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.
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.
Glass brought her hand up self-consciously, grimacing slightly when she realized that her hair had fallen out of her hat. She began to tuck it back inside, but the little girl reached up and pulled at one of the loose strands.
“Posy, leave the lady alone.” Glass looked up and saw one of the women walking toward them. “Sorry,” she said to Glass, with a laugh. “She likes your hair.”
Glass smiled but didn’t say anything. She’d learned how to downplay her Phoenix accent, but the less she spoke, the better. “Come on, Pose,” the woman said, placing her hand on the child’s shoulder and guiding her awauidndered y.
It was past 2100. The comet was due to appear any moment now. Up on Phoenix, the observation deck would be silent as everyone waited in quiet reverence. Here, children were laughing and jumping, and a couple of teenagers were yelling out a countdown.
Glass looked up and down the corridor, but there was no sign of him.
“Look!” a little girl called out. A white line was rising over the outline of the moon. Instead of fading away like most comets, it grew larger, the tail expanding as it blazed through space. It made even the stars look dim.
Glass stepped forward almost unconsciously, and a couple leaning up against the nearest window shuffled aside to give her space. It was so beautiful, Glass thought in wonder. And terrifying. It was growing larger and larger, filling up the entire viewing space in the porthole, as if it were coming straight for them.
Could there have been a miscalculation? Glass pressed her hands into the ledge so hard, she could feel it cutting into her palms. Around her, people started to step back, with a flurry of low murmurs and frightened cries.
Glass closed her eyes. She couldn’t look.
An arm wrapped around her. She didn’t even have to turn to know that it was Luke. She knew the scent of him, the feel of him, like a second skin.
“I was looking for you,” she said, glancing back at him. Although the astronomical event of a lifetime was playing out right before his eyes, he was looking only at her.
“I hoped you would come,” he whispered into her ear.
The crowd’s anxious murmurs bubbled into exclamations of astonishment as the comet swept up and above the ship in a blaze of fire. Luke’s arm tightened around her, and she leaned into his chest. “I couldn’t imagine seeing this without you,” she said.
“You didn’t have any trouble getting away?”
“No, not really.” Her stomach twisted at the thought of her mother standing next to the Vice Chancellor. “I just wish we didn’t have to sneak around.” She reached up and ran her fingers along his cheek.
Luke took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Maybe there’s a way to change your mom’s mind,” he said earnestly. “Maybe I could talk to her. You know, prove that I’m not some barbarian. That I’m serious about my future—our future. That I’m serious about you.”
Glass gave him a soft smile. “I wish it were that easy.”
“No, I mean it.” He took her hands in his. “She thinks I’m just some Walden jerk taking advantage of you. She needs to know that this isn’t just a fling. It’s real.”
“I know,” Glass said, squeezing his hand. “I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” Luke said, pulling something out of his pocket. He turned to face her, his gaze unblinking.
“Glass,” he began, his eyes glowing, “I don’t want to spend another day without you. I want to go to sleep every night with you by my side and wake up next to you every morning. I want nothing else but you, for the rest of my life.”
He held out his outstretched palm, with a small, golden object in it. It was her locket.
“I know it’s not exactly a ring, but—”
“Yes,” she said simply, because there was nothing else to say, nothing sa="-1">else to do but put on the locket and kiss the boy she loved so much it hurt, as behind them the comet streaked the sky with gold.
CHAPTER 29
Bellamy
Bellamy couldn’t sleep. His mind was a jumble of thoughts all elbowing for his attention, making it impossible to tell where one stopped and the other began.
Staring up at the stars, he tried to imagine what was happening on the ship. It was strange to think of life going on as usual hundreds of kilometers away—the Waldenites and Arcadians toiling away while the Phoenicians complimented one another’s outfits on the observation deck and ignored the stars. That was the only thing he’d miss about the Colony—the view. Before the launch, he’d heard of a comet passing, which would’ve been pretty spectacular to see from the ship.
He squinted into the darkness, trying to figure out how many days they’d been on Earth. If he’d counted correctly, then the comet was meant to appear tonight. There was going to be a fancy viewing party on Phoenix, and less-formal gatherings on Walden and Arcadia. Bellamy sat up and scanned the sky. He couldn’t see anything from the clearing—the trees blocked too much of the sky—but he’d have a better view from the ridge.
Octavia was sleeping peacefully beside him, her glossy hair fanned out underneath her, her red hair ribbon tied to her wrist. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered, then took off at a jog across the clearing.
The thick canopy of leaves blocked most of the starlight, but after all his hunting expeditions, he knew this area of the forest well, anticipating every slope and turn and hidden log. When he finally reached the ridge, he paused to catch his breath. The cool night air had helped to clear his head, and the burning in his calves was a welcome distraction.
The star-filled sky looked just as it had every other night since they’d landed on Earth, and yet there was something different about it—the stars were pulsing, charged, as if waiting for something big to happen. And then, all at once, it did. The comet erupted across the sky, a streak of gold against the glittering silver, brightening everything around it, even the ground.
His skin sizzled as if some of the sparks had seeped into his own body, invigorating his cells with something beyond energy—with hope. Tomorrow he and Octavia would leave here for good. Tomorrow they would be free of the Colony forever, no one telling them what to do or how to be.
He closed his eyes and imagined how that would feel. Freedom from everyone and everything—even from his past. Even, perhaps, from the memories that had haunted him all his life.
Bellamy ran down the walkway, ignoring his neighbors’ grumbles and the empty threats of the guards he knew were too lazy to chase a remarkably fast nine-year-old just to issue a reprimand. But as he got closer to his flat, his excitement slipped away. Ever since that terrible night when he caught his mom trying to hurt Octavia, he got nervous coming home.
He unlocked the door and burst inside. “Mom?” he called, carefully shutting the door behind him before he said anything else. “Octavia?” He waited, but there was only silence. “Mom?” he said again. He walked through the main room, his eyes widening at the overturned furniture. His moding entther must have been in another one of her bad moods. He crept toward the kitchen, his stomach wriggling like it was trying to escape through his belly button.
Someone groaned, and he rushed inside to find his mother on the floor, lying in a sticky puddle of blood. A knife lay beside her.
He gasped and hurried over, shaking her shoulder frantically. “Mom,” he shouted. “Wake up. Mom.” But all she did was flutter her eyelids and let out another faint groan. Bellamy leapt to his feet, gasping as he realized the knees of his pants were soaked with blood. He had to find someone. He had to get help.
He dashed back into the main room and was about to go run for a guard when a noise brought him skidding to a halt. His eyes fell on the closet, which was slightly open, a sliver of shadow creeping out of the gap between the door and the wall. He took a few steps toward it as a tiny tearstained face peeked out.
“Are you okay?” he whispered to his sister, reaching for her hand. “Come on.” But she shrank back into the darkness, trembling. Bellamy’s fear for his mother slid away as he stared at the little girl she’d made terrified to come into the light. “Come on, Octavia,” he coaxed, and slowly, tentatively, she poked her head out again.