to run, not caring where she ended up, as long as it was somewhere she could be alone.
