Page 17

Zandrel

Morning light streams in the windows when I finally hear the tentative crack of Roslyn’s door.

I managed a few hours of sleep sometime after midnight before waking early to continue planning. But for Roslyn’s sake, I lie back down on the couch and pretend to be asleep.

After last night, I’m not sure where we stand. If giving her space will help, I can certainly tolerate a few more minutes on the stiff cushions and give her time to head out to the beach before me.

“You up?”

The soft question comes from somewhere near the kitchen.

I sit up and find her behind the island, both hands braced on the stone counter-top.

Seeing her there—bathed in bright morning sunshine, hair loose and wavy, wearing a flowing dress made of a silky green material that matches her eyes—sends a wave of unfamiliar emotions lurching through the center of my chest.

Guilt, first and foremost, for how I’ve behaved.

Discomfort, because I’ve never been good at this, at… apologizing, making amends, saying the right thing.

Apprehension, over what comes next, how I can help her, where we go from here.

I stand, circling around the back of the couch before leaning against it and leaving plenty of space between us.

I still don’t confidently know how to read her strange, soft-featured human face. I don’t know how to take the temperature of the mood in the room or whether the turbulence I’m feeling is anything but my own roil of emotion, so I remain silent.

“So,” Roslyn says, still thinking, biding her time. “About last night…”

“I meant what I said,” I hurriedly assure her. “About finding your sister.”

She pauses, and this time I think I can pick up on the mistrust and skepticism in her expression. The pinch between her brows, the tightening and down-turning of her lips, the shift in her posture as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Yeah? And where do we… start with that? How… how does this work?”

Ah. This is better. This I can handle. This is much easier than processing my own emotions or trying to understand hers.

“Can I show you something?”

She nods, and I reach for my comms tablet where I left it on the end table near the sofa. Walking across the room, I slow my step as I reach the island, remembering the way she retreated when I approached her the other night.

“Here,” I say, swiping through a couple of screens until I reach the information about the crew’s small fleet of hovers, then handing it to her. “This is the craft you were attempting to commandeer last night. I can break into its onboard system and keep it from flagging for unauthorized use when we take it into Eritin to search.”

Roslyn swallows hard. “Did it… did I… when I tried to take it last night, did it set off an alarm?”

“I shut it down before anyone noticed.”

Her eyes stay trained on the screen, but twin patches of color appear on her cheeks.

I want to tell her she couldn’t have known. I want to tell her it was a good attempt, all things considered, and that she should be proud of how quickly she was able to get the hover started and ready to leave the production area.

But again, I hold my tongue.

“And from there, we’ll be able to reach the settlement?”

“We will,” I tell her, absolutely certain. “Once we identify the right moment to go, it should only take us an hour to get there.”

She meets my gaze. “The right moment? What are we waiting for?”

“An opportunity. Something to keep as many producers busy as possible, so there’s less chance someone will notice we’re missing.”

“Something like… what?”

I shrug. It’s the one factor in all of this I have little control over, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less confident in our ability to get it done.

“We’ll know it when we see it.”

That answer doesn’t seem to inspire much confidence in Roslyn. And I can hardly blame her. With a reunion with her sister on the line, I can imagine her impatience to get out and start looking.

“A break in production,” I explain. “A shooting schedule that takes multiple producer teams to different locations. Some kind of weather event that slows everything down for a few hours.”

Roslyn catches her bottom lip between her teeth as she nods, more of those little furrows appearing on her forehead.

My attention is unwillingly drawn to that lip, to those teeth, to the memory of having both pressed to my own mouth, and I quickly look away.

Fates, I’ve barely even begun to contemplate what this new dynamic between us will mean for our ruse with production.

Will it be better, or worse, that we aren’t constantly butting heads?

I’d like to think the former, but now that we aren’t entirely at odds, I can’t say for certain.

We trust each other… in so far as we’re willing to believe we can use each other to get what we want.

We’re working together… but only as long as we’re both getting something out of this.

We need each other… at least until we achieve our ends or filming wraps, whichever comes first.

Perhaps pretending will have been easier when we disliked each other, mistrusted each other, wanted to believe the worst in each other. If there was ever any chemistry between us, perhaps it was only a trick of anger and frustration and the need to gain the upper hand.

“Okay,” Roslyn says warily, interrupting that train of thought. “So, we wait. And when the time is right…”

“When the time is right, we find your sister.”

I think it’s hope, this time, in her expression. Or at least I’d like to pretend it is.

And perhaps I shouldn’t be making so close a study of her, now that we’re more firmly on the same side in all of this, but I can’t help myself.

With each small, subtle movement of her face, her body, I catalog and tuck the details away.

The widening of her gaze, the hitch of her breath, another flare of color on her cheeks and a slight sheen of dampness in her eyes that she quickly blinks away.

Fascinating, all her tells.

So many minute details, so many expressions to explore.

“And until then,” I say, making myself stop cataloging and turning back to the conversation at hand. “We continue as we have been.”

“Continue as we have been,” she says with a soft, humorless chuckle. “And that would be…?”

“In love, of course. Perfectly happy, if any of the producers care to ask.”

Another laugh, and a roll of her eyes that loosens a bit more of the tension in the air. “There’s still the whole problem of, you know, fooling the entire sector into thinking we actually like each other.”

“A minor problem. Insignificant, really.”

“Is that right?” Her arms drop from where they’re crossed over her chest to brace on her hips.

“Yes,” I tell her, entirely overconfident in that assertion. “That’s right.”

She takes a deep breath, then huffs it out on an exhale that only sounds about half as irritated as she usually is with me.

Progress.

We’re making progress.

“Okay,” she allows, still not entirely enthusiastic, but willing enough to hear me out. “So, how do we do that?”

Another unexpected emotion crops up at her consternation.

Amusement, maybe, but with a wry, anticipatory edge to it.

Something I might almost call… fun, if I didn’t know better.

Roslyn’s still waiting for an answer, still with that little scowl that really does look rather attractive on her, and despite the absolute wreckage that having to experience so many feelings has made of my mind this morning, a solution presents itself almost immediately.

“I’ve got an idea.”