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“I don’t know if that’s true.” A line appeared between her brows. “What we have here is good.”

“We’re just a few escaped convicts. That doesn’t mean much.”

“It means everything,” she emphatically stated, glancing at the others still sleeping.

Winnie and Serene cuddled together. Derek and Adan snored beside them. Takeshi remained in the far corner, facing everyone, watching over them, even in his sleep.

“Maybe change hasn’t happened because we’ve been waiting for ourselves.” The raw statement escaped her as a whisper, but it solidified in her mind like a promise.

Brock frowned at that, tilting his head as if he were seeing her for the first time.

“And you really believe that? You still have hope that one day this will all get better?” He gestured toward the wrecked building they were housed in incredulously.

There was that word again.

Hope.

Hope was a drink of water in a desert. Intoxicating. Necessary.

You keep going back for more and more. But even the best of things can turn toxic.

And before you know it, you’re craving something that had long since evaporated.

She’d often regarded hope as the enemy, but in Braderhelm, Winnie taught Khalani the importance of fighting for something other than herself.

That one person lighting a candle in a dark room could be the spark that made the difference.

“I have no idea if things will change.” She turned to Brock. “But if stories of me get left behind, I want the reader to know I did everything in my power to make it better.”

He chuckled lightly. “I’ll be damned. You’re a realer, too.”

“A what?”

“Realistic dreamer.” Brock leaned his shoulder against the windowsill. “You know the odds aren’t in our favor. We’ll likely perish up here. So, why keep going at this point?”

“Because we don’t know how to let go of our dreams?”

“Maybe. Or you’re too stubborn to give up on the people we left in Apollo.” His eyes flashed, and the weight of the city and the responsibilities they escaped pressed down on her.

Brock spent more time on the surface than anyone. The city that she grew up in was the same one that threw her in chains. But Apollo was still their true home.

“What are you trying to say?” She frowned. “That we’re supposed to forget Apollo and just let them die?”

“I never said that. Realistically, we probably should, but that doesn’t mean I don’t dream about saving them as well.” His voice lowered as he glanced out the sunny window.

She drew back at the unexpected softness in the Death-Zoner’s voice.

“I never pegged you for a dreamer.”

He smirked. “I’m not. Realer, remember? I have goals I push for and a far-off wish that the world will one day improve. That’s why I joined the rebels in Hermes.”

Brock paused, looking away. A sea of emotion swirled in his eyes, so different from his typical indifference that she was used to.

“But you will never find me sacrificing myself for a lost cause,” he continued. “When the transport is about to crash, I won’t be going down with it. You have to know when to give up. Especially on people.” Brock faced her, suddenly serious. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

His stare bore into her, and she had to fight not to look away.

She didn’t know how to give up on anyone except herself.