She was naked. Smooth, soft feel of her breasts against his shoulders. He was instantly hard. Opened his eyes. Turned over on his back. Sintra turned with him so she was nestled under his left arm. A surge of happiness startled him. Through the window: dim light creating shadows out of the darkness. Her brown skin somehow luminous against it. She’d told him she was half Nimblytod, half Dogghe. Tribes that had lived in Ambergris since before settlement. Before the gray caps.

Even in the darkness, Finch knew her face. Thick, expressive eyebrows. Green eyes. Full lips. A thin scar across the left cheek he’d never gotten her to talk about. A nose a little too long for her face, which gave her a questioning look.

An exotic lilt to the ends of her sentences as she whispered in his ear: “I let myself in. I wasn’t trying to startle you.”

He started to get up, to lock the door. She pushed him back down. “I locked the door behind me. No one else can get in.”

Finch stopped resisting her. The key was the greatest act of trust between them. Was that good or bad?

“Sintra,” he said sleepily, bringing his right arm around to cup one warm breast. “I could get used to you. I really could.” Not really listening to what he was saying. Still waking up. Reduced to the kind of meaningless words he’d mouthed at fifteen. Having sex in his room with the neighbor’s daughter while his father was out.

“You could get used to me?” she said.

When mock-angry with him, she raised her eyebrows in a way he loved.

“A bad joke,” he said. Hugged her closer. “I’m already used to you.” Kissed the top of her head. Relaxed against her, the shudder that had been building up overtaking him. Then gone.

Then, more awake: “Let’s escape. Tonight.”

He’d worked it out in his head hundreds of times. Along the shore of the HFZ at dusk.

A rowboat. Not a motorboat. To the end of the bay. Then either west to the Kalif’s empire or south to Stockton. West because it was easier to get through the security zones in the desert. He knew places there. Places his father had shown him on maps.

Escape. Now.

Imagined she was grimacing, there, in the dark. The way she always did when he mentioned it.

“Bad night?” she asked.

“Just don’t betray me,” the man said, and took Finch’s hand.

“Confusing night.”

“Tell me later.”