“Believe me,” she whispered. “Please. Just . . . believe me. Look into my eyes. I can finally look into your eyes, so look into mine. Do it. Do it and listen: Believe me. Believe that there’s a chance you can be truly, wholly human again.”

Edison turned toward her and climbed up the ladder, trying to keep his balance as the station rocked and he nearly flew off the platform. They didn’t have time. The station was collapsing. Rosalyn’s filters wouldn’t last much longer. She watched and watched, and told herself there would be enough oxygen in her canisters to make it back. Even if he was still infected, even if she had to go down to the least possible intake, they could make it. His chin flexed, and she felt stuck in that place again, the place between screaming and sobbing.

“All right.”

She stared, then nodded, then smiled, watching him go up one more ladder rung. And another.

“I believe you,” Edison said, taking her by the waist, helping her duck into the pod. She didn’t let go of him, wouldn’t, and he tumbled in beside her. His fist came down hard on the release mechanism, which closed the hatch, locking it, the hydraulics hissing as the Mylar around the seal drew tight and her stomach dropped, the evac pod jetting out into space, so fast, so cruelly it stole her breath clean away.

“I’ll always believe you.”

The stars rushed out to greet them. They were away, safe. Together.

EPILOGUE

Rosalyn bounced her knee as she waited outside the GATE conference room, muttering through the speech she had spent all night preparing and practicing. Aboard the Brigantine and Coeur d’Alene Station, I, along with Misato Iwasa and Captain Edison Aries, discovered undeniable proof of a conspiracy to test and release unimaginably dangerous xenobiological samples. The unethical—not to mention reckless and disgusting—behavior of those responsible at ISS, Merchantia Solutions and Belrose Industries cannot be emphasized enough . . .

That part always made her flinch. The mere thought of saying the name of her father’s company aloud in court made her flush with embarrassment and rage. But the next part of the speech—tracing Piero’s whereabouts and involvement in the conspiracy to transport and test the deadly samples—gave her a surge of confidence.

Sometimes when she slept, she still dreamed of his glittering blue skull, haunting her forever from the dark recesses of her memory.

It would be at least six months before the trial began, and every minute of it felt like torture. This deposition was just the first step. She rubbed her thumb lightly over the lip of her coffee cup and breathed in the dark scent of it, thinking of Misato and her coffee obsession. Whenever she poured herself a cup, she always pictured the old woman’s smiling eyes, her cheeky grin, her silver bob swinging as she dumped more caffeine down her throat.