Page 157 of The Last Hope

Yes.

“The way this works, I would need the current location of the planet. And Earth is…”

“Gone,” the future Stork finishes. “Destroyed. Years ago. TheLucretziais all that’s left of the Earthen Fleet. Seventy-five souls aboard.”

Franny rocks back.

“In minutes…”He’s crying, tears streaking his bloodstained cheeks. “…that’ll be gone too.” Their baby wails, and future Court strokes her head until she hushes.

A void hollows his eyes. He seems to be drifting. Not talking. Not really present. Like he’s dying.

No.

Like he’s already dead.

“Court.” Future Stork snaps and waves his hand in front of his face, and then he taps his cheek twice. A Grenpalish gesture.

My tears flood uncontrollably as I watch—as I know. Mykal is dead in the future, and I’m something worse than miserable without him. I’m empty. Filled with nothingness.

“Come on, mate. It’s just a little longer.” Stork jostles his arm until he lifts his head higher.

“Mykal is gone,” the future Court says numbly.

Franny wipes her wet cheeks—I turn my head. Mykal,ourMykal is running toward us. I sense his strong stride and burning tendons.

He’ll be here soon.

I calm.

He’s not gone.

“Sometimes the Grenpalish gesture focuses Court,” future Stork tells us. “But when Mykal died, a part of Court died with him.” The hologram flickers badly.

The older version of myself is back speaking in haste. “The baby. You should know her abilities by now. Once on Earth, she’ll make the planet invisible. Our enemies will not understand what happened, and this gives you time you desperately need.”

Why do we need more time?

He barely pauses. “She won’t have the intelligence to teleport Earth to a galaxy of your choosing. Not yet. Wait a few years and then she’ll be able to teleport the planet safely where it needs to be. This also gives you three years to find a new galaxy that Earth can call home.”

I pocket every instruction.

“Stork, tell them her name.” They both look down at their baby—and their baby is our baby. But I have a difficult time comprehending how this little peaceful newborn in my arms has seen and heard and been held in a battle-torn, bloodied future.

In the hologram, future Stork rubs away his tears. “I’d like to introduce you to the darling light of my life, Zima Bluefall.”

Something wet touches my cheek. Franny drops her head, stepping back like a punch to the gut, and the hologram stone is as unsteady as Stork’s quaking palm.

Bluefall.

This is Franny’s baby. But if her child is a fall… and not a castle—it means Franny died in childbirth. I stare at the older version of myself. His crimson hands, the hands of someone who tried to save a life. He helped deliver the baby, I think.

He watched Franny die.

I stand stoic. Trying to remind myself that Franny is right beside me. Breathing. Alive. I am not him.

He is empty.

And so very alone.