He exhaled again, and felt himself wobbling, suddenly weak. He turned to steady the heavy load on his back and saw that one of the cabins had its door ajar.

It was Max’s cabin. Sasha’s home.

Wells had only known Sasha for a few weeks, but it felt like years of vivid memories had built up during that short time. He’d especially loved being with her in the village. She hadn’t just been the Earthborn leader’s daughter—she’d been part of the community’s life force. She was the one who’d first volunteered to gather intelligence on the hundred, even though the mission put her life in danger. She was the first to lend a helping hand, offer a sympathetic shoulder, or voice an unpopular opinion on behalf of the less powerful. She was useful, she was valued, she was loved, and now she was gone.

Wells dropped his sling, ignoring the clatter of the firewood, and stumbled like a sleepwalker to the doorway. He hadn’t been inside the cabin for nearly a month, avoiding both memories and interactions with the grieving Earthborns for as long as possible. But now there was no one around, and the cabin was drawing him in like a magnet.

His eyes searched the dim interior, taking in a table crammed with scraps of electronics, a small kitchen space, Max’s sleeping quarters… and there, in the back, Sasha’s corner.

Her bed, her quilt, a bundle of dried flowers, a drawing of a bird scratched into the wooden wall. All still there.

“I couldn’t bring myself to move any of it,” came a deep, gravelly voice behind Wells.

He turned to see Max standing a foot away, peering past him with an inscrutable expression. His beard was neatly trimmed, his best clothes neatly darned, all ready for his official role at tonight’s festivities. But right now he didn’t look like the leader of the Earthborns and a member of the new, united Council. He looked like a wounded man—a father still in the freshest wave of grief.

“She drew that bird when she was five, you know. I thought it was pretty good for that age. For any age.” He let out a little laugh. “Maybe in the old world, she could have been an artist.”

“She could have been a lot of things,” Wells said softly.

Max nodded, then pressed a hand against the wall of the cabin for balance, as if something inside of him had just cracked.

I shouldn’t be here, Wells thought, but before he could make an excuse to leave, Max straightened and walked into the cabin, motioning for Wells to follow.

“I prepared a few words to start the feast, but of course, I left them all the way back here,” Max said, riffling through his makeshift desk for a little scrap of paper crammed with scribbled words. “The spots at the table are filling up fast. You might want to get over there.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not even sure I’m going.” Wells stared at his boots but felt Max’s eyes lingering on him.

“You have as much reason to be at that table as anybody, Wells,” the older man said. His voice was quiet but firm as stone. “These people… our people… are together because of you. Alive because of you.”

Wells’s eyes shot to Sasha’s corner. Max glanced over his shoulder at it, following Wells’s gaze.

“She’ll be there too in a way, you know,” Max said, his voice softening slightly. “The Harvest Feast was her favorite holiday.” He stepped forward, pressing a hand to Wells’s shoulder. “She’d want you to enjoy it.”

Wells felt his eyes stinging. He cast them down and nodded. Max squeezed his shoulder and let go.

“I’ll be sitting up at the head of the table with the rest of the Council,” he said, striding out. “I’ll save you a seat beside me. You wouldn’t want to miss Bellamy’s speech, right?”

Despite himself, Wells smiled at the thought of his brother, the brand-new Councilor, giving a speech to hundreds of people. They’d only recently discovered that they were half brothers, but their relationship was evolving quickly, moving from begrudging mutual respect to true loyalty and affection.

Wells followed Max out of the cabin and shut the door gently behind him, letting his gaze linger on the little bird. It was hard to believe that a child had carved it. The young Sasha had captured the animal in mid-flight, making it appear light and joyful, just like she looked on the rare occasion when she set aside her responsibilities and let herself be free. He’d been privileged, he realized, to see that side of her—to watch her shriek with delight as she plunged into the lake from a far greater height than Wells would ever dare. To see her fierce green eyes mellow with tenderness after a kiss. Wells’s carelessness had robbed them of a lifetime of these moments, but it couldn’t take away the memories stored deep within his heart.

He might not have the right to celebrate tonight, not after all he’d done, all he had to answer for—but he did have plenty left to be thankful about.

CHAPTER 3

Glass

Silence wrapped around their bed like an extra blanket. This side of the camp had emptied out as everyone left to help with preparation for the Harvest Feast. But Glass had spent the afternoon here, in their little cabin nestled at the edge of the clearing, distracting Luke and being distracted. This was a rare stolen moment for them. Since Luke had recovered from a near-fatal leg wound, he’d become busier than ever. He left their cabin at dawn and returned long after sunset, generally exhausted and with a slight limp that always made Glass’s heart twinge.

Luke tried to perch on an elbow, but Glass held him down, kissing his shoulder, his bicep, his chest, then letting her mouth trail teasingly lower.

He let out a smiling groan. “I’ve got to get to my shift.”

She kissed his chin, his neck. “Not yet.”

“You keep making me late.” He traced her spine with his fingertips, his expression uncomplaining.

“They won’t mind,” Glass said, nestling closer. “You get more done in your shifts than anybody else. You’ve built half this camp.” She tilted her head to the side, surveying him with a proud smile. “My brilliant engineer.”

Luke had designed two different models: a small structure with a lofted sleeping space for families, and a longer cabin for groups of people to bunk together, like the camp’s orphaned children and the guards. But Glass and Luke’s cabin was special. It was set back from the others, and its small windows faced the spot where the sun rose over the clearing at this time of year. There was even a fireplace, and a small kitchen area with a table and chairs. No one had batted an eye about them living together, a welcome change after all the time they’d spent sneaking around back on the ship—first because of the oppressive social hierarchy, then later because Glass had been a fugitive.