Page 32 of Skyn (After the End #3)

He grabs my shoulders, shaking once. “Should’ve sent you in years ago,” he says, almost laughing.

I tilt my head. “You could have told me you were some resistance spy.”

“That would make me a pretty shitty spy,” he says.

“Are you going to sign up for LOSS” I ask.

“I’m going to have to fight these machine bastards for it now. 60 years is a long life in the mines. But these abovegrounders are obsessed with status. They’ll crowd us out.” the shopkeeper says.

“Maybe you can help up make sure the ratio is fair?”

“I could do that.” He touches his chest “Thank you.”

We hug, brief and unsentimental, and he’s gone before I can say more—absorbed back into the sea of bodies, all heat and breath and shifting glances.

To my left, in the blur at the edge of my vision, Lily watches me. She’s pretending not to. Her gaze flicks sideways to Ben’s brother then to Ben. I can see the math in her eyes, the quiet subtraction.

She untangles herself from Micheal’s grip and makes her slow, graceless trek toward Ben. If she’s embarrassed, the dampeners have dulled it. Her movements are too fluid, too unbothered, like a marionette with her strings cut loose.

Ben stands in the center of the room, back straight, shoulders squared—an old-school stance, the kind of posture you’d expect from a statue in a city square.

She says something low, probably pleading.

Her mouth moves, but the words don’t carry.

And then his voice, when it comes, is thunder and closing doors.

“Lily, you have Michael. He is everything you deserve.”

A flicker of something like panic crosses her face.

She tries again. “It wasn’t just me,” she says. “Your mother, your brother—they made me feel like this was the only way. You weren’t listening. You were slipping away. Ben, please—look. I have SKYN now.”

She shrugs her shoulders, baring the sleek prototype pulling and buckling on her frame. But Ben, oh—Ben does not flinch.

No chairs thrown! No threats of cannibalism! My baby!

His rage is quiet now, but I still feel it in the tightness in his fists.

Instead, he smiles. A terrible, exquisite thing, so controlled it looks like it hurts him. Then he turns his back on her, and the air seems to split.

“We are founding L.O.S.S. island, where softness and vulnerability are not to be punished, mothers stay with their children, and lovers do what lovers do. If you’re willing to be a part of a different type of community, we promise you the best sixty years of your life”, he says, and the room is quiet.

It feels as close to a declaration of independence as any of us are going to get. Maybe his statue will go in the square.

“We’re terraforming as we speak, and all are free to come.”

When Josh’s eyes light up, I shake my head. “Almost all are free to come,” I correct.

“My Diamond has spoken,” Ben says, as Josh opens his mouth.

Ben is more unpredictable than I gave him credit for.

This moment wasn’t on the agenda, and he made me part of this audacious leap. I reach for his hand, and in the chaos of the place, we are of one mind.

We are in this together.

Michael’s face displays barely contained panic. He spent a lifetime practicing council politics, and here he is, utterly flummoxed by the simplest of rebellions: failure to comply.

Ben and I make our way toward the exit, an ocean of stunned onlookers parting before us. There’s something radiocast-esque about it. Ben’s grip on my hand is tight, like he’s holding something that’s as unsteady as he is.

The railship waits outside—an ugly, rusted thing that seems like it should never float.

But I’ve learned not to judge anything’s strength by its shell.

I glance back once, just once. For what?

I’m not sure. Memory? Regret? Inside, Lily is still, Michael slack-jawed, Josh is sullen, and Dru is wistful.

I flick my head once, and Dru points to her chest with wide eyes.

She slips out of Josh’s grip and hugs me. I lead her toward the ship.

Ben kisses the top of my head. I smile and readjust my hair.

“You think you’re going to miss it?” I ask him, not quite knowing where I’m going with the question but knowing that I want to hear him be okay with walking away from Iku Industries, his family's fortune, and his so-called perfect life with Lily.

It feels strange now, knowing that he chooses this, a lab and a new society. Me.

Ben is quiet for a moment. I see the muscles in his jaw working, his mind calculating.

“I won’t miss the council meetings, or the money, or the way I had to pretend all the time,” he says, his voice low. “But I will miss the certainty. Knowing what came next, even if I hated it. This”, he points to the ship, “this is terrifying.”

I laugh because he’s right. I’m scared too.

There’s a moment of silence between us as we watch people sign up for Sector Two’s new program, for our new world.

Maybe that’s all you can really ask for in the end—not certainty, not perfection, but someone to stand beside you when the world falls apart.