“Let’s make this quick,” I say as Felix and I enter the armory that’s about half the size of a soccer field. Plenty of weapons, but no humans. “Valentino and Wolfe cling to me like we’re ion pairs, and I don’t know how long it’ll take them to figure out I’m not on a date with Boss. He’s boxing in his room right now, so hopefully they won’t hear from him for the next hour or so.”

Felix gestures toward an intermodal container in the back of the armory. “The nukes are in there.” We jog over—past pistols, coilguns, elecs, railguns, munitions I can’t name—and Felix enters a passcode into a screen on the door. The door cracks open with a creak. “Here.” He hands me a beige glove, from his compact toolbox, that doesn’t look very medical. “This has someone else’s fingerprints on it. You’ll need to keep your hand on the screen while I’m in there, or the door will close and lock. We only have one shot at this. Ready?”

Pressure sits on my chest, but I nod, putting the glove on and laying my palm flat against the screen. “Ready.”

He slips through the crack, and I sigh in relief when the door remains open. His plan is to dismantle the master nuke, which dismantles the rest by design. The nukes aren’t nuclear weapons at all—they don’t contain explosives or isotopes. Instead, each is trained to hover over a specific city in Liansa and disperse NeuroQueue, which contrary to popular belief, doesn’t need to be surgically inserted into the brain. The technology can attach to any part of the central nervous system. Does it hurt? Absolutely. But by that point, it’s too late; the once conscious person is now a walking zombie.

Fortunately, Felix can loosen the components of the nukes enough so that they fall apart and begin to burn up as soon as they hit the atmosphere. I don’t know the melting point of fibronium, and while I’m concerned it’ll reach Earth’s surface, I hang onto the fact that the rest of NeuroQueue will be too damaged to do any harm.

“So…” Felix’s voice is soft, but it carries in the quiet armory. “How is the one-sided pseudo-relationship going?”

“Ah, it’s simply spectacular. Thank you for asking.”

“He’s a very powerful and attractive lad, darling. Some people would sacrifice a leg to court him.”

“Yeah, and he’s utilizing that power and attraction to create a worse dictatorship than the one that already exists. Why don’t you court him?”

“I’m not sure I’m his type.”

“Is he your type?”

“He’s everyone’s type.”

“Not mine,” I lie.

The bout of silence reveals that Felix doesn’t believe me in the slightest, but he responds with, “Alright, then. Who is your type? Blond boys with big, blue eyes that follow you around like a stray dog and execute your every command?”

“I still haven’t heard from him.” Timour hasn’t replied to my messages, nor has he answered his door. It’s been a week, and the urge to file a missing person report is strong.

“I recall you told me he was cross with you on Sunday, and that’s why he didn’t show up to afternoon tea. What exactly was your quarrel about?”

“He fixed the dropship—the one you gave him access to—and he asked me to escape with him. I said ‘no.’ Not until we end the NeuroQueue project.”

Metal clanks from inside the intermodal container. “Honestly, I’d be mad too. He spent an entire month risking his life for your freedom, pouring his blood, sweat, and tears into that endeavor, only for you to say ‘no, thanks.’”

“I didn’t mean ‘never,’ I just meant ‘not now.’”

“It won’t get any easier,” Felix states. “He’s scared. The likelihood of you dying or persisting as an eternal prisoner increases the longer you stay here.”

“But you’re glad I stayed?” I surmise.

His reply surprises me, “I fancy you in that escape pod as much as he does, but I’m not going to force you. You made your decision, and I won’t second-guess it. Anyways, it’s not as if I can rely on anyone else to aid me, and the company isn’t terrible.”

I roll my eyes. “Your compliments really make my day.” He laughs. “What about Thomson? Isn’t he reliable?” I ask. “I thought you two were pretty close.”

“Thomson wants to do the right thing, but ‘the right thing’ to one individual is ‘the wrong thing’ to another. He genuinely admires Boss, and I’ve kind of pissed him off recently, so chances are, when it comes down to it, he’ll stick by his side instead of mine.”

Remembering the time Felix told me he considers Thomson a brother to him, I say, “I guess we’ve both pissed off people we care about.”

“Ah, but you see,” Felix sings, as though he’s sharing a trade secret, “the difference is that no matter how infuriated the Liansan is with you, he’ll stick by your side. He’ll be loyal to you.”

