Rebel (Legend, #4)(98)

She shrugs, looking uncertainly around at the Undercity’s streets. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out,” she answers with a shrug. There is something lost in her gaze. “They said I can apply to the university, even with my Level. They might give me a scholarship. But…”

“But?” I ask.

She looks at me, and then down. “I don’t know.” And in her gaze, I see that same restlessness I’ve always felt, the feeling of not fitting in, the same need to do something bigger, to find myself in this strange world. The same thing that drew us together as friends from the beginning. “I’m ready to leave the Undercity,” she finally says. “I just don’t know where to go next.”

“Come with me,” I say.

The words spill out of my mouth without warning. Pressa looks at me in surprise.

“Come … with you?” she murmurs.

I hadn’t thought any of that through at all. But when I speak again, I find myself taking her by her hands and pulling her closer. “Come with me,” I repeat, my voice more eager this time. It’s so obvious now. “You’ve always said you never felt like you belonged in the Undercity—like there was an adventure out there, waiting for you to make it happen. Come to Los Angeles, to the Republic. Please. You could change everything there for the better. You could do everything you’ve ever wanted to do. And I could be there with you, we could…”

I trail off, too shy to ask her to be with me. But I can see the spark lighting in Pressa’s eyes, that addictive sense of life in her that I’d always admired. Her lips curve up. This is the adventure that had been waiting for her.

“Okay,” she says quietly, as if to herself, and then breaks into a wide grin. “Okay!”

Then she throws her uninjured arm around me without warning, hand still clutching the framed flowers, and I find myself hugging her in return, and we’re both laughing at the awkward angle of her one-armed embrace. She feels so good in my arms that I can’t imagine ever letting go.

On an impulse, I kiss her.

She leans into me and kisses me back, fully and firmly. It’s the most perfect kiss in the world. I hug her tight. Somewhere around us, I hear whistles, then the workers on the ladder teasing us gently before bursting into friendly laughter. I don’t move away. I just keep my arms around Pressa, holding her tight, feeling sure of our future for the first time, feeling happier than I’ve been in a long time.

The world shifts, tilts, sometimes collapses. But sometimes, it bends toward you, and everything feels right.

*

By the time I return home that night, our apartment’s already filled with packing boxes. Daniel is walking around in a restless state, double-checking our things and making sure everything is put away.

When he sees me, he straightens and tries to hide his anxiety. “Are you ready to go back tomorrow?” he asks me instead.

I walk over to our couch and plop down on it one last time. “Ready enough,” I reply as he comes over to join me.

Immediately, he smiles.

“What?” I say.

“Something really good happened to you,” he says, studying my face. “It’s Pressa, yeah?”

I laugh a little. How good it feels to have a brother who can read my emotions again, who knows me. I nod. “Pressa’s going to come to the Republic too. She’s figuring out all the logistics for herself now.”

Daniel grins at that and nudges my shoulder. “Good,” he says. “I always thought she was meant for more than the Undercity. Glad you’ll have each other.”

My eyes settle on a small, square box in one of his pockets. “What’s that?” I ask.

He hesitates, and his smile wavers. He leans his head against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. “It’s nothing. I don’t know.”

Now it’s my turn to read his mind. It’s that look he gets only when he thinks about June. I wonder if he has an entire life laid out in front of him, if he sees glimmers of her at his side, of him holding her hand. I wonder if he’s afraid of that vision of a life, how easily it could shift depending on the directions that the present will shift him. On how the next few weeks will go.

“Daniel,” I say gently, so that he turns back to me. “She’s nuts about you. And you’ve been obsessed with her since as far back as I can remember. It’s obvious to everyone.”

He looks down at his hands. They fidget nervously, the fingers weaving together and then pulling apart. Even now, he can’t seem to bring himself to shake off his past, the feeling that maybe he was never meant to be with someone as high-ranking as June.

I wonder if we’ll ever fully escape our history. But every step forward takes us to a better place.

“If you need help with anything related to June,” I add, “you know you have a brother that you can count on.” I shrug a little. “Just in case you had something specific in mind.”

He looks at me, then smiles a little. There’s hope in his gaze—but even better than that, there’s trust. We may always struggle with our pasts, but we can rest assured that we’ll always have someone else who can pull us forward. In this moment, at least, the fear of going to bed and confronting my nightmares again seems distant.

“Glad you said it,” he finally answers. “I think I will need your help.”