Notes:

There's a flashback of Ría's abuse at the start of this chapter that may trigger some people. If that's you, skip what's in italics—Ría briefly reflects on what happened through dialogue immediately after.

I've decided to go through with posting these parts ahead of the Scribophile critiques. All the site can tell me about when it'll be my turn next is that there's a "whole lot" in front of me, and I've gotten impatient. Thus, these are technically unbeta'd. I'll be editing them as Scrib catches up.

"It's time for bed, duckling."

My father's voice floated down the hallway towards me, and I glanced up from where I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom.

Before me, face-down on the beige carpet, was a naked barbie doll. While in one of my unexplainable dark moods, I ripped out all its straight golden hair, leaving it with a grotesquely bald head. I still didn't know why I'd done it, and now, I picked it up and tossed it into the closet, where it laid still as a corpse amongst a cacophony of disheveled clothes and old candy wrappers.

"Are you ready for bed?" my father asked again, this time from the doorway.

I had no choice—and I knew it. In sullen silence, I crawled from the floor onto the bare mattress beside me, grabbing the quilt from the edge of the bed and pulling it over my tiny body. My hands were round and small, my fingers no bigger than baby carrots.

I was dreaming, I realized. I knew what was going to happen next, but there was nothing I could do. In the dream, my father sat beside my mattress, thrown haphazardly in the corner. He ruffled my still-curly hair with his brown fingers, his eyes dark and liquid with what everyone back home had pushed me to believe was love.

Maybe it was. But, that didn't change what happened next.

"Can the light stay on?" I asked, as he went to get up.

"It's time for bed," he responded.

"But," I whined. "I want it on."

My fingers and toes twitched with fear. I was scared of the way the shadows moved when it was dark, making shapes and tricking me into thinking there was something there when there wasn't. He didn't like it when I woke him up in the middle of the night. But my father's face was now an expressionless mask. He didn't want to—the light from the hallway disturbed his sleep. But, I needed him to.

"Please?" I said. "Please please please please—"

All at once, his mouth opened so wide I could see all his white teeth, and the gums they were embedded in. He screamed, inches from my face, his breath hot on my cheeks and his spit wet on my skin. Eyes so wide they hurt, I shrank back into the crack between the mattress and the wall, my entire body numb…

…and then I woke up with an electric jolt, my fingers fisted in my t-shirt and my breathing a moistureless rasp in my ears. Another nightmare—another flashback.

"Fuck!"

The flashbacks were worse when they came to me in my sleep. When they did, I couldn't feel them coming. I couldn't avert them, I couldn't defend against them. It reminded me of what it'd been like in that suffocating, wood-paneled room. I had been completely and utterly powerless, completely and utterly at the mercy of others. Of what they deemed necessary—or didn't.

Sitting up in bed, I covered my face with my hands. Hot tears welled up, stinging my eyes.

"What kind of a parent won't let a kid have a nightlight?" I whispered hoarsely between my fingers, into my pitch back room. "What kind of parent screams in their child's face for being scared?"

I knew the answer, but there wasn't anything I could do to act on it. Everything that'd happened to me had already happened, and I couldn't change it. I couldn't go back and chastise my parents with my adult knowledge, or undo how I'd reacted to their actions—molding myself to my circumstances, trying to avoid trouble, and warping myself horribly in the process. Splintering, healing into the gap, and becoming more and more deformed each time, until people noticed it just listening to me talk.

That was what scared me, now—not getting hurt, but being rejected. Being pushed to the sidelines, edged out, and never being chosen by anyone.

I wanted someone to choose me. I wanted someone to actually love me, instead of loving only what I represented to them. Instead of the title my existence gave them.

Tears welling up anew in my eyes, I sat back up. Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, I sniffled and rubbed my eyes, silently slipping my uniform back on. Shoving my feet into a pair of comfortable white sneakers from my duffel bag, I slipped out into the empty, dimly-lit hallway.

