“All right. Your helmet stays inside. If you’re willing to breathe the air, we can step out for a while.” It was a risk, but so was our entire plan. I was no kidnapper or thief—even if kidnapping and stealing were exactly what I was doing. I hadn’t gotten this far worrying over risks.

She turned, silhouetted by the afternoon light, and actually smiled. The most natural thing was to smile back. I ducked my head and turned. There was nothing natural about this.

“Come on. Stay close.” The heavy door clicked open with my voice command. “I’ve got cucumbers and tomatoes to harvest anyway.”

“What?”

I grabbed her hand, feeling the softness of her skin in my own rough palm. She jerked her arm back, startled, but my grip didn’t loosen. “Do you want to see or not?” I asked.

She nodded, jaw tense, two bright spots on her cheekbones.

I led her along the edge of the house, sweeping aside giant fronds and leaves, past a dozen massive cisterns that collected rainwater. The smell of wet earth filled my senses. We picked our way through the shaded dirt path and veered into a small clearing, where the view of the sky was unobstructed. The sun burned above us, a blistering orb tinged in orange.

The sky used to be blue. This was what my research on the undernet told me, some sites even displaying actual photographs from another time—a pale blue skyline punctuated by skyscrapers or in a deeper hue over a calm sea, so two shades of blue melded like some old painting by a landscape artist. My mind kept returning to this image, the crisp purity of it. Unapologetic and true.

But what could you believe from reading the undernet? Images were more easily manipulated than a you boy’s face. I didn’t know anyone who had ever seen a blue sky. It wasn’t until I had read a novel—published over a century ago—where the author described something in sky blue, that I let myself believe it, feeling wonder and joy and grief all at once.

I never did finish that book.

I suddenly felt the pressure of the you girl’s hand clutching mine. Her flushed face was turned up, eyes squinted against the dull sunlight. She coughed into her sleeve, and when she finally stopped, her breaths came quick and shallow. It was late afternoon, the summer day’s humid heat oppressive.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She turned to me, eyes gleaming, and said, “I’ve never seen the sky like this before.”

“You mean without your helmet?”

“And so wide. It’s always a dirty brown over Taipei,” she said.