Dr. Erland harrumphed. “I’ll make you some more. I have a feeling you’re going to need them.”

Thirty

Cress hummed to herself as she rubbed a towel through her hair, amazed at how the weight of it no longer pulled on her. She emerged from the washroom rejuvenated—her skin was bright pink from scrubbing and she’d managed to get almost all the dirt out from beneath her fingernails. The bottoms of her feet and the insides of her legs were still sore, but all those complaints were petty compared to the sensation of unexpected luxury. A soft towel. Short, clean hair. More water than she could drink in a year. Or at least, her long bath had made it seem endless.

Cress eyed her pile of clothes and couldn’t bear to put them back on. As Thorne hadn’t returned yet, she pulled a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself instead, then struggled to kick the corners out of her way as she crossed to the netscreen on the wall.

“Screen, on.”

It was set to an animated netfeed that showed orange octopuses and blue children bopping around to tech-beats. Cress changed it to the local newsfeed, then opened a new box in the corner to check their GPS coordinates.

Kufra, a trading city at the eastern edge of the Sahara. She zoomed out on the map and tried to pinpoint where the satellite would have landed, though it was impossible to gauge how far they’d walked. Probably not half as far as it had seemed. Regardless, there was nothing, nothing, in the vast open sands to the north and west.

She shuddered, realizing how close they’d come to being food for the vultures.

She sent the map away, beginning to concoct a strategy for contacting the Rampion. Though they didn’t have the D-COMM chip anymore, that didn’t mean the Rampion was completely out of touch. After all, with or without tracking equipment, it would still have communication capabilities and a net protocol address. She could have hacked into the military database and tracked down the original NPA for the ship, but it would be a waste of time. If it was that easy, the Commonwealth would have been able to contact the Rampion as soon as they had determined which ship they were after.

Which meant the address had been changed, probably not long after Thorne’s desertion.

Which most likely meant the auto-control system had been replaced. Hopefully Thorne would have some information on where and when the new system had been purchased, or what programming it had been replaced with.

If he didn’t know anything, well … she was going to have to get creative.

That was not worth worrying about just yet. First things first.

She had to make sure there was someone aboard that ship to contact.

She began by checking the newsfeeds. A simple search made it clear that, at this time, the Earthen media had no more information on the whereabouts of Linh Cinder than they’d had five days ago.

“… Lunar satellite…”

She snapped her attention to the news anchor who was rambling in a foreign language, most likely the language that the caravan hunter had first spoken to them. Cress frowned, thinking she was only hearing things. But then, as she squinted at the man’s lips, she thought she heard Sahara and, again, Lunar.

“Set translation overdub to universal language.”

The language switched as the news anchor was replaced with video footage from a vast desert, a horrendously familiar desert. And there in the middle of it was the wreckage that she and Thorne had abandoned. Her satellite, still attached to the obliterated Lunar podship and the parachute strung out behind it. A large square was cut from the fabric.

She gulped.

It wasn’t long before the gist of the story had come through. Multiple witnesses had seen something drop out of the sky—the blaze could be seen as far north as the Mediterranean—and the satellite had been discovered two days later. There was no question that it was Lunar built. There was no question that someone had survived and abandoned the wreckage, taking what supplies they could carry.

Authorities were still scouring the desert. They did not know whether they were looking for one survivor or many, but they could be sure they were looking for Lunars, and in the state of tension between Luna and Earth, they were not willing to risk the queen’s wrath if these fugitives were not found.

Cress buried her hands in her damp, tangled hair.

The implications hit her in fast succession.

If any of the caravaners learned about the crash, they would no doubt suspect that Cress and Thorne were the survivors. They would turn them in, and when the authorities found Thorne, they would recognize him immediately.

And not just the caravaners. Everyone would be suspicious about strangers right now.

But then—a light amid the panic.

If Linh Cinder learned about this wreckage, then she too, would know what had happened. She would know that Thorne and Cress were alive.

The crew would come for them.

It was all a question of who found them first.

Cress ripped herself out of the chair and threw on her dirty clothes, ignoring how they scratched against her skin.

She had to tell Thorne.

She was cautious creeping down the hallway, trying to act natural but not knowing what natural looked like. She was already aware of how much her fair complexion and hair made her stand out here, and she didn’t want to draw any more attention than she had to.

The noise from the hotel lounge roared up the staircase. Laughter and bellowing and the clinking of glasses. Cress peeked over the banister. The crowd had quadrupled since they’d left the lobby—this must be a popular hour. Men and women loitered around the bar and card tables, snacking on bowls of dried fruits.

The crowd around a corner table hollered in delight, and Cress was relieved to spot Thorne in their midst, still blindfolded, and holding a hand of cards. She crept through the crowd toward him, her mouth watering from unfamiliar, spicy aromas.

The crowd shifted, and she froze.

There was a woman on Thorne’s lap. She was net-drama beautiful, with warm brown skin and full lips and hair that hung in dozens of long, thin braids dyed various shades of blue. She wore simple khaki shorts and a blousy top, but somehow she made them look elegant.