There were no cadets out this time of night, but the window to the instructor's lounge cast a square of bright light on the floor. I wasn't a kid anymore, so I walked past the window without even ducking my head. No one came out to stop me—they just went back to their meals. I sighed in relief as a bit of the weight on my chest eased off. I was safe.

In the cafeteria, the door that led out onto the tarmac was still open. I pushed through it, out onto the asphalt, a cold wind slapping my cheek with my undone hair. Outside, the sky was star-studded indigo, the buildings, vehicles, and equipment left out just shadowy silhouettes against its matte hues.

Sneakers scuffing, I wandered around the side of the building, into its shadow. My fingertips reached out, brushing rough concrete, smooth plastic, then finally, the cool metal of the utility stairs. I pulled myself up the steps with my arms, my legs still unsteady from the deluge of emotion I'd felt upon waking. With each pull, the arms of my uniform jacket strained over my biceps, reminding me of my own existence.

We probably weren't supposed to be on the roof, but I wanted to see the Sonoran. I wanted to see if I could spot any interesting nooks and crannies, if I could fill my head with daydreams of adventure again. Of days spent exploring canyons and caves, and nights spent camping out under the stars—all the ways I'd dreamed I'd spend my time before the Atlas' launch.

I lifted myself onto the roof, and as I turned towards the desert below, I came face to face with none other than Keith.

# # # # # # # #

My stomach sank, and my feet came to a stop on the gravel rooftop. Keith leaned on the ledge that marked its edge, one elbow resting atop it, his other arm hanging at his side. His scar—though it'd previously looked almost healed—was covered with a sticky-looking bandage, and his eyes were fixed on his feet. He wasn't seeing me—lost in thought maybe?

A mixed wave of dread and fear prickled across my skin. I didn't want him to see me. I didn't want to feel like a freak, again. But when I tried to turn and leave, my feet wouldn't move. Every beat of my heart ached, and my chest was packed tight with cotton bolls, making it hard to breathe. My fingers trembled where they hung at my sides.

My feet nudged forward, toward him, and I felt myself wet my lips.

"Hi, Keith," I said.

At first, I thought he wouldn't hear me. My voice had been nearly strangled as it'd fought its way up through my constricted vocal cords. But, then he looked up, his brow furrowing as he recognized me. A sharp, cold stab of fear sliced through my guts, but I continued towards him, as if I were only partly in control.

"Hey," he said, in that same soft voice as in the cafeteria.

I came to stand beside him, looking out over the Sonoran, which—to my disappointment—I could only make out as a single, blocked-out silhouette. In the distance, rocky cliffs dipped and rose in a jagged line that resembled something off a heart monitor.

"Do you know if there're caves out there?"

He looked at me, his eyes widening somewhat. Had he expected me to just turn and leave, or something? I bit my lip—I was probably bothering him—but then he turned to look too, and for the first time, I noticed what he was wearing. It was a slim space suit with a fabric hood, its armored breastplate hidden by a long piece of navy cloth. Padded at the shoulders, it criss-crossed over his chest and wrapped around his waist before draping down over one leg.

I blinked twice. Keith was an officer of the Blade of Marmora? Hadn't they only accepted Galra until recently? How could he have risen to officer status in less than a year? My head swam with questions, but I shoved them aside, trying to focus.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "There's… um, lots?"

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He kept rubbing his hands together, and his shoulders pulled forward and up, towards his ears. It was a complete one-eighty from how cool-as-a-cucumber he'd been the night before.

"Lots?"

His eyes flickered to mine, but as soon as our gazes met, he looked away, scratching his neck. Was it just me, or was he acting jumpy?

"There's—" He paused, and when he spoke, his voice came out stronger, clearer. "—animal caves, and caves with rivers in the bottom." He looked at me again, this time, holding my gaze. His brows were tense above his eyes. "Don't go in those ones—" He said, leaning toward me. "They flood when it rains."