“I told Timour he could leave without me.” My chest aches. “He probably did, and that’s why I haven’t heard from him.” If the IF is coming, they’re going to have to get a lot more creative with infiltrating this place. They’ll at least need to improve their stealth tech, fast.

Felix scoffs. “You’re wrong.” The sound of clanking metal stops. A long pause. “The boy’s in love with you.”

My knees straighten. “He’s never said that.”

“Well, he doesn’t want to get hurt. And it doesn’t need to be said. His actions speak louder.”

I’m saved from responding when the screen beneath my palm flashes red. Perhaps “saved” isn’t the right word, because the doors start to move. “Felix!” I call sharply. “The doors are closing.”

“Damn it, Ailee.” I can’t see him from this angle, but I hear his footsteps pound against the ground as he nears. I’m rooted to the spot, afraid that if I take my palm off the screen, the doors will shut quicker. But I wrap my other hand below the deadbolt, trying to pull the door open as its rough edges dig into my flesh. I’m unsuccessful.

Felix’s foot appears through the crack, and then his leg. His hips, left shoulder, and head squeeze through smoothly, but his right shoulder gets caught between the door and its frame. Screaming, he rips that shoulder out from where it was jammed, then holds his forearm gingerly with his left hand.

Finally removing my palm from the screen, I move toward him while the door shuts and locks itself. He steps back, face scrunched up in unimaginable pain. “Don’t,” he warns. “It’s dislocated. I instructed you to keep your hand there.”

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“I did,” I state, disoriented. “I swear. The door closed on its own. I kept my hand there until you were out.”

Brushing past me, he groans attempting to move his right arm. He raises his left hand instead and sifts through the activity logs on the screen. He curses. “An automatic timer. Twenty minutes. Must be a new feature.”

“Were you able to dismantle the master in time?”

“Not entirely, but it’s dismantled enough.”

“Good. Let’s go find Doctor River.”

Sweat soaking through his bandana, he turns to me. “No, sweetheart, we can’t visit the hospital or else questions will be raised. You have to do it.”

My eyes widen. “Do what?”

“Relocation.”

“Felix, I’m not a medical professional. I could really screw up your shoulder—”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll walk you through it.”

“People make excuses all the time for injuries. You can say you fell and didn’t catch yourself properly.”

“While I’m sober? Likely story.”

“Okay, well, then you threw yourself down the stairs in order to end the pain of being sober.”

He ponders this. “Accurate, but it still brings up the question of why I’m willingly sober.”

“You—”

“Just shut up and get on your knees,” he orders roughly.

I pause. “What?”

Rolling his eyes, Felix lowers himself to the hard ground, crossing his legs and keeping his right elbow tucked in. “Come here.” He beckons with his left hand.

Reluctantly, I kneel by his right side, facing him. “Shouldn’t we do this elsewhere?”

Smirking, he states, “If you want to go back to my place, all you have to do is ask.”

God, even in agony, he’s insufferable. I glower at him. “I mean, we’re kind of out in the open.”

“Nobody’s arriving until Monday morning. The sooner we get this done, the better.” Then he explains how to relocate his shoulder.

“That’s all?” I inquire, doubtful. “I don’t need to pull on your arm or anything?”

“Not unless you want to cause severe damage.” He scrutinizes my expression. “Nevermind, don’t answer that. It’s an anterior dislocation, and I don’t think it’s that bad. So this should work.”

It should work?

Well, not my body.

He places his right hand on my right shoulder, and I lay my right forearm across his inner elbow, applying slight pressure in the ground’s direction. I spot the head of his humerus—in the shape of a ball—through his thin shirt, protruding from the front of his shoulder. Kneading his trapezius with my left hand to loosen the muscle, I wonder, “Have you dislocated your shoulder before?”

He closes his eyes and nods. “The other one.”

“You left your toolbox in the container.”

“Yes, love, thank you,” he says derisively. “The container is locked for twenty-four hours, so I’ll have to reclaim it later. This conversation is supposed to be less stressful.”

Felix told me he isn’t much of a planner, but his life’s not the only one on the line here. Since he needs to be relaxed to relocate his shoulder, I drop it for now.

My hand moves to his deltoid, and he asks, “I know I said I wouldn’t attempt to talk you out of it, but why are you choosing to stay here?”

