“It was addressed to you,” Indigo confirmed.

There were a few other expats in the Republic, though none from Itaka. Still, we’d made contact with them, and had a fragile network of communication set up. “Was it important?”

“I didn’t read it,” Indigo said.

We left the sunlight behind, but parted ways within the Viper. “You guys pick where we go,” I said. “I’m going to check that message.”

Tamara lifted a hand in acknowledgement, then headed up to the piloting area with Indigo, while I walked over to the living areas.

There was a message waiting for me in my room, just like Tamara had said. It was addressed to me in Kystrene.

I sat down in front of the screen, in case this message was long, and opened up the attachment.

Dear Sean, it read:

I hope this message reaches you. I hope what I’ve heard is true, and you’re still alive. Please forgive me for not trying to find you sooner—I thought you were dead. Why are you going by a different last name these days?

If you are alive, and this does reach you, then the group of Kystrene refugees who received this message will know where to send an answer.

Please, please reply as soon as you can—I need your help.

All my love,

Brigid

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

There’s a note on my desk that says, “Thank Jenny for the worms.”

I’m not (just) thanking my friend Jenny. I’m thanking Jenny’s husband, and Jenny’s husband’s friend, who once made a comment in passing that the veins in the back of his hand pulsing blood looked like little worms moving around. Exactly why he said something so unsettling has been lost to history, but the comment itself was passed on to Jenny’s husband, then to Jenny, and then finally to me, when a determined-looking Jenny approached me at work to tell me, “You need to hear this.”

I did. And now a hypoxic Sean compares the veins in the back of his hand to horrible little worms, because that delightfully awful image never left my head.

One person may write a novel, but the people around her give her the encouragement, the space, the energy, and the terrible venous imagery she needs to complete it. I’m grateful to all those friends who inspired me, who encouraged me, who listened to me bitch and moan for months on end, and whose pleasant company I enjoyed with or without the presence of a manuscript hanging over us.

Especially I am grateful to my readers, all of them talented writers on their own: my mother, Sarah, and Cornelia. They’ve been with me for every manuscript I’ve written, and I admire their red pens as much as I fear them. I am grateful to my agent, Hannah, who supported me through the long miserable process of publishing, encouraged me when I needed it, and caught me when I made major errors in my physics (curse you, centripetal force). I am grateful to both my editors, Kate and Jim, who improved this book every time they looked at it.