Cress was about 106% certain that she was going to die.

For one, she couldn't catch her breath. Her lungs burned and ached for any respite from the exertion, her heart seeming to want to burst through her sternum. If she couldn't slow her breathing, she was sure she would pass out. Somehow, that wasn't the worst-case-scenario in this situation.

For two, the muscles in her legs were not prepared for what was required of them. They screamed with every stride, promising pain that would last for at least a week, if she ever made it through this.

As her feet pounded the ground, her legs pushing ever forward to where she needed to be, she was sure that they would give out. Or catch fire. Whichever came first.

For three, Thorne wasn't breathing heavily at all next to her as they ran side-by-side. He had slowed to match her pace, which was obviously painful for him.

"Thorne," she huffed, begging for him to notice the twinge of desperation in her tone, hoping he'd understand that she wanted–no, needed–to stop.

"We're almost there."

Sure, she could see their mutually-agreed-upon finish line–the bench at the edge of the park–but it was still at least a quarter mile off. Though that didn't seem very far, it might as well have been on the other side of the planet.

Her legs pumped away as she continued to replay his words in her mind. They were almost there. Her lungs were threatening to implode upon themselves, but they were almost there.

The last time she remembered running, it wasn't for fun (not that she was having any fun now), and it was when she had lost five of seven rounds of blackjack to Little Cress. She had been running in place, of course, as the satellite wasn't exactly designed with an open floor plan in mind. Either way, it had sucked, but not nearly as bad as actually running.

She couldn't even believe she'd suggested running together. Cress had asked one of her coworkers what he did for fun, trying to think of something she could suggest to Thorne so that they could have a good reason to hang out. She hadn't exactly chosen the right person, though, considering Justin's hobby was doing half-marathons with his husband. Cress had known this fact beforehand, and didn't know why she thought Cristina's response would be anything other than 'running'. In any case, she wanted to give it a shot.

Thorne was excited for it, though he cited his surprise at her offer.

"I didn't know you were into running," he'd said.

Cress had decided to lie and replied, "I've been getting into it."

She wasn't very good at lying, and she was sure he'd caught on by now.

Except that, when they got to the end and Cress bent over, bracing herself on her knees, Thorne lifted his leg and rested the ball of his foot on the bench. Stretching forward, he grinned at her.

"You're not bad for having just gotten back into running," he said. This made her feel guiltier for lying, as he had apparently believed her.

He began to stretch his other leg.

She felt it wasn't quite the right time to own up to her lie, though. "It's a process," she said, panting. "I'm still trying to figure out the whole," she waved one hand through the air, "'for fun' part of it."

"You just have to pace yourself," he said. He stretched his arms over his head, leaning to each side. "Might want to take a break after today."

"Oh?"

He grabbed a hand towel out of his backpack and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Except that Cress noticed that he didn't seem to have been sweating at all. "I can't be sure, because I'm not you, but I think you might've pushed yourself a little too hard."

She sighed. "You caught onto that, huh?"

Maybe he hadn't completely believed her lie. It didn't matter either way, especially now that her lungs didn't hurt nearly as much.

Stars above, she had about three layers of sweat on each part of her exposed skin. She was thankful there were no mirrors nearby to show her just how much of that was showing through her clothes.

Thorne handed her a bottle of water from his pack. "I'll be glad to do this more often."

It was hard to tell, but she either blushed or her face had already been warm from the workout.

She chose to go with the latter.

"We can do it weekly," he suggested. "Compare schedules and see one day when we can do it. Keep you motivated." He winked at her. She was definitely blushing now. "Fortunately, my schedule stays pretty open."

He was just as charming as Cinder had been telling her, and it was just as frustrating as Scarlet said. But perhaps in a different way.

Scarlet hated his charm. Cress wasn't so sure that she did.

"That sounds good. I'll comm it to you when I get back to my place."

Thorne smiled broadly at her. "Need a ride?"

"That's okay," she said. "It's too nice of a day not to walk." She was, however, suddenly aware of how much sweat she could feel on her forehead, likely glistening in the afternoon sun. She probably had sweat stains.

Crossing her arms, she smiled at him. "Thanks again for coming. It was nice to get out and do something."

"Well, whenever you want to see something other than the inside of your office, just give me a comm. Like I said, I can open my schedule whenever."

Cress took a step back, trying to calculate the quickest route back to her apartment as she did so. "I'll keep that in mind." She waved at him as she turned to walk away. "I'll see you soon, Thorne."

