Page 16

Zandrel

The mental file I’ve been composing on Roslyn lays in shameful, scattered piles in the corners of my mind.

Her sister. She’s here to find her sister.

My chest tightens with regret.

It’s not a familiar feeling, nor a comfortable one. I’m not used to second-guessing my choices or wishing I could turn back time and act differently. I’m not used to being wrong, not used to my own instincts being so very far from the truth.

The silence in the bungalow is deafening, the weight of it all pressing down on my shoulders.

Her sister.

Maybe if I had any family of my own, I would have recognized her determination sooner. I would have seen her desperation and been able to guess the depth of her commitment, known that whatever she was after wasn’t for pride or wrath or any material gain, but for her heart.

Fates above, do I have one of those left?

If I did, it would certainly explain the ache spreading from the center of my chest outward, until my whole body feels stained by it. It would explain what has me taking an unconscious step closer to her door, like that would do anything at all to alleviate the guilty pain coursing through me.

When I lean in and listen more closely, I hear harsh breaths and pained, wet sounds. Noises that sound like grief and loss.

Roslyn is crying.

I’ve read about this human expression of emotion, and occasionally seen liquid pooling in the corners of her eyes, but nothing could have prepared me for the soul-wrenching sound of her weeping.

It pulls on another unfamiliar instinct, one that would have me open the door and go to her, offer what comfort I can, and hold her until she quiets.

Worthless. My comfort would be absolutely worthless to her.

Instead, I sink down onto the floor and lean my back against the wall next to her door. I listen to her cry until she grows quiet, and take each lash of those sobs as a punishment that’s more than deserved.

And maybe there is something left in the hollow husk I might have once called a heart, because with each passing second, my resolve grows firmer.

I’ll help Roslyn find her sister.

I’ll break whatever rules necessary to get us out beyond the perimeter to search, to make sure she doesn’t leave this planet without knowing for certain whether her sister is out there somewhere.

And, for the first time since we began this ruse, it doesn’t feel entirely self-serving.

It feels like atonement.

It feels like the one way I might have to apologize to her. Not with words I know she—rightfully—won’t trust. But with action. I can apologize for the unfeeling ass I’ve been to her. I can apologize for assuming the worst of her motivations before ever knowing anything about her.

We’ll both leave here with what we came for. I’ll prove I wasn’t lying when I asked her to believe we’d both be better served by working together.

I won’t let Roslyn regret her decision to trust me.

With that in mind, and when the sounds on the other side of the door have ceased completely, I stand and head for my luggage. I pull out my comms screen and open a research tab, mind racing with the new mission before me.