and have better lives. Lai could bring them into the Order. She’s said so before. But I can’t help them until this war is over. That’s why I need to keep spying. The kids’ safety is the most important—right? This will be better for them in the long run, won’t it?
“Something on your mind?” Gabriel asks. He’s looking at me curiously and I realize I don’t know what kind of expression is on my face.
I hesitate. I don’t like lying to him, but I say, “Some more of my memories returned last night. Well, pieces. Nothing clear.” It started happening a month ago. Dreams that feel too real to be dreams. For the most part, it’s been more like sensations than anything. The image of a dark back alley that didn’t look like the architectural style of Sector Eight’s buildings. The taste of a drink I didn’t recognize, laughing with a dark-haired, copper-skinned someone who seemed somehow familiar. The smell of blood. It’s honestly worse than when I didn’t remember anything. All these little things with no context are driving me crazy. There isn’t any way for me to figure out what they mean, and I don’t know why they’ve suddenly started coming back, either. They hit at random, with no apparent connections between the memories. I hate it.
“Ah,” Gabriel says softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” I’ve told Gabriel before how frustrating it is, so he gets what I mean without me having to explain.
“I’m still sorry you’re going through that. It must be hard not remembering anything.”
“I used to think that,” I say. “But you know, recently, I’ve been thinking maybe it’s a good thing I don’t remember. I mean, I was able to become someone totally different, right? And better, I think. I’m definitely glad I’m not war-hungry anymore. It doesn’t sound like I was exactly happy before, either.”
“And now?”
“Huh?”
“Are you happy now?” Gabriel asks.
I watch him as I think about it. It’s true that guilt and anxiety crush me every time I report to Lai or collect intel for her. But it’s not like that stuff is constant. I also get to babysit with Gabriel and joke around with Cal. Yeah, this situation in general isn’t great, but I mean it when I say, “Yeah. I think I am happy now. I mean, I’ve got you, don’t I?” My face feels hot, so I quickly add, “And Cal and everyone else, too, I mean.”
Smooth. I’ve been wanting to tell Gabriel about my crush on him, but between stabbing him and all his friends in the back, not being sure if he’s interested in guys, and my not being sexually attracted to people or wanting physical intimacy, there are way too many obstacles. And as if that wasn’t enough, he still remembers the old me. There’s no way he’d be interested in being with someone like that.
I don’t have the guts to look Gabriel in the face and see if he caught my slip. But his voice sounds the same as always when he says, “I’m happy when we’re together, too. You’re pretty bad at looking after kids, and you’re bad at being honest, too—like, really bad.” I grimace. “But you’re an amazing artist. Your ability to create beautiful things is breathtaking. You genuinely care about others. You give your all to support your friends, and you try to do good by everyone. I like that about you. I like a lot of things about you.”
I finally manage to meet his eyes. His slanted smile is softer than usual. It makes my heart pound painfully. I almost say something—I’m not sure what, maybe a confession of my feelings or that I’m not nearly as good as he thinks I am—but then the little ringleader of the kids calls, “Erik, Gabriel! We’re gonna arm wrestle, come referee!”
The moment shatters. Gabriel laughs. His expression is back to usual, all private gentleness gone. “We better go join them, huh?”
“Guess you’re right.” I don’t know if what I feel is disappointment or relief. I rock myself to my feet and offer Gabriel a hand up. Since he’s been overdoing it so much with his gift lately, he needs all the help he can get. He takes it. His hand is so hot I think it’ll burn me. Even once he lets go, I still feel where our skin touched.
* * *
I walk down a dark hall, totally sure of where I’m going and what I’m about to do—I just