I smiled. His warning—the intensity of it—was kind of funny. That kind of energy would make him a good tour guide—though, it'd probably make his charges do the exact opposite of what he said, even if it was just to tease him.

"I won't," I said, my voice curling with the words. "I promise."

"There's the lion caves, too," He said. "They have carvings. Of… um, lions?"

Keith looked at me, his eyes flickering back and forth across my face. It almost felt as if he was searching for something, and I automatically felt myself step into the metaphorical gap.

"Are there lions out here?"

"No," he said, his brow furrowing.

He leaned away from me slightly, and I stiffened. Was I making him uncomfortable? We were standing side-by-side next to the ledge, only a small space between us, and I took a step back. Meshing my fingers, I leaned against a concrete outcropping, trying to give him space.

"Yeah," I said. "I guess that's pretty silly." Note to self, don't ask stupid questions. "There's canyons out here, too, right? Find any interesting spots?"

"A few," he said. "There's an outcropping—" He looked away, then back at me, and I nodded. "By my pop's shack, high up—you can see Phoenix in the distance. And, there's a few places where all the cactus bloom pink in the summer." I smiled appreciatively at the mental image, and he paused. "But, they flood too, so—"

An amused chuckle bubbled from my chest, and his eyes widened. His shoulders sank back down, and he stared silently at me, brows raised into thick arcs and mouth slightly open. Had I taken him by surprise, or something?

"What?" He demanded.

"Is there anywhere in this place that doesn't flood?" I asked, trying to stifle my laughter.

His lip twitched, and a grin spread across his face as he looked down at the desert, scuffing his boot on the gravel.

"No," he said again, but this time, he sounded amused, too. "It's the desert—it floods."

"Because it's so dry," I continued, wiping my eyes. "And the ground can't take the water."

"And because it dumps," he added.

I blinked twice.

"Dumps?"

He grinned, this time at me, and my heart stopped dead in my chest.

"The monsoons."

His eyes weren't black, I realized now. On top of being astonishingly large and rimmed with dark lashes, they were a dark slate, with a slight cool cast that made them look—impossibly—almost purple. My chest ached—I was holding my breath—and my gaze darted away, skittering across the floor. I heard his suit rustle as he straightened, and I tucked my hands in my pockets, squeezing them into fists to stop them from shaking.

"I should go," I heard myself say, my voice wobbly. "Get some… sleep."

"Yeah?"

The word tipped up at the end, like a question. Like he was unsure—or hurt. Like I'd just inadvertently rejected him, or something.

Stupid duckling.

I squeezed my fists harder, until I felt my fingernails cutting half-moons in my palms. Shut up, I screamed at my father's voice in my head. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

"This was fun," I said, my voice rushing out. I stopped, swallowed, then tried again. When I did, my words came out slower. "I'm gonna think about exploring a little—" I paused. "—When it's not going to rain. Goodnight, Keith."

I still couldn't look at him, but when he spoke, that strange upturned bend was gone. He held up a somewhat awkward hand.

"Night."

With a slight tip of my head, I turned and went back down the utility stairs.

I forced myself to walk back to the building, even though every bone, every tendon, every muscle in my body was shrieking. After all, what would he think if he saw me running from him? But the minute I was inside the cafeteria, I took off, my sneakers squeaking as I shot down the hallway to my room and threw myself down on my bed.

"No," I whispered into the dark, pulling my pillow down over my head.

It took me a long time to calm down, and even longer to fall asleep. When I did, my dreams alternated between moving slowly, as if carried by honey, then jolting ahead, as if they were stuck in fast-forward. I was unsure if I'd actually slept, and my suspicions were confirmed when I awoke to my second day at the Garrison with darker shadows around my eyes than usual.

"Hey, Ría," I croaked, standing over the sink with one foot up on the toilet, my shower-wet hair sticking to my cheek and my toothbrush wedged between my molars. "You look like absolute shite."