“I created NeuroQueue. It’s my responsibility.”

“But you aren’t the one who weaponized it.”

“True. However, billions of Liansans will suffer if I don’t terminate the plan, and the tech could spread.”

“So this is purely an altruistic act on your part?”

My hand shifts to his bicep, and I question, “Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, I just wonder if there is another reason. Blond boy was inclined to immolate his own country if it meant getting you out of here as soon as possible. And yet, you have no qualms about endangering his life.”

Now I feel like crap. “That’s not fair. You can’t ask me to choose between Timour and an entire nation.”

“But you wouldn’t have to choose,” he asserts. “You could be on your way, and I’d still be here demolishing evil schemes. Don’t you trust me to deliver?”

“I trust you, but you never know what might occur. If you fail, then Liansa is doomed.”

“So you’re staying here as a fail-safe.”

“Yes.”

Felix fidgets a little, bothered. Wow. We really suck at easygoing discourse. “I apologize,” he finally says, “I’m trying to understand… For you, there’s no other reason. No reason at all.”

My hand freezes on his arm. I glance at his eyes, but they’re still closed. His face is a mask, but he’s definitely deep in concentration. “Look,” I begin, “we’re talking in circles. Are you just making conversation, or is there something you want to know? Because if there is… what are you truly asking me, Felix?”

He opens his eyes, and now the emotion is visible. He’s nervous. But Felix doesn’t get nervous. He’s arrogant, flirty, and at times, insightful. But never this nervous, the kind that disseminates through the room and blankets everyone in trepidation. He gives a short, half-suppressed laugh. “This’ll be interesting.” Then, looking me directly in the eye, he avows, “I wanted you… I thought you would say that the reason you’re staying… is for me. Not because you believe I might fail, but because you enjoy spending time with me—And shit, now that I ponder it, that is the dullest set of words I have ever spoken. What did I tell you? Emotions. Obstruct. Rational. Thought. And I’m not even drunk. If you ever repeat to anyone what I said today, I’ll choke you to death—”

“Felix,” I address, and he shuts up. I touch the purple bead at the end of one of his braids, and he stares at me like I’m a poisonous snake about to strike. “I would have said this earlier, but I thought it was obvious: Of course I’m staying for you. I don’t want you doing this by yourself. I don’t want you to get hurt. Once we rectify this mess, you and I are leaving Titan together.”

His wide eyes gape at me for several long moments. “Is that an edict, Doctor Chambers?”

The formality throws me off. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is… what if I don’t leave with you?”

My throat constricts, and I barely get the words out, “Then I guess we’ll say goodbye.”

“Just like that?”

“What else are you expecting?”

His eyes narrow. Felix has this bizarre mentality that emotions cloud judgement, but I disagree. In actuality, they allow me to see more clearly. They help me make decisions. And I wish Felix would tell me what he’s feeling—what he’s sincerely feeling, not what he pretends to feel right now, or what he used to feel decades earlier. I watch him struggle with the verdict, and eventually he coquettishly smirks. “Nothing else, darling.” He untangles his right arm from mine and rises gracefully. “I expect nothing else.”

“Wait, your shoulder—”

He cuts me off, “Relocated ten minutes ago.” I must’ve been so focused on not botching his limb that I didn’t notice his humerus was back in place. “I was enjoying the massage.”

I stand too, but he pivots away from me and begins sauntering toward the armory’s entrance, holding his right forearm flush against his side. I ask, “Do you need anything?”

He stops but doesn’t turn around. “For my arm?”

For you. “Yes.”

He resumes walking. “It’ll heal on its own.” He disappears around the corner, and two minutes later, I heedfully exit the armory.

Somewhere along the way, our conversation diverged into two different paths. I’ve upset him—I seem to be doing that a lot recently to those around me—and he won’t tell me why. Perhaps he was waiting for me to say that I’d be willing to remain on Titan indefinitely for him. But no, that can’t be. That’s moronic. I would never say that. And he should know that I would never say that.

Because it’s untrue. I want to go home. Yet I want him to come with me. Felix Oringo doesn’t like being controlled. He doesn’t relish in having his options diminished, so why is he acting as though he wants me to make this choice for him? What does he want from me?

Our bond has fractured, and unlike his shoulder, it’s not something I’ll be able to mend in time.