Wyatt gazed at him intently, her brow furrowed, biting her lip like she was contemplating some very difficult math problem. But what she did next caught him off guard. She leaned forward and awkwardly put her arms around him.

Tom sat very still, feeling how rigid and uncomfortable her body was against his, since the gesture was entirely out of her element. For several seconds, they sat there like that, and amusement broke through his mortification. He met her solemn gaze. “What’s this for?”

“I don’t know,” she said, keeping her arms around his neck. “It seemed like an appropriate moment. Is it okay?”

“Yeah. It’s good.” Tom sat there a moment, then leaned his head back against the wall, and felt her chin rest on his shoulder. It really was kind of nice. He spread his hands palms up, between them, and dared to ask her the hard question. “Do my hands look really nasty? Be honest.”

She peered at them. “No. They didn’t do a good job with the skin tone on the fingers, though. Those are made for someone who’s very pink. You’re not that pink, Tom. But they’re not hideous.”

“Thanks,” he said with a soft laugh. The one thing Wyatt could always be counted on for was honesty. There were worse things than having unusually pink, fake fingers and a bunch of exposed memories, he supposed. Like if his nose had fallen off. Or if he’d never found friends.

Or if he’d been through something like what happened to Medusa.

His breath caught in his chest, and he understood it. For the first time, really, he comprehended what he’d done to her at Capitol Summit. He felt like a freak because of mangled hands, cybernetic fingers. But every single day, she walked around with her scars all over her face, somewhere they could never be hidden, never concealed.

She was stronger than him. Without question. There was this crushing sensation in his gut. He got it now. And he knew he had to make it right. He knew where to start.

“Wyatt, can you look at something for me? I don’t understand the code, but you would. It’s a computer virus. I can’t tell you where I got it or who gave it to me, but I need to know what it can do.”

Wyatt was intrigued. “Ooh, yes. Send it over.”

“Thank you,” Tom told her, pulling back his sleeve to bare his forearm keyboard.

She caught his wrist, eyes wide. “Make sure it’s zipped and you’re not using it on me by accident.”

“Aw, come on, Wyatt . . .”

“Right. I know you’re not that stupid.”