sink into dreams. Can I save a single life? Can I do anything at all? Am I stupid for considering this?
It is the loneliest of feelings, but it is warm nonetheless. I think of Bo, how even when his body was torn and splintered, he did not give up. And how Melik, even when the whole of our nation told him he was worthless, no better than an animal, stood straight and demanded to be dealt with as a man. And how my father, even my quiet, meek father, devoted all he had to his patients, with little thought for himself, who even now eats a tad less than he should just to be able to afford medicine for those who need it.
And me . . . what have I ever risked? What have I sacrificed? What have I ever done but allow others to stand between me and the danger?
Yes, I am a girl. One with no special skill or talent or power. But all I have to be is a message carrier. All I need to do is tell what I know to someone who can take action. And if I don’t try, I think I will break—and that would be exactly what I deserved.
So I clutch Bo’s hand and feel him squeeze mine. I draw breath and feel my heart beat. I make a mental list of things I must take. I recall the whistle of the train, the one that leaves for the west late in the night. And I think of the people I could save, people who do not look like me, who do not speak my language, but who love and hate just the same. I imagine what could happen to me, and to them, if I fail. And I tremble with fear.
But then I remember a rust-haired boy, and his smile, and his eyes, and his softly spoken words.
There is nothing wrong with being scared. It only means that something important is at stake.
Judging by the terror coursing through my veins, I know that warning the Noor of the impending invasion is more important than anything I will ever do.
Chapter
Four
WHEN THE FINAL fireworks have exploded over the Ring and fallen in cinders and ash to the ground, Bo turns to me. My hand is still in his. I am afraid to let go, because it means we are over. I shiver as the wind gusts my hair, which has grown past my shoulders once again. Bo’s eye follows the movements of my fingers as I tuck stray locks behind my ear.
“Last year I stood on the roof of Gochan One, and I watched you come out of his dorm,” he says quietly.
I swallow hard. “I know.”
“I had been imagining that you might choose me, that you would come to the roof and that I would reveal myself to you. But when I saw you there, I knew you had made a different choice.”
I bow my head. His machine hand rises and with the slightest brush of his steel fingers nudges my chin up. He gives me the most painfully hopeful of smiles. “But tonight you chose me,” he whispers.
I cannot stand it. I don’t want to leave Bo. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to lose what we have, and in leaving I am setting it afire, burning it to nothing. I release his hand and step into him, throwing my arms around his waist and pressing my head to his chest. I listen to the heart that I am going to break. It beats furiously against my ear like a caged bird. If I could, I would tell him everything. But like my father, he would never let me go. “You are dear to me,” I say, choking on my tears. Because I do not know what the future holds for me now that I have made this decision, so I must live from moment to moment. Each second may be the last one of its kind. Like this one, as his human arm wraps over my back, as his fingers stroke my hair, as he leans his head on mine.
“You are the only thing to me,” he replies. “Wen . . . I—”
“I must go,” I blurt out, and then I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheeks, first the smooth perfection of his metal mask and then the warm softness of his skin. “It’s so late.”
“Of course,” he murmurs. “Of course.” Disappointment and longing weigh