And she had the longest legs Cress had ever seen.

The woman leaned forward and pushed a pile of plastic chips toward one of the other players. Thorne tilted his head in laughter. He took one of the few chips still in front of him and flipped it over his knuckles a few times before tucking it into the woman’s palm. In response, she trailed her fingernails down his neck.

The air burned around Cress, clinging to her skin and pressing against her, tightening around her throat until she couldn’t breathe. Suffocating, she turned and dashed from the lounge.

Her knees were shaking as she ratcheted up the stairs. She found door number 8, and dumbly shook the knob—seeing those fingernails teasing his skin again, and again—before she realized that the door was locked. The key was inside, beside the washroom sink.

She sobbed and slumped against the wall, beating her forehead against the frame. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

“Cress?”

She spun around, swiping at the hot tears. Jina stood before her, having just emerged from her own room down the hall. “What’s wrong?”

Cress ducked her head away. “I-I’m locked out. And Carswell … Carswell is…” She dissolved, crying into her palms as Jina rushed forward to embrace her.

“Oh, there, there, it’s not worth getting so worked up about.”

This only made Cress cry harder. How twisted their story had become. Thorne was not her husband, despite their made-up romance, despite the nights spent in his arms. He had every right to flirt with whomever he chose, and yet …

And yet …

How wrong she’d been. How stupid.

“You’re safe now,” Jina said, rubbing her back. “Everything is going to be fine. Here, I brought you some shoes.”

Sniffing, Cress looked down at the simple canvas shoes in Jina’s hand. She took them with shaking hands, stammering out her gratitude, though it was buried beneath hiccups.

“Listen, I was just going to meet Niels for a late meal. Would you like to join us?”

Cress shook her head. “I don’t want to go back down there.”

Jina petted Cress’s hair. “You can’t stay up here without your key. We’ll slip right past the lobby. There’s a restaurant on the corner. Does that sound nice?”

Cress tried to calm herself. All she wanted was to get into her room and hide under the bed, but she would need to go talk to the girl at the desk again to get another key. She would bring even more attention to herself, especially now that her eyes were red and her face flushed. People would talk, and she suddenly remembered how bad it was that people would talk.

And she didn’t want to still be standing in the hallway, sniffling and miserable, when Thorne came back. If she could have some time to calm down, then she could speak to him rationally. She would go on like her heart wasn’t shattered.

“All right,” she said. “Yes, thank you.”

Jina kept her securely tucked beneath her arm and hurried them both down the stairs and through the lobby. She guided her along the walkway that lined the main road. The crowd had dwindled, many of the shops now covered up for the night. “It isn’t right to see such a pretty girl crying like that, especially after all you’ve been through.”

Cress sobbed again.

“Don’t tell me you and Carswell had a fight, after surviving the great Sahara together?”

“He’s not—” She ducked her head, watching sand slip down the cracks of the clay pavers.

Jina took her elbow. “He’s not what?”

Cress sniffled into her sleeve. “Nothing. Never mind.”

There was a pause, before Jina spoke, slowly, “You’re not really married, are you?”

Clenching her teeth, Cress shook her head.

Jina lightly stroked her arm. “We all have our secrets, and I can venture to guess your reasons. If I’m right, I don’t blame you for the lies.” She leaned close, so that her forehead touched Cress’s frizzing hair. “You’re Lunar, aren’t you?”

Her feet stumbled and froze. She ripped herself away from Jina’s gentle touch, instincts telling her to run, to hide. But Jina’s expression was full of sympathy, and the panic quickly fizzled.

“I caught word of the fallen satellite. I figured it must have been you. But it’s all right.” She tugged Cress forward again. “Lunars aren’t so rare around here. Some of us have even come to appreciate having you around.”

Cress stumbled along beside her. “Really?”

The woman tilted her head, squinting at Cress. “Mostly we’ve found that your people just want to keep to themselves. After going through all the trouble of making it to Earth, why risk getting caught and sent back, after all?”

Cress let herself be led on as she listened, surprised at how rationally Jina was speaking about it all. All the Earthen media had led her to believe there was such a hatred toward Lunars, that she could never be accepted. But what if that wasn’t true at all?

“I hope you won’t be offended by my asking,” Jina continued, “but are you … ungifted?”

She nodded dumbly, and was surprised at the smug grin that passed over Jina’s face, like she’d guessed it all along. “There’s Niels.”

Cress’s thoughts were swimming. To think that she and Thorne could have told them the truth from the start … but, no, he was still a wanted criminal. She would have to think of a new story as to why she and Thorne were together. Did they think he was Lunar too?

Niels and Kwende were standing outside a big dusty vehicle with enormous traction wheels. Its hood was up, a cord plugged into a generator attached to a building, and a wide door was open in the back. They were loading things into it—many sacks of goods that Cress thought she recognized from the camels.