Timour’s injuries were worse than Duarte let on. After being submerged in that water tank for days, his right leg became severely infected, and two weeks ago, the doctors on Plato amputated his leg below the knee. Due to complications, he’s still in the hospital but recovering quickly. Once the surgery was complete, people were allowed to visit, and apparently, they have been. Last week, he rejected all my requests, but today, he accepted.

Entering the hospital, I spot Timour propped up on one of the beds—the only patient in this particular room. He’s covered in a blanket from the waist down and hooked up to a couple machines, but otherwise he looks good, having gained some of his weight back. He chats animatedly with Eshe, who idles near his bed, laughing at something he said. Her black hair hangs down her curved back in a thick braid, while her keen eyes virtually disappear to make room for her broad smile. She’s fully healed from exposure to space, not a mark on her skin.

Timour notices me first, and his smile dims, which hurts more than I care to admit. I slow my gait, then Eshe sees me, stating as an excuse, “I gotta go train. Catch you two later.”

As she passes by, I ask, “Can I talk to you?”

Surprised, she shrugs. “Sure.” We move away from Timour’s bed, so he can’t overhear the conversation. “What’s up?”

“About you giving me your spacesuit—”

Crossing her arms, she rolls her eyes. “If you stopped me to lecture me—”

“No. I stopped you, because I want to say: Thank you. I don’t necessarily agree with how you and Commander Renner went about it… but thank you. You didn’t have to do that for me, and it took a lot of courage.”

She lowers her arms. “Well… it seemed like a good call at the time. I’m strong, I knew I could handle it, it’s part of the job… We did all that work to rescue you, and I didn’t want it thrown down the drain… and a lot of people care for you.”

I look away, curling my lip sarcastically. “Heaven knows why.”

She holds up her hands. “Hey, I’m not here to question ‘the why.’ I simply gather the data, wrangle it, and from there, make the best decision.”

“Sounds refreshing. I get so caught up in ‘the whys,’ I forget what’s really important.”

“We balance each other out.” She smiles, all thirty-two teeth showing. “We should hang out sometime.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I figured you didn’t like me.”

She laughs. “When I need to be, I’m all business, so don’t take anything I said during a mission personally.”

“I get that,” I understand, because I’m quite snappy during missions too—the difference is that I’m usually corresponding with somebody who I know. Eshe is almost a stranger to me; therefore, our interactions while on Titan are all I have to reference. “And I would love to hang out.”

“Great, I’ll call you.” She hugs me, we say our goodbyes, and she exits the hospital.

Timour’s expression is unreadable. I approach him cautiously, because I don’t know what to say to him, if I should ask him how he’s feeling. I’m scared to.

When I stop about a meter away, he says, “You’re probably wondering why I rejected all your requests to visit me.”

Okay then, we’re getting right to it. “And why you could barely look at me two weeks ago,” I add.

He clears his throat. “That too.”

“Am I easy to read? I thought I was a pretty good liar.”

“Not to me.”

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t, so in a small voice, I prod, “Why?”

He takes a deep breath, about to speak, then lets it out. He repeats this two more times before explaining, “Did you know he talked about you constantly? I was locked in that… room for a month, and he didn’t say much, but when he did, it was always about you. One day, he mentioned something regarding a promise ring—he was furious that you didn’t accept it… He told me he would torture me until I begged him to kill me.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I whisper, “Did he know about NeuroQueue? Did he… torture you into talking?”

“No. He asked me nothing. He conducted the torment… robotically, mechanically, as though it was a necessary evil.” He chuckles, melancholic. “I don’t think he had fun doing it.” He pauses. “After some time, his words began to affect my thoughts, and I had to give up the fantasy that you were going to find me… I certainly thought about imploring him to kill me—how could I not? But if it meant yielding you to a madman… you can see why I’ve been a little conflicted lately.”

I should’ve been there sooner. My throat is so strained I narrowly get the words out, “I’m so sorry.”

His ocean eyes turn to ice. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it absolutely is.”

