“Maybe the same person who tried to hide Orion’s last clue,” I say. Before Elder has a chance to speak, I add, “And maybe the same person who sabotaged your space suit.”

“Sabotaged the suit?” Elder asks.

I twist my head to stare at Elder through the bright green grass. “Whoever tampered with the clues and tried to throw us off the trail could have easily punctured the PLSS tubing or something. If you died, you couldn’t tell anyone what you saw. And look how close it came to working.”

Elder starts to respond, but as soon as he opens his mouth, he turns to answer a com. “Doc says Bartie’s causing trouble at the Food Distro. Again,” he says, sighing, leaning up.

I touch my hand to his face, just over the purple-green bruise on his jaw. He leans into my hand—not a lot, just enough so that I’m suddenly aware of the pressure of his skin against mine.

“Elder,” I say, “you can’t keep on doing everything yourself.”

“Who else is going to stop Bartie? Who else is going to get the Food Distro back on track? Who else is going to help the Shippers get ready for planet-landing—after the scans show whether or not we even can planet-land?”

There’s a note of panic in his voice, and pain. I want to tell him everything will be okay, but I don’t want to lie. I lean forward a fraction of an inch, and he leans forward, and I catch his eyes just as he starts to close in.

I think, He’s going to kiss me.

I think, Good.

His lips bruise mine in their need, and when my mouth parts in a tiny o of surprise, his kiss deepens. His arms are strong; he’s lifting the whole of my upper body up and against him. His body speaks for him; he needs me.

My arms slide from the ground up his arms, my fingers trailing through the tiny hairs along his forearms. His muscles tighten under my graze; his biceps are like rocks, pulling me even closer against him. My hands dance across his shoulders and meet at the base of his neck, and I swirl my fingers in his hair.

There’s something deeply satisfying in touching him—it reminds me that he’s real, despite how close I came to losing him earlier today.

My hands tighten, and I use my grip to lift my body up against his. One of his arms slides down my back, pulling my hips closer to him.

Elder breaks the kiss, and he peers into my eyes. I can only imagine what we look like—rolling around in the grass by the pond. Just like the Season. But I don’t care. This isn’t like that. The Season was just mindless, emotionless, loveless movements. But this is—