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in the house. Tatiana may be the head of our household now, but she’s not the one the staff will look to in my mother’s absence. And there is so much to do to prepare for the funeral. Also, I have to go tell my grandfather what has happened to his daughter. I don’t want him to hear of her death from anyone but me.
    Thank you for last night. I wish I could say I don’t know why you are the one I ran to—you, Kai, not Tatiana or my father or even my grandfather. But I know why. And I have a confession to make.
    After you let me cry, after you let me sob and shout and choke on all that pain—after you did all that, and didn’t say a word—I didn’t fall asleep like you thought. Not right away. I lay there, wadded up into a ball, and you curved your body behind mine. You were barely touching me—your thigh against the edge of my hip, your arm draped lightly across my waist, your fingers entwined with mine. How many times have our hands touched, when we were passing each other tools or helping each other in and out of machines? Hundreds of times. Thousands. But last night, it felt different. You cradled my hand in yours, palms up, our fingers curled in like a pair of fallen leaves. Fallen, maybe, but not dead. My hand never felt so alive. Every place you touched me sparked with energy. I couldn’t sleep. Not like that.
    And so I bent my head, just the slightest bit, until my mouth reached our hands. I smelled the oil you never quite get off your fingers. I breathed in the scent of your skin. And then, as if that was all I was doing, just breathing, I let my bottom lip brush against your knuckle.
    Time stopped. I was sure you’d see through my ruse and pull away. I was sure you’d know that I was not asleep, that I was not just breathing. But you didn’t move, so I did it again. And again. And on the third time, I let my top lip join my bottom.
    I kissed your hand, Kai. I didn’t do it to thank you for letting me cry. For letting me sleep in your arms. I thought you should know.
    Yours,
    Elliot
        
     
    Dear Elliot,
    I know. When will I see you again?
    Yours,
    Kai

Five
     
    IT WAS OVER IN minutes.
    Kai told the admiral about a problem with one of the sun-carts, recruited Donovan to assist him, and took his leave. He hadn’t spoken more than those two syllables to Elliot, and she, for her part, allowed the admiral to do all the talking. As soon as he was gone, she looked at Tatiana, but could detect no sense of smugness or glee in her sister. It was as if Tatiana hadn’t even recognized him.
    Grubby little boy from the barn, why should she?
    Especially since he wasn’t that boy any longer. He wasn’t even the skinny, half-grown adolescent she’d last seen. Four years had turned her old friend into something different entirely. He was taller, and with broader shoulders and longer hair and a jawline that belonged more to a man than a child.
    But Tatiana might have seen all that and still failed to identify him, for the real change was that Kai no longer looked like a servant. He stood tall and proud with a haughtiness, a distance, that almost gave even Elliot pause.
    Perhaps that explained her sister’s strange behavior. Elliot had never seen her so respectful to Posts before, but then, the way these Posts acted, it was difficult to remember that that’s indeed what they were. These weren’t the obsequious or even quietly resentful bonded servants that her sister was used to. This was what Kai had run away to be a part of. And it seemed he’d succeeded beyond her wildest fantasies.
    The shock wore off and Elliot attended halfheartedly to the Innovations’ questions about the shipyard and the house. But all she wanted to do was chase after Kai. At last she knew what had become of him. He wasn’t in danger, being exploited in some lawless Post enclave, or starving and wandering among the estates looking for work. He wasn’t even employed as a simple mechanic. He was, in fact, one of the richest and