Thora looks at him fondly. “Of course you still see God in this. Why am I surprised? You saw God in a coffee cup.” A laugh rocks him like a tremor. Thora moves to sit opposite him, takes his hands in hers. “You would do this for me, yes?”

He meets her eyes. “In a heartbeat. I can’t imagine a better reason to lay down my life.”

“Then why won’t you let me do it for you?”

His mouth moves, struggling to let something out. “It’s not fair,” he says finally. “It’s not fair to compare how I would act in this situation to how you should act. My beliefs—I—”

Thora smiles. “Oh, I get it. You mean because I’m a godless heathen? You think it’s harder for me to risk myself because my life and death are meaningless anyway?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I told you. I make my own meaning. No, I don’t think I’m going anywhere after this. I don’t think God is watching, and I don’t think there’s a cosmic plan that my death is designed to fulfill.” She looks up into her own sleeping face. “Honestly, I’m angry about it. I’m angry that I might never meet Jules—the real Jules. I’m angry that there’s an entire new world out there, just—right there”—she reaches out, as if the planet is hovering on the other side of the darkness “and I may never get to see it.” She meets Santi’s eyes, warm and bright and terrified for her. “But if it means you live, and see it for both of us—that’s meaning enough.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I won’t do it. I won’t let you go.”

Thora’s heart beats like a fly trapped in a glass. She traces the lines of Santi’s face, wipes the tears that are already starting to fall. “Do you know why I’m smiling?” she asks.

He chokes, shaking his head.

“Because I have a knock-down argument, and it’s going to destroy you.” She looks into his eyes. “Who are we, Santi?”

He understands. He turns his head, tries to pull his hands away, but she holds on. “You know who we are. We’re explorers. Both of us, always and forever.” She squeezes his hands, rests her forehead against his. “We gave up everything for this. Our loved ones, our futures, our whole lives. All for the possibility of a new world. Are you telling me either of us would draw the line here? Say, no, this is too much, it’s not worth it?”

He stares at her, across the space that contains only them. Versions of them spiral out from this moment, and Thora finally understands: they all exist, every one of them, no matter what happens next.

“No,” Santi says, his voice broken.