I reached for the scissors, and she let go without protest but said, “They were still sharp enough to stab you in the throat.”

I paused, surprised by her boldness. Maybe if I hadn’t woken when I did, I’d be bleeding out on the sofa right now. Game over.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head.

“I know you must be thirsty. The sleep spell will do that to you.” I crossed the spare chamber to the corner kitchen and pulled the refrigerator door open, grabbing a bottle of fancy you water, purified and enriched with gods knew what. A case of it cost more than most mei folks’ weekly salary. “Here.” I offered it to her.

She sat down in the wooden chair, turning the bottle in her hand, examining it.

“It’s not tainted,” I said. “The seal’s unbroken.”

She raised her eyes. “How do I drink it?”

Ah.

“Haven’t you ever taken—”

“No. Never in unregulated space.”

“The air isn’t as polluted up here,” I lied.

“I can’t call anyone in helmet.”

“No.” I knew the first thing she’d try upon waking was to call for help. “I’ve jammed the signals.”

She blinked several times, and her nostrils flared.

I glanced away, tamping down my sympathy.

The girl fidgeted with her suit collar, finally lifting her helmet. It came off with a low hiss. Her ponytail sprang free, black and uncolored. The scent of strawberries filled the air, and I took a step back, caught off guard. I had expected you girls to be scentless at best or to smell clinical at worst, like some specimen kept too long in a jar.

Not like fresh, sweet strawberries.

Her eyes truly watered now as she breathed our polluted air for the first time in her life. She doubled over, coughing. I grabbed the bottle from her hand and twisted it open. “Drink.”

She did so, sucking down the water as if it would save her life. Finally, she wiped her mouth with a handkerchief that had been tucked in her sleeve, then pressed it against her eyes. “How do you live breathing this every day?” she asked in a weak voice.

“We don’t have to live for very long,” I replied.

She dropped her handkerchief and stared at me with red-rimmed eyes. “That’s not funny,” she said.

I smiled. “I wasn’t trying to be.” I sat back down on the old sofa, so there was some distance between us.