“Oh, one other thing you should know,” Roar said. “She was with Perry for a while.”

“Nooooo,” Soren groaned. “You just ruined it for me.”

Agreed, Aria thought. Ruined it for me, too.

“So, he got Brooke and her,” Soren continued, indignant. “How does that even happen? He barely talks!”

Roar answered smoothly, like he’d given this some thought. “He ignores girls, and it drives them mad.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious,” Soren said.

“Oh, I am. I could put on a show, I could get everyone laughing, but the next day I’m the one who gets the questions. ‘Why was Perry so quiet? Was he angry about something? Was he sad? What do you think he was thinking, Roar?’”

Aria bit her lip, teetering between laughing and crying. She’d been groomed into a performer, but he was a natural. Listening to him doing women’s voices was almost too much.

He went on. “Girls don’t understand that he was being quiet because he is quiet. It makes them crazy. They can’t resist trying to draw him out. They want to fix his quietness.”

“So, you’re saying I should ignore Brooke?” Soren asked.

“Look, I don’t think you stand a chance no matter what you do, especially now that I know you better, but yes. Ignoring her is your best move.”

“Thanks, man,” Soren said, his tone earnest. “If I see her again, I’m going to do that.”

If.

It seemed like that if was always there. The tick after the passing of every second.

If they got out of the Komodo—

If they reached the Still Blue—

If she saw Perry again—

She wanted the conversation to turn back to lighter things, to Roar’s stories and Soren’s sarcasm, but the moment had passed.

Aria wiped her cheeks, as though it would erase a few hours of crying from her face. She sat up, moving to the edge of her bed.

Soren sat on the lower bunk opposite her, his boxy frame propped over his knees. He was kneading his hands. Roar leaned against the bed frame, his crossed feet wiggling anxiously. Seeing her, they both froze.

She knew she must look like a mess. She felt like she had a sticky, salty film over her skin. Her eyes were almost swollen shut, she’d given herself a crying headache, and her wounded arm, her vestigial appendage, was curled tightly at her side.

It was a stupid time for vanity, considering everything that was happening, but she couldn’t remember ever feeling so pathetic.

Roar climbed up and sat beside her. He brushed her damp hair off her forehead and stared down at her with so much concern in his brown eyes that she had to fight back a fresh wave of tears.

“I hope you’re still angry with me,” he said. “I deserve it.”

She smiled. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Damn,” he said.