Page 41 of The Last Love Story

But I’ve never needed Saffron more than I do now. To my own surprise, I feel my fingers flying across the screen. Even if it would be far too dangerous to upload it, I can’t help it. I need to write.

Deep in the cryo pod bay, the hiss of the pressure-release cut through the dark.

And as the cloud of icy air cleared, Saffron opened her eyes.

Two knocks rap against the door, and the flight attendant sticks her head into my small room. “We’re preparing for landing,” she says quietly, and I nod, keeping my tablet tucked inconspicuously against my dress. As she ducks out, I consider the fresh words on the page. Today, it finally feels like my eyes are open again. I saw Callum.My Callum. And he introduced me to the world as his fiancée.

To think, a few days ago, I was underground, fighting for the rebellion. I was training to be sent off to fight in an unending war. I was pressed up against the wall by Hux, his lips against mine—

Hux.

I wonder if he’ll see the footage from today. If they’re using this as some sort of pro-Graves propaganda, something to support the administration, I imagine it’ll be beamed to every DopaMine feed, carefully curated to appeal to the viewer. Will they send him a close-up of my face, I wonder? Does the algorithm know how he feels about me?

Do I? Does he?

The door whisks open again.

“Forget something?” I ask her without looking up.

But it’s not the flight attendant. The guard lurks in the doorway, little more than a twilight-colored camo uniform, a black helmet.

As my stomach lurches, I shove myself up to my feet. Whatever he’s doing in here, it can’t be something good. Did they find out about Lyceum? AboutWritten in the Stars? AboutHux?

My eyes flit around the room, looking for something to hit him with. I’m about to lunge for a lamp when a familiar voice cuts through the cabin.

“For the love of God, Hart. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead three times over already.”

The guard lifts his visor and pulls the mask down, and my chest tightens. Green eyes, a slash of brows, lips that I recognize by sight as much as I’d recognize by feel.

Hux.

My mouth opens and closes as my hands fumble with the lamp.

I yank, but it doesn’t budge.

Of course. It’s bolted down for safety.

“Hmm, perhaps four times,” Hux amends in a low voice, shucking the black gloves off his hands. My heart beats in my ears as I try to put this together.

“How are you here?” I whisper.

“I saw them take you,” he answers plainly, but he can’t seem to look at me when he says it. There’s something in the expression he fixes on that lamp—something tight—but I can’t quite place it.

“This is part of the presidential fleet, Hux.”

He shrugs. “A copter plane? It’s just a computer.” And that’s his sideways look, the one he’d give me in class when we’d compete to see who could get Mr. Avilas more worked up, or earn a worse glare from Ms. Astor. It’s the look that says,Give me a challenge, Hart.

A chill runs down my spine.

“Whyare you here?” I whisper-shout, stepping closer to him.

Hux mirrors me, and the distance between us shrinks dangerously. Any closer, and he’ll be able to feel my thundering heart. “You think I’m that type of person? To stand by and let bad things happen to people that I...” He fumbles for a second. “To anyone?”

He’s a Mach, that voice in my head reminds me. His idea of action is murder.

“I’m here to help,” he says.

“Who says I need help?” I retort. “Who says I haven’t gotten it handled?”