There were almost as many rumors surrounding Carswell Thorne. They included theories on the real reason that he was in prison, such as plotting to kill the last emperor, or how he’d been working with Linh Cinder for years prior to her arrest, or how he was connected to an underground network that had infiltrated the prison system years ago in preparation for the day when he would require their assistance. This newest theory was suggesting that Carswell Thorne was, in fact, an undercover Lunar thaumaturge meant to assist Linh Cinder with her escape so that Luna would have an excuse for starting the war.
Essentially, nobody knew anything.
Except for Cress, who knew the truth of Carswell Thorne’s crimes, his trial, and his escape—at least, the elements of the escape she’d been able to piece together using prison surveillance video and the statements from the on-duty guards.
In fact, Cress was convinced that she knew more about Carswell Thorne than anyone else alive. In a life in which newness and novelty were so rare, he had become a fixture of fascination to her. At first, she was disgusted by him and his apparent greed and recklessness. When he’d deserted the military, he’d left half a dozen cadets and two commanding officers stranded on an island in the Caribbean. He had stolen a collection of second-era goddess sculptures from a private collector in the Eastern Commonwealth and a set of Venezuelan dream dolls on loan to a museum in Australia to potentially never be seen in public again. There were additional claims of an unsuccessful robbery of a young widow from the Commonwealth who owned an extensive collection of antique jewelry.
Cress had continued to dig, entranced by his path of self-destruction. Like watching an asteroid collision, she couldn’t look away.
But then, strange anomalies had begun to creep up in her research.
Age eight. The city of Los Angeles spent four days in panic after a rare Sumatran tiger escaped from the zoo. Video surveillance of the cage showed the young Carswell Thorne, there on a field trip with his class, opening the cage. He later told the authorities that the tiger had looked sad locked up like that, and that he didn’t regret it. Luckily, no one, including the tiger, had been hurt.
Age eleven. A police report was filed by his parents claiming they’d been robbed—overnight, a second-era diamond necklace had gone missing from his mother’s jewelry chest. The necklace was traced to a net sales listing, where it had recently sold for 40,000 univs to a buyer in Brazil. The seller was, of course, Carswell himself, who had not yet had a chance to send off the necklace, and was forced to return the payment, along with an official apology. That apology, made public record to prevent other teens from getting the same idea, claimed that he was only trying to raise money for a local charity offering android assistance to the elderly.
Age thirteen. Carswell Thorne was given a weeklong school suspension after fighting with three boys in his grade, a fight he had lost according to the school’s med-droid report. His statement proclaimed that one of the boys had stolen a portscreen from a girl named Kate Fallow. Carswell had been trying to get it back.
One situation after another was brought to Cress’s attention. Theft, violence, trespassing, school suspensions, police reprimands. Yet Carswell Thorne, when given a chance to explain, always had a reason. A good reason. A heart-stopping, pulse-racing, awe-inspiring reason.
Like the sun rising over Earth’s horizon, her perception began to change. Carswell Thorne wasn’t a heartless scoundrel at all. If anyone bothered to get to know him, they would see that he was compassionate and chivalrous.
He was exactly the kind of hero Cress had been dreaming about her entire life.
With that discovery, thoughts of Carswell Thorne began to infiltrate her every waking moment. She dreamed of deep soul connections and passionate kisses and daring escapades. She was certain that he simply had to meet her, just once, and he would feel the same way. It would be like those epic love affairs that exploded into existence and burned white hot for all eternity. The type of love that time and distance and even death couldn’t separate.
Because if there was one thing Cress knew about heroes, it was that they could not resist a damsel in distress.
And she was nothing if not in distress.
Four
Scarlet pressed a cotton pad to the corner of Wolf’s mouth, shaking her head. “She may not get in many hits, but when she does, she makes them count.”
Despite the bruise creeping around his jaw, Wolf was beaming, his eyes bright beneath the medbay’s lights. “Did you see how she tripped up my feet before she swung? I didn’t see it coming.” He rubbed his hands giddily on his thighs, his feet kicking at the side of the exam table. “I think we might finally be getting somewhere.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re proud of her, but I think it would be nice if next time she hit you with her nonmetal hand.” Scarlet pulled the cotton away. The wound was still bleeding where Wolf’s lip had broken on his upper canine, but not as bad as before. She reached for a tube of healing salve. “You might be adding a new scar to your collection, but it kind of matches the one on this side of your mouth, so at least they’ll be symmetrical.”
“I don’t mind the scars.” He shrugged, his eyes taking on a mischievous spark. “They hold better memories now than they used to.”
Scarlet paused with a dab of ointment on her fingertip. Wolf’s attention had affixed itself to his own knotted hands, a hint of color on his cheeks. Within seconds, she was feeling extra warm herself, remembering the night they’d once spent as stowaways aboard a maglev train. How she’d traced her fingers along the pale scar on his arm, brushed her lips against the faint marks on his face, been taken into his arms …
She shoved him on the shoulder. “Stop smiling so much,” she said, dabbing the salve onto the wound. “You’re making it worse.”
He quickly schooled his features, but the glint remained in his eyes when he dared to look up at her.
That night on the maglev remained the only time they’d kissed. Scarlet couldn’t count the time he’d kissed her while she was being held captive by him and the rest of his special operative “pack.” He had used the chance to give her an ID chip that ultimately helped her escape, but there had been no affection in that kiss, and at the time she’d despised him.
But those moments aboard the maglev had caused more than one sleepless night since coming aboard the Rampion. When she had lain awake and imagined slipping out of her bed. Creeping across the corridor to Wolf’s room. Not saying a word when he opened the door, just pulling herself against him. Curling her hands into his hair. Wrapping herself up in the sort of security that she’d only ever found in his arms.
She never did, though. Not for fear of rejection—Wolf hadn’t exactly tried to conceal his lingering gazes or how he leaned into every touch, no matter how trivial. And he had never taken back what he said after the attack. You’re the only one, Scarlet. You’ll always be the only one.
Scarlet knew he was waiting for her to make the first move.
But every time she found herself tempted, she would see the tattoo on his arm, the one that marked him forever as a Lunar special operative. Her heart was still broken from the loss of her grandmother, and the knowledge that Wolf could have saved her. He could have protected her. He could have prevented it all from happening in the first place.
Which wasn’t fair to him. That was before he’d known Scarlet, before he’d cared. And if he had tried to rescue her grandmother, the other operatives would have killed him too. Then Scarlet really would be alone.