My reflection's eyes were watery pink rimmed with red, her cheeks mottled and her lips pale. Grunting in annoyance, I held a cold washcloth to my eyes, then went back into my room and felt about in my duffel for the round cookie tin of makeup I never wore anymore.

Returning to the sink, I cracked it open in a small puff of Albertan dust and pulled out a tube of foundation that could've passed for tinted moisturizer. I smeared it over the frightening hollows beneath my eyes. Then, I pinched and rubbed my full lips until the color came back to them—until I no longer resembled the traumatized husk I was.

But, there was no makeup, no common-sense remedy for my mind. Why had I talked to Keith? As I walked down the hallway toward the cafeteria, I chewed my lip. I could feel irritation rippling across my skin. If this continued—if I tried to get close to him—he'd realize how weird, broken and desperate I was. I'd be the topic of scuttlebutt for the next sixty-two thousand years.

I shook my head, sucking in a deep breath. No matter how my anxiety tried to spin it, I knew what I came here for—a chance. A chance to make a friend—I blotted the other options out before I could think them—and maybe, forge a strong relationship. A change to get to know someone else, and maybe grow a little as a person.

Being able to talk to Keith—this was my chance. I had to take it.

I paused outside the doors and took another breath. The morning foot traffic split to stream around me, thrumming as my coworkers talked amongst themselves. I exhaled slowly, counting purposefully down to zero. It took a while, but when my heartbeat thumped at even intervals, and my fingers no longer twitched, I turned and entered the cafeteria.

There were no chicken strips that day, either. I stood quietly before the fridges for a long time, my eyes roaming back and forth over the little plastic-wrapped bundles on the shelves. My options for the morning were either a soggy-looking tuna salad sandwich, an egg and sausage bagel I couldn't heat up, a small container of yogurt that would leave me hungry long before lunch, or an individual sized bag of Doritos. I didn't know why the Doritos were in the fridge, but I skipped over them and picked up the tuna salad sandwich.

I went to stand in the checkout, and as I did, someone came and stood beside me. Their shoulder bumped mine as the line lurched forward, and I bit my lip.

A predominant part of me wanted to ignore Keith's presence. To tuck my tail between my legs and stay in my little "alone in a crowd" bubble. I had exactly as much to lose as I had to gain, and I didn't like it—my luck was too bad to bet on those kinds of odds.

"Hey," I said anyway.

At first, I didn't think he heard me.

"Hey," he replied quietly after a beat, almost under his breath.

Was that a thing with him—the long silence before a response? It hadn't been like that last night, and it was strange. He'd talked a lot, more than I'd thought he would.

The line split us apart, me to the first till and him to the second. As I paid for my meal, I scoped the cafeteria for a free table, trying not to think about whether or not he'd try to join me. I spotted one in the corner where I'd sat yesterday and started toward it, but then I saw Rizavi waving at me.

"Ría," she stage-whispered, beckoning to me.

Her friends turned one-by-one to look, then in one smooth motion, all turned to stare at her. Their expressions held varying amounts of curiosity, confusion and annoyance, but she was oblivious to them, with eyes only for me.

I pointed to their table, made a circular motion with my finger, then mouthed check with your friends first. She blinked at me, her eyes wide, but I couldn't tell if she got the message. Either way, she stopped waving at me, so I hurried over to the empty table and sat down. I'd escaped having to win over Rizavi's friends—at least for now—and I let out a sigh of relief.

Rubbing my eye, I picked up my tuna salad sandwich and froze. A dark shadow flitted across the plastic wrap. I looked down at the metal table leg to my left, watching in its reflection as Keith sat at the other empty table behind me. He at least had the sense not to sit directly behind me… but even then…

He was hovering, in a way that couldn't possibly be an accident. And in a way, he was somehow managing to share my space without disturbing it. My eyes stung, but I wasn't sure if it was in frustration or relief. Neither of them made one lick of sense to me.

I blinked my tears away and sank my teeth into the crusty bread.