Their Fractured Light (Starbound #3)(26)
I stare at her for half a heartbeat, then look down to find the elevator car below us easing smoothly upward. Oh, hell. Though it’s slow at first, it’s gathering speed quickly. I meet Alexis’s eyes again for a fraction of a second, and then lean into the panel, cursing hard. My fingers falter—my breath hitches—my palms are sweating and I can’t get a grip on the wire and my nails are too short to dig through the coating on them, and Alexis’s shouting something beside me, and finally, finally I spark two of the wires together and the elevator doors at waist level creak open six inches.
I reach out for Alexis, shouting at her to move, and this time she doesn’t hesitate—I guide one of her feet to my leg and half shove her upward, my body screaming at the extra weight, the grip in my other hand—the one clamping the belay device closed—starting to fail. She clambers up through the opening, her body scraping either side as she wriggles through—then I see her again, as she shoves her foot against one of the doors and forces it open a few more inches. Then she’s leaning down—God, what the hell are you doing, go!—and I realize she’s reaching for me.
The elevator car’s rumbling beneath us like an oncoming train, and I know she’s shouting something at me because I can see her lips moving. Her hands grasp at my wrist and I give up on the belay device, letting the rope go slack and grabbing at the hold with my other hand. For one horrible moment I know I’m not going to make it, my muscles spasming—and then I’m moving, scrambling, feet kicking briefly at empty air before Alexis and I both go sprawling onto the floor, just as the car goes screeching by. Sparks spit from the open doors as the car shears my grips off the shaft walls like leaves being stripped from a stem.
Gasping, coughing, tangled up together and sweating and shaking, Alexis and I sprawl on the floor. I press my face against the cold marble, gradually coming back to myself and the world around me. The windows at the far end of the hall tell me dawn’s arrived—the first hints of light are streaking through the sky and gilding the window frames. The exit to the skybridge is just around the corner, and once we’re in the neighboring building it’ll be the work of moments to hack that system and catch a ride down to street level. We’re safe.
With that comes the realization that Alexis is lying on top of me—for a moment I’m tempted to stay still, to keep where I am as long as possible, because now that the threat of imminent splattage has passed, I could get used to this. But as we both sit up slowly, I realize she’s not pulling away because she’s shaking too violently to move.
I wrap one arm around her, alarm coursing through me. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head mutely, and I can see the terror lingering in her tear-streaked face. She wasn’t joking about not being good with heights—if I’d known she was this phobic, I never would’ve made her climb. I would’ve…I don’t know, figured something out. How in all that’s holy did she manage that?
My arm’s tightening around her before I register what I’m doing, tucking her in against my side. “You did it,” I murmur, turning my head to speak into her ear. “We’re okay. We’re almost out.”
She holds still within the circle of my arm for a moment, and then abruptly she’s pressing in against me, arms wrapping around my rib cage, face hidden against my T-shirt. She’s still shaking, harsh breathing muffled against my skin, and I wrap my other arm around her to squeeze her tight. This isn’t one of her acts. In this moment, she isn’t playing me, I’m sure of it.
I’m sure of way too many things all of a sudden, and first among them is that I’m in a lot of trouble.
“We should go. Once we get across the skybridge, we need to plan our next move while we’re still ahead.”
It’s like my words are a signal, and she clears her throat, pulling away from me, turning her head long enough to give her eyes a quick wipe, which I pretend not to notice as we climb to our feet. “I have to get back to my apartment,” she says, her bone-deep weariness showing through in the way her voice cracks.
“Dimples, you can’t go back there. You know you can’t go back there.”
Her reddened eyes flick over to meet mine. “You don’t understand, I have—I have things there, things I need.”
“You need your life more,” I whisper, my voice escaping as the realization starts to sweep over me. I know where we’re going to go.
Her eyes fill, but she nods. “I know.” She swallows, then echoes, “I know. But where else can we go? I’ve got no money, not even my palm pad or any ID.”
I know the answer, but even as the words rise up, I’m biting them down.
I can’t. My den is sacred. Nobody gets in there but me. Nobody. That rule has kept me alive for the last five years. That rule has kept my identity a secret. I can’t break it for anyone, for any reason—I have too much left to do before they catch me.
But I got her into this—it was me they wanted when they grabbed her—and as I climb slowly to my feet, searching in vain for any other answer that will keep her just as safe, I can feel something shifting in the air. I can feel the course I’ve set myself changing.
“My place,” I hear myself say. “We’ll go to my place.”
One more test, says the blue-eyed man. One more, and then you will go home.