We sprint through hallways and navy doors like we’re running for our lives. Astoundingly, Huxley’s faster than me, and my calves burn while keeping up with him. Not an easy feat in heels.

“Why are we running?!” I ask.

His head swivels back to look at me, and his eyes shimmer. He laughs, his short but straight dark hair whipping around his forehead and ears, reminding me of a little kid. “It’s a surprise!”

Not an answer, but… “Okay.” My tone’s wary. When his hand touched mine, I expected it to be cold. But it’s not. It’s hot, unrestrained energy percolating into my skin and warming my entire body.

We burst into his office, and he drags aside a curtain on the right wall, unveiling a secret door. Pressing the padlock allowing the door to slide open, he tugs me toward the darkness.

I should go. Is it midnight yet? “Wait—”

“No, no, no, don’t worry,” he reassures, sensing the fear in me. His free hand envelopes my upper arm. “It’s just an elevator.”

An elevator to where? Torture chamber. Shit. You signed up for this, Ailee. “I had a lovely time tonight, and—”

“Nice try,” he interrupts, and his grip on me hardens to stone. I struggle to hit him, but the angle he maneuvers my arms into makes it nonviable. “Ailee, calm down. You’re overthinking.” I don’t have time to retort before he bridal carries me, vaults us into the elevator of shadows, and touches a pad that causes the floor to begin rising. Fast.

Much faster than any elevator I’ve ever ridden in.

I clutch Huxley’s shoulders.

Six seconds later, the elevator roof slides open, and green lights twinkle overhead, interweaved with the dark. We’re going to crash into the roof of Titan. No, the lights are embedded on the other side of the ship. So due to spin gravity, we’re technically going to crash onto the floor of Titan. Neither option fills me with joy.

Weightlessness settles over me as the floor falls away from Huxley’s feet, but the lack of acceleration isn’t the current predicament. Our speed is too high. The lights twirl around me, and I bury my face into Huxley’s neck. When I flatten into a pancake on the other side, will I feel it?

Deceleration.

We’re decelerating.

Eyes peeking open, my hair rises, following the thick, rubber cord attached to Huxley’s back. The other end is connected to the elevator shaft—which is no longer directly behind us but at a slight angle because of the rotating floor.

The tension force transmitted by the cord counteracts our bodies’ acceleration, bringing us to a near stop about a meter away from the ground—are those plants? Flowers? But the cord will retract. And we’ll just end up obliterated back on the other side of the ship.

At least, that’s what I picture until the cord disconnects from Huxley and snaps toward the elevator, leaving him and me floating in midair. We ever so slowly fall to the ground. It’s been a second, and we’ve only moved a sixth of a meter.

I pant, “We’re gonna land on the Venus flytraps.”

“I hope so.” Huxley grins. “No, we’re not. But you might want to brace for impact. Put your arms around my chest. Straighten your legs so that they’re in line with mine—parallel to the ground.”

I do as he says. Now’s not the time for questions. Wrapping his arms around me, over my shoulders, he hugs me to him firmly.

The floor moves several meters per second, and soon the Venus flytraps disappear in favor of trimmed grass.

The first time we hit the shifting ground, our bodies start to spin like a cylindrical pipe on a flat surface, and we bounce off the floor. A second later, we hit the ground again—it hurts less. This occurs three more times until we are moving at the same speed as the floor. Huxley and I roll on the grass and come to a complete stop. No more bouncing into the air.

Eyes glazed over, I look to my side. We’re half a meter shy from impaling ourselves on metal posts emitting the green lights I saw earlier. Up close, I register they aren’t green at all. The white lights simply illuminate the green grass, flowers, and exotic plants in their immediate area.

A garden? Is that where we are? The room is dimly lit—the Cosmics must use artificial sunlight during the day to grow vegetation.

My hair gently floats down, and Huxley reaches out, running a hand through my strands. Although he’s lying on top of me, the artificial gravity here is so weak that his weight is miniscule. His eyes explore my face, oblivious to the fact he almost killed us.

“Get off,” I order, shoving his shoulders. Too bad mass isn’t affected by low gravity. He doesn’t budge.

No, instead he smirks. He finds the situation amusing. He runs his fingers through my hair again, and I clamp down on his wrist, attempting to pry it away, but he continues as though I’m no stronger than a toddler.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Huxley, stop,” I command.

His starry blue eyes bore into mine, and he leans closer, dipping his head. Releasing his wrist, I push against his chest to no avail. His lips drag up my neck to a spot behind my ear, and my stomach clenches. “I can do whatever I want with you,” he whispers. “We’re all alone.”

“Stop it.” My voice wavers. “Right now.”

