Nina was accustomed to awkward. Some of the other trainees in her classes at the Franklin Center had been much worse, barely able to carry on a conversation that wasn’t centered on magazine capacities. A few had been uncomfortable with any kind of social interaction, while others were simply all business. They could debate the merits and drawbacks of various martial arts with capability and grace, they just didn’t give a shit how your day was going.
This was something else entirely, a new, bewildering unease that had sprung up after that moment on the warehouse dock. Nina had pushed, Knox had snarled at her, and now they had … this.
There was a lesson somewhere in that. She just wasn’t sure what it was.
She busied herself with gathering some of the wood he’d already cut, stacking it beside the generator’s burner box, just so she wouldn’t have to look at his gleaming chest. He retrieved the ax, but before he resumed chopping, the soft strains of a violin began to drift out of the open garage.
Knox paused, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “That doesn’t sound like anything Conall listens to.”
“No, that’s Rowan, a musician from the neighborhood.” The music swelled. “Maya’s been working with them, making recordings of their compositions.”
His eyes tightened. Something flashed across his face, gone too swiftly to recognize. He fixed his expression into pleasant curiosity, but all trace of warmth was gone. “Do you guys do a lot of that? Record new things?”
“We wouldn’t be proper archivists if we spent all our time digging up the past. People didn’t stop creating after the Flares.” She dropped the last piece of wood on the pile. “We didn’t stop living. That’s an important thing to remember, I think.”
“Is that how you define living?”
“Not for everyone.” Not for her. She didn’t create anything. Her job—her life—was about preservation, making sure the creations of others persisted. “But for people in general, for society? Yes.”
Knox leaned down for another log and set it in place. He split it in two with one smooth stroke of the ax, and she really had to stop watching him do this. “Right now? I can’t see past keeping my men breathing. Might be nice to think they can have more someday.”
Assurances hovered on the tip of her tongue, automatic and empty, considering Conall’s worsening condition. So Nina remained silent, closing her eyes to let Rowan’s music wash over her instead. The rhythm lulled her, and every lilting note spoke of hope, of dreams.
She wondered if Knox could hear it, too.
A harsh mechanical whir interrupted the song, followed by a whoop of sheer, exultant victory. “Sounds like the gods have blessed us tonight.”
The firm set of his mouth softened into something that was almost a smile. “Go cool off. I’ll finish up.”
Her heart stuttered. “In a minute. First, I owe you an apology. For what happened on the loading dock.”
“No, you don’t. I was being an asshole.”
“Yes, you absolutely were. But so was I.” She shrugged. “You don’t owe me anything. Least of all your innermost thoughts.”
He flexed his fingers around the ax handle. “You know them, for the most part. Getting Conall safe. Getting all of them safe. I can’t—there isn’t anything else. They trust me.”
She could almost taste the lie, and it made the roof of her mouth itch. Garrett Knox had plenty going on in that head of his—but none of it was her business. She had to remember that. “Okay. I’ll see you inside.”
By the time Nina made it into the garage, both fans were running, and she flashed Maya and Gray a well-deserved thumbs-up as she took her place in front of one of the huge metal drums. She knew the blast of air was no cooler than the ambient temperature, but it felt like heaven as it flowed over her skin and through her hair.
Maya grinned at her from in front of the second fan. “Think those mechanical manuals have paid off yet?”
“In spades.” Nina lifted the tail of her thin tank top so the airflow could reach more bare skin and sighed. “I promised Gray I’d marry you both if you pulled this off. Will he hold me to it?”
Maya’s gaze drifted to the far side of the garage, where Gray had shed his jacket, but nothing else. He seemed unbothered by the heat. By anything, for that matter. “I don’t know. Maybe? He doesn’t talk much. I think I’m going to downgrade him from