I swallowed. I could still run, I reminded myself, and then firmed my resolve. Trust was not built on a few words. Trust was built on actions, on the other person making themselves vulnerable. She was vulnerable right now. I had to show her that I could be near her, and still not hurt her.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I promised the manikin, while she shoved herself across the floor, away from me, snarling all along like a beaten dog. I felt a surge of pity for her when she stopped, her back against the far wall, pushing herself to sit with shaking arms.

And then she stared at me, trembling lightly, silent.

“You can understand me, can’t you?” I said. “You know this language, even if it’s been a long time since you’ve heard it. Can you speak it? Can you even speak?” It could be that there were physiological differences between her throat and mine. She might not even be capable of human speech.

The Ministers had the Light language, though, didn’t they? Could it be that the Light language had an older origin than I’d assumed? Maybe it originated here, aboard the Nameless. I fumbled for my flashlight, aimed it at her knees, and flashed out one of the few words I knew: GO.

The manikin squinted at me. The light hurt her eyes, I supposed, so I lowered the beam further. And then she stood up.

My slowing heart panicked again, pounding hard against my ribs. I held myself still from sheer stubbornness as the manikin crossed the room, step by careful step, and crouched down in front of me.

She had a peculiar scent. Not dirty, but an odor that my brain did not know what to make of, somewhere between animal and human. If I had to put a name to the expression on her face, I would have called it thoughtful.

Elation surged through me, beating in time with my rabbit heart. I’d done it: I’d communicated with her. I’d shown myself vulnerable, trustworthy; and so she was returning it with trust of her own. These creatures on the ship were not creatures at all, but a type of human, and they could be reasoned with the way every creature could be except for Ministers and Republican soldiers—

The manikin’s expression changed, and this time I had no trouble putting words to it. She looked at me the way a person might look at a child, that in their naivety has done something very, very stupid.

And then the manikin’s hand closed around my throat.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN:

The Moment

Her claws scraped at the side of my neck, but the manikin wasn’t trying to cut my throat: she was trying to choke me.

“Stop,” I tried to say, in Ameng, “Why?” but she only squeezed harder. The manikin gazed down at me with cold indifference while I grabbed at her slender wrist, useless, struggling for air that would not come.