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I'm not exactly thrilled about playing damsel in distress. The thought of riding between Airos's legs for who knows how long makes my skin prickle with a heat that has nothing to do with the desert sun.

"I can walk." I mimic a walking motion with my fingers.

The leader cocks his head slightly, then repeats the flowing gesture with his hand as he says something to me. He's insisting I ride.

"We don't both need to?—"

"Jackson," Airos cuts me off with that same authoritative tone that had sent me scurrying for cover earlier. "Don't be stubborn. You're pregnant, we're both exhausted, and we don't know how far we're traveling."

I clench my jaw, hating that he's right. The nomads are watching this exchange with obvious interest, their eyes crinkling at the corners in what I'm guessing are hidden smiles beneath their face coverings, and suddenly I feel like this whole thing is being misconstrued in the wrong fucking way.

They think Airos and I are a goddamn couple!

"Fine," I growl. "But I'm not riding in front."

Airos raises an eyebrow. "It would be more comfortable and safer for you if?—"

"Behind. You."

We stare at each other for a long moment before Airos sighs and shakes his head. "As you wish."

He moves to the sand gryph and strokes its feathered neck before gripping the simple leather harness and swinging himself up onto its back with surprising ease. The creature huffs but accepts his weight, settling its powerful haunches in the sand. Airos extends his hand to me. I stare at it like it might bite. All the others have mounted, and they're watching me, waiting. I swallow my pride and grip Airos's forearm, letting him help haul me up. The sand gryph snorts at the added weight, and I scramble to find a secure position behind Airos, fighting to keep space between us.

It's a losing battle. The animal's back is narrower than it looks, and as soon as it stands to its full height, I slide forward against Airos's back, my swollen belly pressing awkwardly against him. A murmur goes around the group, like they're perplexed about why I would choose to put myself behind him. I'm embarrassed as hell, and pissed off about it. This shouldn't get to me, but it does.

The leader shouts a command, and the entire group surges forward in unison. Our mount lurches beneath us, and I grab Airos's waist instinctively to keep from sliding off. His body is firm and warm beneath my hands, and I immediately try to loosen my grip, but another dip in the beast's gait has me clutching him tighter.

As we make our way across the seemingly endless desert, following whatever invisible trail our guides can see, I try to focus on anything but the feeling of Airos's body against mine. The rhythmic swaying of the sand gryph's stride. The shifting colors of the sand as the sun begins its descent. The towers of rock rising like red-orange skyscrapers on the distant horizon, orthe strange, gutturally melodic sound of the nomads as they call to each other over the whistling wind.

But my mind keeps circling back to something that's been lingering in my thoughts since the moment I'd regained consciousness after the battle with the bugs. Not a dream. My dreams always feel like I'm witnessing them from afar. This felt more like I'd been jacked into someone else's memory and forced to live in it. Like wearing someone else's clothes that don't quite fit. I couldn't even say if I actually saw anything at all. It was more of a kaleidoscope of feelings and impressions; of an island and the ocean, of being home, then the whiplash of being overcome by the sharpest terror and deepest sadness I'd ever felt.

I somehowknowthat whatever these memories and feelings are, they have Airos's fingerprints all over them. I don't know how to ask. I don't even think I really want to know.

8

AIROS

The nomad convoy moves with impressive speed and coordination, their sand gryphs leaving barely a trace on the dunes as we travel. The fading daylight paints the landscape in deep oranges and purples, creating the illusion of crossing an endless, undulating sea.

"These sand gryphs are magnificent," I say, breaking the silence that has stretched between us. "I've always wanted to see one in person. Are you comfortable?"

"Fuckin' fantastic," Jackson replies. "Nothing like bouncing through a desert with my pregnant ass squished against your back."

"You're more than welcome to switch?—"

"Nope."

I shrug. "Suit yourself. Though I don't know why you care so much about how we're seated."

"Yeah, me neither," he grumbles.

Ahead, the leader raises his hand, and the convoy slows. As we crest a particularly large dune, I see our destination spread below us like a shimmering mirage coming to life. Tents of various sizes are laid out in concentric circles around the largest one at the center, their fabric a patchwork of browns and deep reds that blend with the desert. Small figures move between the structures, and the distant sounds of voices and animal calls drift up to us along with the tantalizing aroma of roasted meat.

"Looks like we've arrived," I say.

Jackson leans slightly to the side to get a better view, his chest pressing against my back. "Whoa. What is this, Burning Man?"

"Well, no, that's roasted goat, I think," I tell him, sniffing the air. "I hope."