"So why are you ignoring me? Did I do something?"

She drew back, knowing she should tell him. He thought she was a mere mechanic, and he was, perhaps, willing to cross that social divide. But to be both cyborg and Lunar? To be hated and despised by every culture in the galaxy? He would understand in a moment why he needed to forget her.

-Cinder, page 292.

Pull off the gloves and show him.

Maybe it was her mounting exasperation with him, with his flirting and ball invitations and utter inability to take no for an answer. Maybe it was the knowledge that if his carefree smile didn't break her heart, the what-if's would. Or maybe it was the fact that she couldn't take the lie anymore that made her grip the fingers of her left glove and yank it off.

It should have happened in slow motion, but it didn't. It should have felt more dramatic, but it wasn't. The motion was as quick and painless as a sigh.

Her metal plating flashed in the brilliant sunlight. Kai blinked into the glare, still looking confused, and glanced down at the reflective surface.

And froze.

Cinder stared up at him, clenching her jaw, hackles already rising in her own defence. She held her left hand out stiffly in front of her, letting it shine unnaturally (not human, human skin doesn't act like that, not human, not human, not human) into his eyes.

There was no going back now. No use pretending.

Kai stared down at her hand, his mouth slightly open. The box fell from his arms and thudded softly onto the table, but he didn't seem to notice. He looked as though he couldn't process what he was seeing – as if his brain insisted that the metal hand must be separate from the rest of her, but it wasn't, and trying to understand was causing an error message.

The very thought made Cinder want to laugh at herself – imagining Kai as a cyborg, one who had the same computerized brain that she did? There had never been anyone more human than him.

The people around them didn't pause. Earth went on spinning on its axis. The noise and chatter and breathless August heat flooded into the quiet bubble that had formed around the crown prince and the mechanic, pulling them back to reality.

Cinder pressed her lips together and withdrew her hand into her lap.

"You," Kai started, and cut himself off. Slowly, his eyes traveled from the table, where her metal hand had been a moment before, and up to her face. She couldn't read his expression – confusion, disbelief, shock, uncertainty. One after the other. "You're …"

"Cyborg," she said, with forced nonchalance. Why was it so hard for him to say it? To believe what his eyes told him? He ought to get it over with and leave the market, leave forever. It would be easier that way for both of them.

Kai searched her face, brows drawn. The shock had been replaced with a distrustful sort of incredulity. "I didn't know."

"You couldn't have. I don't exactly advertise."

He swallowed. His breathing had ticked up. "Cinder, you led me to believe -"

"I didn't lie."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Cinder lifted her chin, defiance in her eyes. "Why do you think?" She had once thought that if this happened, she would be humiliated, that she would feel regret for what she'd lost – but no. At this point, she was just angry. At Kai, and Adri, and the whole unjust world, and herself. "Can you think of any possible reason that I did not volunteer this information?"

He shook his head. The princely mask she'd seen before – the one he'd always taken down in front of her – went up again, all tact and diplomacy, and it hurt her more than anything. "I'm sorry. That was a stupid question. It isn't my business."

"You've made it your business," Cinder bit out, and immediately regretted it. Her words were black and bitter, even to her own ears.

She needed to be calm. Respectful.

As befitted a subject and her ruler.

"I ignored your comms," she said, more slowly this time. "I refused your invitation. I tried to make it clear, but you –"

"Make what clear?"

"That it wasn't going to come to anything! You brought me your android, I fixed it. End of story."

Those last three words hung between them like a veil. The look in his eyes – hurt, confusion, sudden clarity – almost stopped the little electrical pulses in her cyborg fingers. He could see the social divide between them. Finally, after ignoring it for so long … he saw.

Cinder looked away, down at the tablecloth. The meticulously arranged nuts and bolts and screws, the wrenches and wire-cutters.

"Perhaps," she said quietly, "you should reconsider your offer."

Kai looked away, too. Squared his shoulders, hands behind his back. The pose was so kingly that she wondered if he'd practised it.

Vendors and customers chattered around them. The news reporter on the corner was still going on about the peace festival celebration. None of it mattered.

Finally, after an eternity, he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I've been …" He shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. "Presumptuous. You –" For the first time, he seemed to be struggling with words. "You tried to keep your distance, I see that now. But –"

"Kai," she blurted, without thinking. "Spare me the speech. Please? Spare us both."

He looked up. Opened his mouth – stopped himself. Slowly … nodded. "Yes. Sorry."

Cinder met his gaze. Waited.

Kai didn't move. He wavered there, at her mechanic booth, dragging out the time.

He doesn't want to leave, she realized. Maybe he wanted an explanation, or an apology. Maybe he wanted to rewind the last few minutes as much as she did.

"You should, um …" Cinder gestured to the gold-foil-wrapped box. If she'd been human, her cheeks would have been burning. Her face, her lips, her heart, all gone to the fire. "You should bring that with you. Give it to some other girl."

"No," he said at once, shaking his head. "It's a gift."

His honour wouldn't let him take it back. Cinder couldn't accept it. She could have rolled her eyes at the stalemate. Instead, she stared at the box, wondering what was inside, and whether she could ever undo the pretty white ribbon.

"Please, take it." Kai stretched out a hand and pushed it across the table, closer to her. To her surprise, he tried for a smile – and what a strange, wistful smile it was. "And think of me."

She stared up at him, knowing that her expression was just as raw as his. She had abandoned her own mask, the pretense of indifference and politesse. Surely he could see how much this was hurting her, too. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He steadily met her gaze. "I'm not."

Cinder's breath caught in her throat. Kai turned to leave, to disappear into the market crowd, but hesitated – glanced back.

"My request still stands, by the way." There was an uncertain note in his voice. "If you change your mind."

All she could do was nod. Goodbye had become a lump in her throat.

He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but only shook his head and walked away.

Cinder waited until she lost sight of his gray hoodie. Then she reached out and carefully took the gold box in her hands. The glinting light off the foil wrapping matched the shine of her metal fingers. Quickly, so that no one would see, she bent down and placed the box under the table, out of sight.

She would open it later, when she was on her way to Europe.

"Cinder, here, take these."

She blinked as Pearl appeared out of nowhere, slamming down a pile of boxes onto the table. It was such a sudden change of company that Cinder couldn't understand, at first, what it was that her stepsister wanted. She could only stare at where Kai had vanished into the crowd.

"Put them somewhere near the back, where they won't get stolen," said Pearl, waving a hand, not even looking at her. "Somewhere clean, if such a place exists."

"Fine."

Her stepsister tossed her head and sashayed off.

When she had gone, Cinder exhaled a slow, shuddering breath, and put her head into her hands.

It could have been worse, she thought miserably. He was polite. He was a gentleman. It could have been so, so much worse.

He might have also found out that she was Lunar.

Stars, that would really have been a disaster.