“No, it’s not. He was obsessed. I simply wanted to offer you an explanation for why… I’ve been hiding from you. But I’m ending that today. Give me your hand.” Stepping closer, I place my hand in his, and he holds them up, wrists out, palms flush together, like the first night he stayed with me on Titan. One corner of his lips tilts up. “See? We look good together.”

I choke on laughter.

His eyes bore into mine as he says, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” I ask, “How long can I stay?”

He entwines his fingers with mine. “As long as you’d like.”

* * *

My father calls me into his office, named Rose, a day later, the first time I’ll see him face to face in almost four months. Rose is a pretty standard office with sixteen navy chairs encircling an oval, faux wood table; sky blue walls; a lone clock; and a neverending collection of holographic monitors. But to spice it up, there are artsy divans lining the right wall.

My father lies on one of those divans, scrolling through a news article, but when the door closes behind me, he rises and takes a seat at the oval table. “Sit, please,” he insists, gesturing to the chair across from him, a solid two meters away.

So I sit.

He doesn’t look any different. No white in his brown hair, no bags under his gray eyes—life is good, I guess. He begins, “First order of business: How is Starship Commander Orlov doing? Is he thinking about a prosthetic or regenerating his leg?”

“Um… I only started visiting him yesterday. That conversation hasn’t come up yet.” And I don’t care what Timour chooses.

“Well, it should have. I would recommend a prosthetic—regeneration may take five to seven years in his case.”

“But IF insurance only covers one option. He won’t be able to afford regeneration later.”

My father leans forward. “He lost half a leg, Ailee. A prosthetic isn’t going to ruin his life. And if he goes with regeneration, he’ll be out of commission as a Starship.”

“Why are you talking to me? Why don’t you talk to him about this?”

He smirks. “Why do that when you can talk to him for me?”

I sigh. “You didn’t call me here to debate Commander Orlov.”

Succeeding a minute of silence, my father’s eyes drop to the table, as if embarrassed. His voice is uncharacteristically soft when he says, “The IF made a deal with the MSF in order to combine our forces and retrieve you from Titan. We… came to an accord that the MSF will conduct experiments on the Eye, while the IF observes.”

Reaching up, I touch the gold necklace. “Okay, cool. I was hoping to get this off me as soon as possible.”

He coughs, shifting in his seat. “We don’t plan to take it off. In fact, we don’t know how. Not without killing you.”

Ah, out of the frying pan, into the fire. “You could send me to the nearest guillotine.”

“Oh, come on, Ailee.” The following words ring so false, it’s laughable: “You’re the most precious thing to me.” He taps his fingers against the desk, a nervous tic. “The MSF discovered the Eye just two years ago, and they’ve kept it concealed from the public as they endeavored to decipher what it is. There are two occasions total where researchers held the Eye too close to their bodies, and the device wrapped around their necks, poisoning them to death within the week.”

My back straightens. “How?”

“It’s made of a metal not found naturally within the Solar System. None of our analyzers can determine what it’s made of—could be man-made, could be alien, we don’t know. But what we do know is it’s highly toxic to humans, and efforts to cut the device have so far been fruitless. You are the only person who has not been harmed after prolonged contact with the metal.”

And there it is; his true motive. Nobody has ever survived wearing the Eye before. I’m an anomaly, and that makes me interesting. “So I’m your guinea pig. You want to experiment on me.”

He raises his hands in a shrug. “A compromise was needed.”

God damn it, I’m sick of being used. “What if you’re wrong? What if it eventually kills me?”

“Then it kills you.”

I roll my eyes to beat back the tears. “The day you sent me to Mars, why did you want the Eye so badly? I never thought you’d be intrigued by a shiny artifact, especially not if it resulted in war with the Red Planet. Why is it important to you?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Father, please, what is it? Why did you want it that day? Why do you want it now?”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t intend to use it, and I never should’ve intended to use it in the first place. It was a mistake,” he dismisses in a tone that really means he doesn’t desire telling me, end of discussion.

“It matters if you ever wish to speak to me again,” I state, standing up and striding out of the office before I say something more disrespectful. I’d like to believe that my father wants what’s best for me, but I know that will never be the case. He basically runs the United Empires; he’s responsible for billions of lives. I am nothing in comparison. Nothing more to him than an onus… and I can’t fault him for that.