That didn’t do him any favors with Rosalyn, who shook, raising the fire extinguisher to defend herself. Edison felt the Foxfire clench and react well before he could, and he backhanded the canister out of her hands. It flew across the room, landing with a loud clank in the corner.

He heard Rosalyn give a panicked cry as her hand punched the door console again, mashing enough buttons to send the door hissing open. She tumbled away from him and down the hall. Even through her suit he could hear her ragged breathing. The Foxfire made him give chase, but he kept humming, the notes going higher, wilder . . .

His tread was heavy as he ran after Rosalyn, following close on her heels as she scrambled to get away, clumsily finding her way down the corridor and back to the fork, then around that bend and toward the crew deck.

Edison was coming back to himself, he could feel it, but he had to hurry, had to break the surface and gasp air before he did something to hurt her. He would never forgive himself . . . never . . . Rosalyn found her feet; faster, faster she pounded through the halls until she hurled herself through an open door and slammed her palm on the wall. The door didn’t close and she swore, backing away from him, cornering herself in one of the labs.

“Get away from me!” she screamed, turning in circles, hands running over the lab countertops, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon.

Tokyo Bliss Station. The music. He just had to keep humming that song, tear his mind away from her and the moment and get lost in the music. But his feet just kept going and soon he would be in striking distance. Mother wanted her. Bad. The noise filled his head. Mother’s noise. She was furious. Something about Rosalyn set her off in particular. There is something different about this girl . . . She was going to rip the suit away from her, her last line of defense, and expose her to the spores and the network and the bliss no matter what it fucking took.

Edison saw his own hand rise as if through a heavy fog, but the music! The music! He had it now, the beat and the scales and the notes. His fist flew, but he corrected it just in time, sending his knuckles crashing into the wall next to Rosalyn’s head. She collapsed to the floor, scuttling away and breathing hard.

He let his hand go limp. The pain came as soon as the control did.

“Shit,” he whispered, sweating. “It just . . . It caught me unawares that time. It sounded just like my mother, I couldn’t, I couldn’t . . .”

“Stay away from me,” Rosalyn hissed. “Just stay away!”