Hands slide down my body, and I smack him in the face. My breathing quickens when he pulls his head back to glare at me, then he grabs my wrists and plants them on the grass. I try to resist, but he tightens his grip until I cry out. He’ll break my arm.

“No one can hear you scream,” he taunts, a malicious sparkle dancing in his irises.

Tears form in the corners of my eyes. I resort to begging, “Huxley, please.”

Tilting his head, he asks, “Please what?”

A small part of me wants to see what’ll happen next, but my mortification and fear obscure any desire I feel. “Please. Get off me.”

His expression turns from playful malevolence to… remorse, and he lets go of my wrists. Blood rushes through my arms and hands as he rolls over, lays on his back, and clutches the grass to ground him. He props up on one elbow, staring at me, unreadable.

Edging away from him, I don’t blink.

“Be careful,” he instructs, “if you move too fast or jump, I’ll have to grab you again. Unless, of course, you prefer floating around for a while and potentially landing on carnivorous plants.”

I can’t believe he has the gall to say that to me. To worry about me when—

Spotting what looks like a doorway at the end of the garden, by some bushes with flowers that point down instead of up, I begin crawling toward it. Huxley sighs, stating, “Ailee, you’re overreacting. I wasn’t actually going to do anything.”

“Screw you.”

“Is that a promise?”

Ugh, he’s repulsive. “You’re suicidal.” And most definitely a sociopath. A narcissistic one.

“No, I’m not,” he argues. I hear him following me. “I knew we were going to be fine. I’ve done this before, and I planned it out, accounting for the extra body, with equations and physics and everything. Look!”

I close my eyes briefly then turn my head to quench my curiosity. He takes off his tie, jacket, and shirt, and my hand moves to my shoe. I’ll use the pointy heel to stab his eyeball if I need to. Then I notice what he’s trying to show me. White harnesses wrap around his sinewy chest and abs, disappearing into his slacks, where they no doubt circle his thighs. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to wear those over your shirt.”

“True,” he acknowledges, “but that would’ve been too obvious. Besides, these are made of reinforced fiber foam, so”—he shrugs—“it wouldn’t feel different at any rate. Although, I will admit: Good thing I was wearing—” He unbuttons his slacks.

I throw my shoe at him. It rebounds off his chest and all but hovers. Huxley plucks the shoe out of the air and raises his eyebrows.

“You know, these are a really nice pair I gave you,” he comments, examining the sole.

“Zip it up,” I demand, “and put your damn shirt back on.”

“Alright, alright, I was only kidding,” he says, doing as I said but keeping his shirt unbuttoned. “Come on. You can’t deny that that was fun.”

Does he mean the catapult ride, the sexual assault, or the stripping? I go with the first option, “You could’ve warned me.”

“I told you it would be a surprise.”

“I hate surprises, and I hate you.” I witness his eyes darken before I turn around and start moving again.

“Where are you going?”

Anywhere but here. I ignore him.

He curses. “Ailee, I’m sorry.”

“No, you aren’t.” I face him once more. “Every time we meet, you’re apologizing. It doesn’t mean anything if you never learn from your mistakes.”

“Wait, just—” He catches up to me, and I flinch. He stops, holding his hands up. “I didn’t listen before. But I’m listening now. I won’t touch you again unless you ask me to. You have my word. At least let me show you the garden, otherwise this trip will have been a waste.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m not convinced he’s unaware of his actions—I think he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s impulsive by nature, his motives unclear. “I don’t believe you.”

He smiles sarcastically. “What if I pinky swear?”

I roll my eyes. “No.”

He picks up his jacket from the grass and pulls out a pistol, offering me the grip. “Here.”

I glance at the pistol then stare at Huxley blankly.

“Take it,” he urges, eyes sincere.

Cautiously, my fingers reach out and enclose the grip. Huxley lets go, and suddenly I’m supporting the gun by myself. It’s almost weightless in the low gravity. I check the magazine. Sixteen bullets, fully loaded. “I’ll look a little suspicious walking around with this,” I state.

He shrugs. “Try not to flash it. If I break the pinky swear, you have permission to shoot me. But only me. No one else.”

Or I can just kill him.

Yet that would ruin the progress Felix, Timour, and I have made so far. If Huxley dies, he’ll be replaced by another Boss who will execute me. That’s why he’s comfortable giving me the gun. He knows I won’t risk murdering him.

“You’re crazy,” is all I comment.

“I’ll take that over boring any day,” he asserts, smirking. “So… garden?”

I remove my portal strapped to my leg. It reads “21:57.” I might as well stay until midnight—supply more hours for Felix. Looking back at Huxley, I make a gesture with my hands, implying “go ahead,” and strap both the portal and gun to my thigh.

I won’t kill him, but shooting him is fair game.