Romy giggled and though Atlas’s eyes still faced forwards, she thought they softened.

“How are you still so . . . okay?” he asked. It was the first sign of hesitancy she’d seen in the Orbito soldier.

Her smile faded, knowing what he spoke of. Every soldier knew what happened to those who lost their team. In fact, most knot survivors were transferred to Orbito Four for “special treatment,” which was a nice way of saying most survivors went crazy. The genetic engineers held the survivors there until the soldiers’ expiration dates to study the phenomenon. And then, upon expiry the survivors were recycled into a new knot. The thought of Knot 27 dying. . . .

She shuddered, studying the dusty red ground.

“They’re not dead,” she grated out. “My knot is still alive.”

He glanced back at her and lifted a dark brow. “Odds are, they’re dead.”

No! Romy’s vision blurred, and she stumbled over her crutch. Her breath came in gasps, out of control. Like some kind of panic attack. Their faces flashed in front of her: Elara, Deimos, Phobos, and Thrym. Her Thrym. She clutched her stomach with one hand, choking on fear.

Hands pulled her back up. “Hey,” Atlas murmured. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure we’ll find them. They’re all right.” He gripped her arms. “Shh, Rosemary. They’re all right.”

Her cloudy vision receded somewhat with his reassurances. She concentrated on the confident set of his face and nodded once she felt calm. She shook her head, wondering what came over her. Probably her reaction had been building inside since the crash. She’d never experienced anything like it before.

He gave her arms a final squeeze and he turned away, face smooth.

Romy stood to move after him, unable to shake off an uncomfortable weight churning in the pit of her stomach.

She pulled up short, staring at Atlas’s back.

“They’re alright,” he’d said. . . .

And he’d sounded so sure.

Atlas turned, waiting for Romy beside a large tree. She tripped after him.

Were his words just an empty reassurance, she wondered.

Or did Atlas know more than he was letting on?

* * *

The smell of the air changed the next day.

Romy inhaled, assessing the smell. “Are we close now?”

She quite liked it—but not as much as she liked the grey-white trees she now knew were eucalyptus trees, thanks to Atlas. He’d even crushed a leaf in his hands and rubbed the smell on her wrists so she could experience the scent all day.

“We are.” He brushed the remains of his breakfast from his unusual trousers.

She stared at the eucalyptus trees. “Why did this tree turn grey with global warming while the others have gone yellow?”

His nose scrunched in confusion.

“The acid in the water?” she asked slowly.

His expression cleared and he coughed into his hand.

She eyed him in suspicion. He was doing the pursed lip thing again.