Romy stopped listening as her chest squeezed painfully. Leaving the others to discuss their escape plans, she made for her bunk. She stared at the blank wall.

Knot 27 was leaving in three days.

Atlas was angry at her. Houston was watching her. They were talking about her, and Knot 27.

Atlas thought she hated him.

And somehow she had to say goodbye.

* * *

There were two things the knot needed to do before they left: Get medicine and as much food as possible.

Stealing food would be the trickiest as most of the Hull food was perishable. They would have to kill animals in the wild for meat, which wouldn’t be too difficult if they had weapons. But they didn’t. No matter how much Deimos and Romy stared at the soldiers’ supply room for the answer. And no matter how long Thrym and Phobos discussed plans to break in.

Atlas was avoiding her yet again, except this time, she knew why. It was clear he wasn’t going to tell her the truth in time.

But the locked room might.

Romy needed to see what he was up to in there. Maybe it could help her decide whether or not to tell the grey-eyed man of the knot’s departure. She couldn’t do so without proof Atlas was on their side, and she remained unconvinced he didn’t have another agenda.

She took to testing the doorknob whenever she passed, which was often because she was trying to bump into Atlas to say sorry.

The two days passed and Romy only saw him in the Hull, and it was getting to the dire stage, with only one more day left that she would have to approach him there. How did you strike up conversation with someone who you’d told you didn’t trust? And what if he ignored her in front of Tina? She grimaced at the thought of being embarrassed in front of the other woman, and Deimos gave her a sideways look.

What would she even say to him? She couldn’t just say, “Sorry, goodbye”. If he grew suspicious after she spoke to him, it could put the entire knot at risk. But Romy couldn’t bear to leave without talking to him one last time.

She felt like a small piece of her would be torn off when they left. It occupied her every thought. As she stashed stolen clothing into her doona cover—each of their blankets now held a variety of seeds, food, and clothing; as she pocketed a piece of fruit after every meal with the others; and even as she agonised over stealing Nancy’s car, she thought about never seeing Atlas again. Of the hurt that would be in his eyes when he discovered they were gone.

They would leave Jimboomba and never see any of these people ever again—if they were successful. It seemed a cruel reward.