Dorothy cocked her head. Ash had seen her do this before, and it made something inside of him ache.

“Surprised?” she asked.

Surprised?

“You could say that.” He’d imagined this moment many times, although, of course, he’d never imagined it like this. He choked out, “I thought you were dead.”

He hadn’t let himself dwell on this, but he’d thought it. It’d been the thing that haunted him in the dark, as he was trying to fall asleep. That Dorothy was dead. That he’d killed her.

And now . . .

His eyes moved to the scar twisting down the side of her face. “What happened to you?”

She seemed taken off guard by the question. “I was hurt,” she said, her hand moving to the scar. “In the fall.”

Ash fisted his hand, not sure if she’d let him touch her. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” Now her brows were drawn, her eyes fierce. “We didn’t know what would happen, did we?”

No, Ash thought, studying her. We didn’t.

He remembered how she’d been when he’d first met her in the churchyard: the mischievous curve of her lips, the laughter in her eyes when she teased him. Now she just looked hardened. Angry. The change was startling.

He asked, “How long have you been here?”

“A year,” she said flatly.

“A year?”

“You’re wondering why I didn’t come find you.”

Ash shook his head, but he couldn’t dismiss it. She didn’t come find him. He would’ve searched every whorehouse in the city, would’ve shot every pimp and followed every lead. He had only a few days left to live, and he would’ve wasted them all trying to find her.

And she’d been here, all along. There hadn’t been anything to stop her from coming to him.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked. “I could’ve helped you. I could’ve—”

“You said you were going to take me back,” Dorothy said. “Don’t you remember?”

Ash swallowed. He remembered.

It was just after they’d left the Fort Hunter complex. They were in the anil, on their way back to 2077, and Dorothy had crept into the cockpit to ask him if she could stay.

“I could be one of you . . . ,” she’d said. “I could be with you.”

He could picture how she’d looked then, as easily as if it had happened a moment ago. Her dark curls had frizzed around her face, falling loose of her braid. Grease and sweat had covered her cheeks. She’d been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

But he’d told her no.

I can’t had been his exact words.

Oh, how he wished he could take them back.

“It wasn’t that long ago.” Now, Dorothy’s voice was bitter. “For you, at least. For me it was longer.”

Ash’s throat felt suddenly thick. He could tell her now, he realized. He could explain about the prememory. He’d told her that she couldn’t stay with them in the future because he’d known he was falling for her. It seemed foolish now, but he hadn’t thought it was fair to Dorothy to be with her when he knew he would fall for Quinn.