Page 86 of The Last Hope

Stork is fast asleep on the floor, his chest rising and falling in what seems like a heavy slumber. Giving me enough time to search his shelves.

First, I go for the leather pouch. I push aside a book and slip the pouch in my hand.

Easy enough.

I unzip. Slowly,soslowly. Holding my breath, I glance back at Stork.Still asleep.I peer into the folds and only find two items.

The snow leopard carving and…

I’m not sure. I pull it out for a better look. Lying flat on my palm, I inspect the light-blue rectangular object. Thin dark material spooled in two holes. I flip the item over and frown at the symbols.

I touch my EonInterpreter behind my ear and the symbols become words.

Prinslo Tape.

Tinier, hurried scrawl lies beneath that label.

For Stork: play when all is saved, destroy if failed.

I can only make sense of those instructions with some grand assumptions. Based off of what Stork has told us, he can’t reveal answers until we’ve completed the operation. Maybe this tape has the answers to our lost histories, and he can only play it once we’vesavedEarth.

But it scares me to think he’s been told todestroythe knowledge if we fail.

I hesitate to return the tape. Should I steal it? I cringe at thieving from anyone. And tapes are human intricacies. If I can’t figure out how to play the tape, what good is even stealing it?

At ease with my choice, I slip the tape back and set the pouch in its rightful spot. Abruptly, nerves prick in a pleasure—I reach out and clutch a shelf.

It’s not me.

Hot tension fortifies, their hands remaining on their own bodies, but friction gathers—I whimper and catch myself too late.

Mayday.

Stork is awake. My high-pitched noise just jostled him from sleep. Out of the corner of my eye, he’s already begun to stand.

I cross my legs and bury my face in my arm.

I’m not Court or Mykal.

I’m me.

I’m here.

All of my tricks start to work, but my face is still flush by the time he nears. “What?” I snap defensively.

He smiles weakly, about to speak, but the pouch catches his attention.Oh, gods.

I forgot to zip the pouch.

Stork rubs his eyes, almost tired. It’s not the reaction I expected. Dropping his hand, he asks, “What’d you see?”

I inhale, able to straighten up. “The Prinslo Tape. What is it?”

“Nothing for you to hear,” he says strongly, and even in the darkness, I distinguish a faint redness to his eyes. “Not yet, at least.”

I prickle. “Did the admirals write those instructions? Before they died, is that what they told you to do? To destroy the tape if we fail?”

He has his hand over his mouth, processing. Thinking.