Too easy sometimes. I pour a shallow dish of a gentle scouring chem and guide Ania’s fingertips into the solution with easy pressure, then turn my attention back to the lines of code.
“Don’t move. Gotta flush out the blockage, and it’s gonna take a few minutes. I’m gonna tweak the programming in your cuff a bit so if the extruders start to clog again, it’ll trigger a message to get you to bring it over for maintenance so it doesn’t get this bad again.”
I level a look at her. “Do not. Let it get. This bad. Again. Rebuilding this thing from scratch would take longer than you have the patience for.”
“Thanks, Diz. You’re the best,” she says, leaning down to give me a peck on the forehead. I swat her away.
“Thank me by taking better care of your ware.”
And by not leaving.
My gaze drifts back to Davon’s gift, perched on the corner of my desk. Nothing for me to do while the chems work their magic on Ania’s ware, so I pull it into my lap and snag my knife to slice at the tape. With a furtive glance at Ania, I swivel my chair slightly away and pull the box flaps barely open, just enough to peek inside. To my complete horror, my lip wobbles when I see the contents. He’s included some of his standard practical gifts—a new multitemp soldering iron, some assorted computer components, socks—but nestled in the bottom is something wrapped in delicate tissue paper. Written on the tape that holds it together are three short words in Davon’s terrible handwriting: I’ll never forget.
My fingers brush over the paper, hesitant, heart in my throat. Whatever it is, it won’t be easy. I take a deep steadying breath through my nose and slip my finger under the tape, tugging gently, tearing the tiniest bit of paper possible along with it. I fold back the delicate tissue and smooth it away from the gift, biting my lip hard to keep control.
Three numbers, cast in silver metal. Two, one, five. At one point, these numbers were illuminated with sunnaz, all the better to see them at night, but that maz has long since faded away. I’d recognize them anywhere, though.
He’d pried the house numbers from beside the front door of the house I lived in when my parents were alive. Where Davon lived right next door, my constant companion from birth. The house where . . .
The tears rush up so fast I barely have a chance to squeeze my eyes shut before they fall. I jam the numbers and paper back into the box and take long, slow breaths in through my nose until I’ve got hold of myself again. My breathing is still ragged as I fold the flaps of the box back up and place it gingerly on the far corner of my desk, away from Ania. It’s simultaneously the best and worst gift I’ve ever received, and Davon knew just how much it would mean. I can clearly imagine mounting the numbers to the wall above my new desk, in the new apartment I’ll be able to afford with the salary of the job he’s gotten for me.
The job I still haven’t accepted.
My eyes cut back to Ania, who watches me cautiously but knows better than to say a word. I need to tell the crew about the job offer. I should’ve done it a week ago, but as soon as I tell them, that’ll be it. It’ll definitely be happening. I’ll be staying, they’ll be going, and the door will be permanently closed on any chance of our group sticking together.
Unless they change their minds, an insidious voice whispers in the back of my head. Unless you tell them you’re taking the job, and they say, “Noooo, Dizzy, you have to come with us,” and you say, “I can’t, I could never leave Kyrkarta, it’s home,” and they say, “Fine, then we’re staying here with you. Remi will go to Kyrkarta University instead, and Ania too, and Jaesin will go to work for MMC with you even though it’ll make Remi mad for a bit, and everything will be fine. You’ll all get a new flat together in a better part of town, and it’ll be just like it is now. But better. Maybe Jaesin and Ania will get back together. And maybe, after a while, when you’re ready . . . maybe . . .”
“Diz?” Ania says, her voice sharp. She’s obviously