“No!” Clarke’s anguished shriek rose above the din of shocked whispers and satisfied murmurs. She jumped to her feet. “You can’t do this. It wasn’t their fault.” Her face twisted with rage as she pointed at the Vice Chancellor. “You. You forced them to do it, you evil, lying bastard.” She took a step forward and was immediately surrounded by guards.
Vice Chancellor Rhodes gave a long sigh. “I’m afraid you’re much better at experimenting on innocent children than you are at lying, Miss Griffin.” He turned to Wells’s father. “We know from the security log that she visited the lab on a regular basis. She knew about the atrocities her parents were committing and did nothing to stop it. She may have even helped.”
Wells inhaled so sharply, he could feel his stomach scrape against his ribs. He waited for his father to give Rhodes one of his dismissive glares, but to Wells’s horror, the Chancellor was staring gravely at Clarke. After a long moment, his jaw tightened, and he turned to face the other Council members.
“I hereby put forward a motion to try Clarke Griffin for the crime of accessory to treason.”
No. His father’s words sank into his skin like a paralytic, stopping his heart.
Wells could see the Council members’ mouths moving, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Every atom in his body was focused on praying to whatever forgotten god might be listening. Let her go, he pleaded. I’ll do anything. It was true. He was ready to offer his life in exchange for hers.
Take me instead.
The Vice Chancellor leaned over to whisper something to Wells’s father.
I don’t care if it’s painful.
The Chancello>Th">
Shove me through the release portal so my body implodes.
The person next to Wells shuddered at something the Chancellor said.
Just let her go.
He had the uncomfortable sensation of sound returning as gasps rose up from the audience. Two guards grabbed Clarke and began dragging her away.
The girl he’d do anything to protect would soon be sentenced to death. And she would have every right to die hating him.
It was all his fault.
“I’m sorry,” Wells whispered, as if somehow, that could make it better.
“I know,” she said, her voice soft.
Wells froze, and for a moment, he was too afraid to look at her, afraid to see the grief welling up from the wound he knew would never heal. But when he finally turned, he saw that while her eyes glistened with tears, she was smiling.
“I feel closer to them here,” she said, glancing up at the trees. “They spent their lives trying to figure out how to get us home.”
Wells didn’t know what he could say without breaking the spell, so instead, he leaned forward and kissed her, holding his breath until he saw her teardrop-tipped lashes flutter closed.
At first it was soft, his lips lightly brushing over her mouth, but then he felt her kiss him back, igniting every cell in his body. The familiarity of her touch, the taste of her kiss, released something in him, and he pulled her closer.
Clarke sank into Wells, her lips clinging to his lips, her skin melting into his skin, her breath mixing with his breath. The world around them faded away as Earth became nothing more than a swirl of pungent scents and damp air that made him press himself closer to her. The soft ground cradled them as they slid off the log. There was so much he needed to tell her, but his words were lost as his lips traveled across her skin, moving from her mouth to her neck.
In that moment, there was no one else. They were the only two people on Earth. Just like he’d always imagined they would be.
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CHAPTER 28
Glass
Music played on Phoenix twice that year. The Council had approved the exception, and for the first time anyone could remember, the Earthmade instruments were taken from their preservation chambers and carried carefully to the observation deck for the comet viewing party.
It should have been one of the most magical nights of Glass’s life. The entire population of Phoenix had flocked to the observation deck in their finery, and the elegantly dressed crowd buzzed with excitement. All around her, people were talking and laughing as they strode toward the enormous windows, clutching glasses of sparkling root wine.
Glass stood next to Huxley and Cora, who were talking animatedly. But although Glass could see her friends’ mouths moving, their words never reached her eaze="-avers. Every cell in her body was focused on the musicians who were quietly taking their seats on the far side of the observation deck.
But as the musicians began to play, Glass shifted from one foot to another, growing restless, as she thought of Luke. Without him, the music that normally wrapped around her like an enchantment felt strangely empty. The melodies that once seemed to express the deepest secrets of her soul were no less beautiful now, but it made her chest ache to know that the only person she wanted to share them with was somewhere else.
Glass looked over and quickly found her mother, wearing a long gray dress and their family’s gloves—kid leather, one of the only pairs left on the ship, stained with age but still infinitely precious. She was talking to someone in the Chancellor’s uniform, but it wasn’t the Chancellor. Glass realized with a start it was Vice Chancellor Rhodes. Though she’d only seen him a few times, she recognized his sharp nose and mocking smile.
Glass knew that she should go over, introduce herself, smile at the Vice Chancellor, and raise her glass to him in a toast. She should thank him for her freedom and look grateful and overjoyed as the crowd of well-dressed Phoenicians looked on and whispered. It’s what her mother would have wanted; it’s what she should have done, if she valued her life. But as Glass stared at his hateful dark eyes, she found she couldn’t bring herself to move toward him.
“Here, take this. I need some air,” Glass said, handing Cora her still-full glass of wine. Cora raised her eyebrows, but didn’t argue—they were allotted only one glass each tonight. With a final glance to make sure that her mother wasn’t watching, Glass wove her way through the crowd and back into the corridor. She didn’t run into a single person as she made her way quickly to their flat, where she slipped out of her gown and into a pair of nondescript pants, piling her hair under a hat.
There was no designated observation deck on Walden, but there were a number of corridors with small windows on the starboard side, where the comet was expected to make its appearance. The Waldenites who didn’t have shifts that day had begun gathering early in the morning to reserve the best seats. By the time Glass arrived, the hallways were flooded with crowds, talking in excited voices and clustering around the small windows. Some of the kids were already pressing their faces against the quartz glass or clambering onto parents’ shoulders.
As she turned a corner, Glass’s eyes settled on a group at the window a few meters down: three women and four children. She wondered whether the women were watching the fourth child for a neighbor, or if it was an orphan they’d taken in.
The youngest child toddled over to Glass and blinked up at her with a shy smile. “Hi there,” Glass said, leaning forward so that she was level with the girl. “Are you excited for the comet?” The girl didn’t say anything. Her large, dark eyes were fixated on Glass’s head.