It was full of what looked like bedding. Not very exciting. Merrick was dug in, though, methodically going through each of the other containers.
I wanted to see the rest of the ship, so I slid toward the door. But as soon as I was within a few feet of it, Merrick said, “Rain,” in the warning tone I know all too well.
I sighed and started looking in a second box. It’s not his fault he’s so boring, I reminded myself as I pawed through a bunch of pillows. He just takes his duty to protect me a little too seriously.
As I moved onto a third box, I imagined slipping out of the room and continuing to search the ship on my own. It would probably creak a little bit—not surprising, considering how old it is—but that wouldn’t scare me at all. Nothing would.
I’d cross paths with everyone else as I explored. Princess Kali, Beckett—a strange shiver runs through me at the thought of the mysterious woman—Max, Gage. They’d all tell me to go back to the bridge, but I’d be undaunted—
“I’m pretty certain there’s no water hidden in those pillowcases, Rain.” Merrick’s carefully regulated voice chased away my daydream and dropped me right back into the dismal little room packed with boxes full of things we didn’t actually need, like a weird amount of blank paper and blue ink. “Why don’t you check those boxes on the other side of the door?”
It was the last thing I wanted to do, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. I never do.
Merrick and I worked in （semi） companionable silence for a few minutes. But when he walked behind a giant pile of boxes nearly as high as the doorway, I seized the opportunity and slipped out of the room and back into the corridor.
So now here I am, following the hallway to the next door, which takes me into what I assume is the kitchen—or galley, as we’re on a ship. This room is wider than the previous one; there’s a table in the middle with ten seats around it and some sort of sink-type thing on the side, but when I turn the tap, nothing comes out. I guess Gage was right and there really is no water on the ship. There are also some tall cabinet structures. I open one, and it’s cold inside but there’s no food. There’s nothing in any of the other cabinets, either, and my stomach rumbles. I’ve never actually been hungry before—it’s a new experience, one I try to accept for what it is. A chance provided to me by the universe and the Light to feel more connected with so many of the less-privileged citizens of Senestris.
I know it’s not the same—I’ll be hungry for a few days while many of them have been hungry for their entire lives—but it’s a start. And something I won’t forget, even when I’m safely back at the monastery.
Footsteps sound behind me. Merrick, of course. He probably panicked when he realized I was gone and came looking for me. “There’s nothing to eat here,” I say without turning around. “Looks like no supper for us tonight.”
“Fuck. I’m starving.”
I whirl around at the voice, because it definitely doesn’t belong to Merrick. It turns out it’s the woman. Beckett.
I smile.
She doesn’t smile back.
But that doesn’t deter me. Honestly, I’m not sure anything could. I’ve never met anyone like Beckett before, and she fascinates me.
There’s an edge of danger to her, but Ian has it as well, and so does Merrick, when he lets it show. But I’m not fascinated by them. Maybe it’s because I’ve never seen it in a woman before—the sisters at the monastery aren’t exactly the dangerous sort—but, honestly, I think it’s more than that.
I just don’t know what.
She’s a good fifteen to twenty centimeters taller than I am. Her curly black hair is cut off at her chin, like someone hacked away at it with a pair of kitchen shears, and her full mouth is drawn tight like she’s in pain.
Instinctively, I move closer—if there’s anything I can do to ease her pain, I would like to—and her eyes follow my every move. They’re huge and the same yellow as the early-morning sun over Serati, with the longest lashes I’ve ever seen. She’s probably from Permuna—lashes like that are apparently good for keeping sand out of your eyes. But they’re also really pretty, especially when they frame those striking eyes of hers.
As I get closer, I notice that she’s got a little bit of blood crusted under her nose—it stands out in stark definition against her olive skin—and there’s a lot more on the front of her gray jumpsuit.
“You’re hurt,” I tell her, waving a hand toward her face.
She frowns, then reaches up and wipes a finger under her nose before looking at it. “It’s nothing.”
“Was it in the explosion?”
Her face goes blank for a moment, like she’s having trouble remembering. Then she blinks and shakes her head. “Nah.”
As she does, I can’t help but notice the jagged scar on her neck. It’s healed, but badly, and it makes me sad when I think about what might have caused it.
Then again, a lot of things make me sad when I look at her.
I want to ask what caused the blood, but then she winces, pain flashing in her topaz-colored eyes. Then she raises her hand and rubs the back of her neck, just like she did earlier.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Shit, no,” she answers with a sardonic little laugh.
“Let me have a look.” Without waiting for a reply, I move around behind her. She goes very still but doesn’t say anything as I hop up on a counter and run my hands through her tangled curls.
Some of the stiffness goes out of her, and her shoulders sag. I raise her hair and stare at the ugly scar that runs the length of the back of her skull and down her neck to her spine.
It’s an angry red line—not new, but, like the one under her ear, not something she got today. “There’s a scar here,” I tell her.
“Yeah.”
I wait for her to say something else, but when she doesn’t, I prompt, “What happened?”
“They did…something. I just don’t know what.”
An unfamiliar feeling starts burning low in my belly, but I ignore it as I try to piece together what she’s saying—and what she’s not. “Who did something?”
“On that station.”
“The Caelestis?” I ask, trying to keep the shock from my voice.
She frowns. “I suppose. If that’s where we’ve just come from.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I was…” She shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it. “I think I was drugged when they took me on board. I don’t remember much from my time there—just a cell and the lab where they…” She waves a hand at the back of her neck and the scar.
“Where they did this to you.” I remember Ian saying something about experiments. I’d thought he was exaggerating or making stuff up to annoy the princess, but it sounds like he was telling the truth.
I hop down to stand in front of her again. Just the idea that someone could do such a thing is a revelation to me.
“That’s evil.”
She lets out a short laugh. “That’s the Corporation, baby.”
“They’re doing experiments on innocent people?” The feeling in my stomach is getting hotter, harder to ignore.