He bounced on his toes and clenched and unclenched his hands, working up his adrenaline. And then he dove into the water.

The swim out to the anil was rough. Waves crashed over his head, and the undertow pulled at his feet, wanting to drag him under. He used all his adrenaline from the fight, all his anger and frustration to propel himself forward.

He couldn’t make out the anil through the water in his eyes. It was a glimmer of silver light, and then it was yellow liquid pouring through the waves. Blue lighting. Holding his breath, Ash dipped below the surface of the water. He felt that pull, again, but this time he didn’t think it was the ocean. It was the anil tugging him toward it, calling to something deep inside him. Acid rose in his throat. There was a strange, static electricity prickle inside of his gut, starting where the piece of the Second Star had lodged itself into his body four weeks ago.

The air around him grew thicker, and the water seemed to dissolve so that he wasn’t floating through the waves any longer but hanging, suspended, in the thick and heavy air. It felt like he was falling and flying all at once. He opened his eyes and saw that everything had gone black. Distantly, he thought he could make out the pinprick glimmer of stars.

The piece of ship inside of his body stung, painfully. His lungs began to burn. He pulled upward with his arms, thrashed with his legs.

He was underwater again. His brain spun, trying to figure out what was happening. Did it work?

Or . . . was he drowning?

You don’t die like this, said a voice in the back of his head.

The water was cold and unforgiving. It pounded at Ash’s temples and stung his eyes. He could make out a distant flicker of light above him.

Gathering his strength, he swam. Up and up until he surfaced, gasping. He was conscious of water rising and falling all around him, carrying his body aloft on crashing waves.

NOVEMBER 8, 2077, NEW SEATTLE

Ash could see the bubble of the anil in the distance: swirling light and mist and smoke. It cast a glow over the black water, illuminating . . .

Was that a boat?

He squinted into the darkness, treading water to keep his head above the waves. It was a boat—it was his boat. And the figure crouched inside was—

“Zora,” he croaked, swimming hard. His muscles burned in protest, but he ignored them. Spitting up water, he called again, louder this time, “Zora!”

Zora whirled, sending the boat rocking beneath her. In the light of the anil, Ash could see that her skin was gray and tears had carved lines down her cheeks.

“Ash?” she said, incredulous. “But you were just . . . How did . . . Holy shit, are you bleeding?”

Ash clawed for the side of the boat. He tried to pull himself over, but his arms screamed with pain, and Zora had to help haul him in.