I see it when her face changes. The fire goes out of her eyes; the tension leaves her shoulders. And then she blinks at me— Confused.
“I don’t understand,” Nazeera says quietly.
The sun has been dead for hours now, and the dark, winding path is lit only by low lanterns and the diffused light of nearby tents. She’s bathed in it. Glowing. More beautiful than ever, which is nothing short of terrifying, to be honest. Her eyes are big and bright and she’s staring at me like she’s just a girl and I’m just a guy and we’re not both just a pair of dumbasses headed directly for the sun. Like we’re not both murderers, more or less.
I sigh. Shove a hand through my hair. The fight has left my body and I’m suddenly so exhausted I’m not sure I can keep standing.
“I need to go to bed,” I say, and try to move past her.
“Wait—”
She grabs my arm and I nearly jump out of my skin at the sensation. I pull away, unnerved, but she steps forward and suddenly we’re standing so close together I can practically feel her breathing. The night is quiet and crisp and she’s all I can see in this flickering darkness. I breathe, breathing her in—something subtle, something sweet—and the memory hits me so hard it knocks the air from my lungs.
Her arms around my neck.
Her hands in my hair.
The way she pinned me against the wall, the way our bodies melted together, the way she ran her hands down my chest and told me I was gorgeous. The soft, desperate sounds she made when I kissed her.
I know now how it feels to have her in my arms. I know what it’s like to kiss her, to lick the curve of her lips, to feel her gasp against my neck. I can still taste her, feel the shape of her, strength and softness, under my hands. I’m not even touching her and it’s like it’s happening again, frame by frame, and I can’t stop staring at her mouth because that damn diamond piercing keeps catching the light, and for a moment—for just a moment—I nearly lose my mind and kiss her again.
My head is full of noise, blood rushing to my ears.
She drives me insane. I don’t even know why I like her so much. But I have no control over how my body reacts when she’s around. It’s wild and illogical and I love it. I hate it.
Some nights I fall asleep running back the tapes—her eyes, her hands, her mouth— But the tapes always end in the same spot.
“It would never work, you know? We’re not—” She makes a motion between our bodies. “We’re so different, right?”
“Kenji?”
Right. Yeah. Shit, I’m tired.
I take a step backward. The cold night air is sharp and bracing, and when I finally meet her eyes again, my head is clear.
But my voice sounds strange when I say, “I should go.”
“Wait,” Nazeera says again, and puts her hand on my chest.
Puts her hand on my chest.
She’s got her hand on me like she owns me, like I’m so easily stopped and conquered. A flame of indignation sparks to life inside of me. It’s obvious she’s used to getting whatever she wants. Either that, or she takes it by force.
I remove her hand from my chest. She doesn’t seem to notice.
“I don’t understand,” she says. “What do you mean I don’t know how to communicate? If I didn’t tell you anything about the mission, it was because you didn’t need to know.”
I roll my eyes.
“You think I didn’t need to know that you’d given Anderson a heads-up? You think all of us didn’t need to know that he was （a） alive, and （b） on his way to murder us? You didn’t think of giving Delalieu a warning to shut his mouth just long enough to keep himself from getting murdered?” My frustration is snowballing. “You could’ve told me that you were going to throw us in the asylum temporarily. You could’ve told me that you were going to drug me—you didn’t need to knock me out and kidnap me and let me think I was about to be executed. I would’ve come voluntarily,” I say, my voice growing louder. “I would’ve helped you, goddammit.”
But Nazeera is unmoved. Her eyes go cold. “You clearly have no idea what I’m dealing with,” she says quietly, “if you really think it was that simple. I couldn’t risk—”
“And you clearly have no idea how to work in a group,” I say, cutting her off. “Which makes you nothing more than a liability.”
Her eyes go wide with rage.
“You fly solo, Nazeera. You live by a moral code I don’t understand, which basically means you do whatever you want, and you change allegiances whenever it feels right or convenient. You cover your hair sometimes—and only when you think it’s safe—because it’s rebellious, but there’s no real commitment in it. You don’t actually align yourself with any group, and you still do whatever your dad tells you to do until you decide, for a little while, that you don’t want to listen to The Reestablishment.