She could feel him staring at her as she left. Well, that, or she was only imagining it. She was afraid to turn her head to see. Chances were, he was already walking away, and she didn't need that kind of disappointment.

She and Thorne had gotten closer since they met up for bubble tea. He was one of the few non-strangers she knew in L.A., and the only one she knew outside of work. The only non-stranger outside of work whom hadn't broken her heart, or been involved in those heartbreaks.

Not as far as she could remember, at least.

Her feet ached as her apartment building came into view. She knew that she should have accepted the ride home, even if it was only half a mile, but she'd recently developed this issue where being in such close proximity with him made her nervous. She hadn't quite figured out why, though she had an idea or two.

Both of which she chose not to think about.

Back at her apartment, she grabbed a fresh change of clothes and headed for the shower. She prompted the small netscreen in her bathroom – which mostly controlled the default water temperature and showerhead setting – to play her Second Era playlist.

As she worked through the knots in her hair with shampoo and a comb, she sang an old tune in Italian, a nearly-extinct language she would never learn. The song itself she had discovered when she was 13, when she traversed the cultural archives of Italy and found it tucked away in a file marked "2013 A.D."

The unfortunate thing about the archives was that, for security purposes, things were encrypted so only those that controlled the archives were permitted to release file copies, and only after documenting the proper identification. The fortunate thing was that Cress was very good at breaking encryptions.

She'd fallen in love immediately with the lilting voice of the singer, with the way the music surrounded the words and lifted them up, exalting them. She'd translated the song once, using an old program that she herself had to update the code of before having even the capability of simply copying and pasting the words. Cress couldn't much remember what exactly it said, but it was about finding love, losing it, and moving on.

Her voice rose with the notes in the song as she rinsed the shampoo from her hair.

And then her head was pounding, her vision going blurry. She braced herself on the bar on the shower door to keep herself from falling to the ground, though her knees buckled beneath her.

Before her eyes, a flash of a bathtub, sore legs, sunburnt skin, her own singing. And she remembered Thorne, dirty and sweaty and grinning broadly at her with a bandana around his neck. She remembered being embarrassed, though she also remembered reminding herself that he could not see her.

Just as quickly as the vision hit her, it disappeared, and she was left in a haze of steam and confusion.

She sank to the shower floor, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them as the shower water rained down on her, the water cooler where it fell further from the showerhead.

The desert.

Cinder was telling her about the desert once, when Cress was still in the hospital. About how they were out there for days and she and Thorne were severely dehydrated when they found the traveling caravan. Those people who ultimately betrayed them.

She stood up quickly, managing to catch herself on the wall before she slipped, and got out of the shower, suds of shampoo still clinging to her wet hair.

She ran to her netscreen and pulled up a word processor. On her tablet, she pulled up an interview of Cinder, Thorne, Scarlet, and Kai after the revolution (the news station had wanted to focus on the earthen perspective, and though Cinder was Lunar, the interviewer had said that she should be involved, because she was raised on Earth.) (Cress thought it was a good argument.)

She had watched the interview multiple times, and this was the first time that she listened to each story and didn't feel as though they were all just recounting the events that happened in a Second Era–Corrupt Government/Revolution novel. For the first time, it all felt… real.

Turning back to her netscreen, the cursor blinking on the word processor, she tapped out every dream or memory she had had since her accident. Though much of them were hazy, she wrote as many details as she could remember.

It was a mere bullet-pointed list without any context or order. Stream-of-consciousness thoughts quickly put on a page, with spelling mistakes abounding. It didn't matter. Organization was not the important part of this project. Not yet.

She spent the next four hours rewatching the interview twice, arranging her memories in the order that they were recounted in, adding in notes underneath each based on what was said in the interview.

Cress recalled also that only a few of the memories she'd had were related to anything her friends had told her – the rest were private moments, or ones that were more intimate, so they were probably never brought up, or seemingly unimportant.

Maybe the bathroom scene fell into the former category. Maybe that's why it was never mentioned or recounted to her.

She wanted to think that maybe it'd never happened, but too much about it seemed realistic. It made sense. Thorne had been blind when they were in the desert, so it was logical that she would have reminded herself then that he couldn't see her.

Cress pushed her hands through her hair, her heart rising into her throat.

Everything was coming together.

And she knew now that there was only one thing left to do: talk to Thorne.

Author's Note: Well, I can say one thing: the rest of this fic is completely written and ready to be posted! You no longer have to go on thinking it's never going to return! It is done and I am proud of the ending. And am proud of you guys for sticking around, even if it has been like two years since I started this fic, and with little payout.