But that’s the only reason I did it.
Because we were totally about to die, right?
We stare at each other, conscious of how close we’re still standing. Neither of us is moving away. He looks into my eyes and I open my mouth, but for the first time in as long as I can remember, I have no idea what to say, and the only thing that saves me from the embarrassment of being speechless, when the only thing I’m really good at is talking, is Zila’s voice crackling over comms.
“Finian, Scarlett, are you still … ?”
“Breathing?” Finian says, his voice a little uneven.
“Apparently so.”
And there it is again. That same creepy black-cat-walking-on-your-grave feeling. The feeling that—
“I am one confused boy right now,” Finian says.
“Didn’t we just … explode a moment ago?” I ask.
He meets my eyes again. I can still feel that almost-kiss between us, and I know he can too. And I see him steel himself, take a deep breath.
“… Lemme check,” he says.
I feel electricity crackle when his fingertips brush mine. He takes my hand in his and he stares at me for just a second longer in silent question, and he’s totally not my type but I’m still not moving away. And now he’s leaning closer, and closer, and even though we’re not about to die anymore, he’s kissing me, oh Maker, he’s kissing me, the sensation sizzling like live current though my lips and all the way down my spine. I feel myself surge against him, kissing him back, tingling as I feel his hands slip over my hips, down to that ass even the universe wouldn’t dare waste, and squeeze in all the right ways.
Well, Finian de Karran de Seel. Bless my stars.
Who in the galaxy would’ve guessed you had game?
Our lips break apart, and a part of me aches as he leans away, speaking into comms again.
“Yeah,” he reports. “We’re definitely still alive.”
“I am investigating,” Zila says. “Please hold.”
The comms channel crackles out, leaving us alone. Fin and I are still pressed against each other and that kiss hangs between us now, and if one of us doesn’t say something, I know we’re going to start again. Given the circumstances, that’s probably not the smartest idea.
I glance down at his hands.
Yep. Still on my ass.
“You know, when Zila said ‘Please hold,’ I’m not sure that’s what she meant, de Seel.”
He laughs, nervous, releasing his grip. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
And I lunge for his mouth again, just a brief collision, hard and hot. Biting his lip as I break away to let him know I’m still hungry.
“But we need to figure out what the hells just happened.” “Yeah.” He breathes deep and steps away, dragging his metal-tipped fingers through his shock of white hair. “Yeah, we do.”
We’re still in the corridor outside the shuttle’s engine room, doors still sealed. The air is sharp with the smell of burned plasteel, fused wiring, smoke. Looking through the plexiglass, I can see what that railgun round did to our engines when it hit us, and I know I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure engines aren’t supposed to come in fifty different pieces.
“We need those to fly,” I say.
“Who said you couldn’t have been a Gearhead?”
“Every instructor I ever had at the academy, along with my guidance counselor and the head of the Engineering Division.”
Finian smirks and glances around us. His dark eyes roam the ceiling, the ruined engine room. And then his stare drifts to my chest. His jaw goes a little slack, and I can practically see his eyes glazing over behind his contacts.
What is it with boys and boobs, honestly?
“Hey.” I snap my fingers. “I know they’re sensational, but seriously, mind on the job, de Seel.”
“No.” He taps his throat. “Your necklace. Remember?”
I reach up to my throat. To the necklace we found in the Dominion Repository back on Emerald City. Each of us had a gift waiting in that vault, courtesy of Admiral Adams and Battle Leader de Stoy. Tyler got his new boots, Kal the cigarillo case that saved his life. Finian got a ballpoint pen, which he was hilariously annoyed about; Zila got a pair of earrings with hawks on them. And I got this diamond necklace, inscribed with the words Go with Plan B. Except right before we were about to be blasted into our component molecules, Fin realized it wasn’t diamond at all.
“It’s Eshvaren crystal.”
And yeah, that is weird. We’d found Eshvaren crystal in the Fold before—the probe that led Auri to the Echo. But that doesn’t really explain why the academy commanders gave me a necklace of the stuff.
Or why we’re not dead?
The adrenaline of almost dying and almost kissing and then definitely not dying but, yes, definitely kissing is wearing off now, and my hands feel shaky. But my eyes still roam Finian’s body as he looks around the corridor in that annoyed/ confused way he has, like the universe has decided to inconvenience him specifically. Limbs wrapped in the silver cladding of his exosuit, ghost-pale skin, and pitch-black eyes narrowed as he tilts his head.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he says carefully. “But we’re dead-stick in a Syldrathi ship during a massive fleet battle inside Terran space. Even if we survived the blast from the Weapon … shouldn’t some Terran fighter jock be blowing us to pieces right now?”
I frown, tapping comms.
“Zila? What’s happening out there? Can you see the Eshvaren Weapon? What’s the status on the enemy fleet? Are we in danger?”
“We …” Her voice fails.
“Zila?”
And I look at Finian, and I can feel it in him, just like I can feel it in me. That creepy-crawling right up our spines. That feeling like …
“Scar, this conversation seems … awfully familiar.”
“I know what you mean.”
He shakes his head, frowning. “It sounds crazy, but I’m having the strongest feeling of—”
“Déjà vu.”
He blinks. “What the hells is déjà vu?”
“It’s a sensation. The impression you’ve said or done this before.”
“Oh. Right.” He nods vigorously. “Yeah. I’m definitely having that. But Betraskans call it tahk-she.”
“Yeah, I know. But on Terra we call it déjà vu. It’s French.”
“I don’t know any French.”
“Stick around,” I wink. “I’ll teach you some.”
Zila’s voice breaks over comms again, laced with urgency. “Scarlett, please hurry to the bridge. Diplomacies are required.”
And again, I’m struck with that feeling. That we’ve said, done, lived this moment before. And more, that it ended really, really badly. I hold out my hand, and Fin takes it without thinking, and we’re running up the corridor together. Fin’s exosuit seethes and hisses as we sprint, boots pounding the metal as we take the stairs up to the cockpit.
Zila is seated in the pilot’s chair, looking slightly frazzled, which for her almost constitutes a complete nervous breakdown. At first glance, our vis-systems all look dead—nothing but blackness on any of our viewscreens. No planets, not even any stars, which is kinda—