“Amy!” I shout, racing after her. She ducks her head away from me, hair swinging down to cover her face, and darts through the door. I grab her by the elbow, spinning her around and pulling her back into the Great Room. She jerks out of my grasp, but at least she doesn’t keep running from me.

“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I raise my hand again, but she flinches from me, and I drop it immediately.

She doesn’t meet my eyes.

“You’re right,” she finally says, blinking rapidly and looking up at the artificial stars.

“No, I’m not, I’m sorry, you’re not a freak, you’re not.”

She shakes her head. “Not about that. About . . . I’m scared,” she whispers.

She twists the wi-com round and round her wrist, leaving a red mark. I’ve seen her silent before, brooding. There have been times when we’d be talking and she’d suddenly drop from the conversation, retreat within herself for a few moments before returning to me. Before, I’d always thought it had something to do with me—that she’d remembered my betrayal, or I’d said something to trigger a memory of the past she could no longer have. Now I’m wondering if it’s something else.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice lower, the fight in it gone, replaced with concern.

She jumps at the question.

“Has someone hurt you?” I ask. “Or threatened you?”

I move closer to her. I want to reach out, take her hands in mine, draw her closer to me. But she looks as hard as stone.

10

AMY

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY? THAT I STILL HAVE NIGHTMARES about something that happened three months ago? How lame would that sound? If I was going to say something, I should have said it then. But then everything else became much more important—Harley and Eldest’s deaths, Orion’s capture, the elimination of Phydus. Elder has over two thousand people who all have a problem they expect him to fix. How could I burden him with one more from me? If there was anyone I could tell, it would be him—but I can’t. I can’t. It’s not just that three months have passed, or that he’s busy with the ship, or that I’m afraid he won’t believe me.

It’s that, when it happened, he wasn’t the one to save me.

And if he couldn’t save me then, how can he save me now?

“I could protect you,” Elder says, moving closer to me but not meeting my eyes. “You could move in with me . . .” His words fade to silence.

We’re so close we could touch. All it would take is for me to reach out my hand. But neither of us makes a move.

“I don’t need to,” I say automatically. I have control. I don’t need to run away and hide. I will not let Luthor turn me into a simpering child.

And I don’t want Elder to believe he has to take care of me. Because if he thinks I want his protection, he’s also going to think I want more.