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I step back, cold dread pooling in my stomach. “That’s not a future. One drop of that venom…”

“One drop could kill us. But it could also save us,” says Bolden. “This is our chance. Our last chance.”

“We’ve been through hell, Lola.” Krazak’s voice is weary. “This is the way out.”

I reach for the barb. I try to grab it from him, but he steps away, his brows furrowing. “Krazak, you don’t know what you’re doing. Do you want me to feel what you feel? To lose you three?”

It’s as if they don’t hear my words.

“We can have a future together. Please, we can, we can go somewhere, escape this world, take that Reaver and never look back…”

Krazak looks down at me. “Yes. We could have some future together. Decades. And then we would live a thousand years beyond your lifespan. A thousand years alone. I’m not strong enough to endure that. I’d rather die.”

“So you’re killing yourselves.” My voice chokes.

Khra shakes his head. “No. I studied the old texts. Diluted venom, administered carefully. We have a chance. Some Aurelians survive Scorp venom. They…change. I don’t know the odds, Lola, but I won’t grow old without you. This poison… if we survive it, when we survive it… the ancient texts tell of human women living thousands of years within the Scorp-Blood tribes.” His voice is a rasp, dry and hurt.

I’m hyperventilating. My head is swimming. Krazak tries to hug me, but I move away, hating him, loving him, wanting him, knowing he’s gone.

“I love you, Lola,” he says.

I can’t say it back. Not because I don’t mean it, but because the words die in my throat. We’re so close to happiness. They’ve forsaken their futile war, they’ve realized that it brings them nothing but emptiness…

But they can’t accept my human lifespan, and the endless loneliness of the time after my passing. I was an idiot to think it could ever work between an un-Bonded human and an Aurelian triad, but when it was just us, alone and away from the world, it felt like it could work.

“We must go.” Bolden’s voice has become more gruff, as if he can hide his feelings in brusqueness.

“Wait. I’ll come with you.” I need to take any last chance to convince them not to stab themselves with poison that will bring them only pain.

“We…if this fails, it will not be pretty. And if it succeeds…Scorp-Blood changes a man. During the transformation we’ll be like beasts, Lola. I won’t let you see me like that. I don’t want to hurt you, by accident.” Khra choose every word carefully.

“You could never hurt me.”

“I know. But…” He swallows, hard. I’ve never seen the man so uncertain. He is usually a pillar of strength. “I will not have you see me like that.”

If it’s the last time I see him, he won’t let the last memory I have of him be of a tortured beast, enraged by the venom.

“I don’t care. If this doesn’t work, you three die. I need to be there with you. Let me have that, at least,” I plead, a tear dripping down my cheek. Krazak steps closer, and gently takes it on his fingers, stroking my cheek, then kisses me.

Oh Gods, but it feels so right, his lips pressing against mine, tender, gentle, sorrowful, and I never want it to end.

But it does.

He turns and walks to his Reaver, his broad back crisscrossed with scars, the triad leaving me and entering their ship. It takes off, soundlessly, and I am alone in the darkness, as if they never existed. They aren’t coming back. That, I know. Scorp blood won’t transform them. It will kill them. I’ve heard fables of Aurelians with green veins, venom coursing through their bodies, but that is all it is.

Fables.

I reach into my pocket. The hard material is real. Certain. Gems, my smartwatch, and the plan flicks into my mind. I’ve never been more determined. There’s no time to waste, and I run back to Ridgetown, to the junkyard which serves as the tiny ship bay, a little house surrounded by decrepit ships that can be rented by the hour.

I slam my fist against the door, panting. No answer. I slam it harder, until I hear footsteps.

“We’re closed!” comes the angry voice.

“I can pay.” The magic words. Open sesame, and the door opens. The blinking, shrewd man is shorter than me, his hair in disarray, and he pushes it back with a greasy palm, unconsciously trying to press it over his bald spot. He looks me up and down. A young woman, sweaty from running, in a hoodie and sweatpants, who hasn’t slept a proper night in days.

“You don’t look like you can pay. Get out of here, before I teach you a lesson for waking me,” he says, then licks his lips, looking me up and down again as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes. “Or maybe you do have a way to pay…” he says, and his eyes run up and down my body.

“I want to rent a ship. How much?”