Eventually I fall asleep. I am sure we are still holding hands when I drift away.

I wake up when Tawni says, “Hey, sleepyhead.”

I yawn and rub my eyes, opening them to look at my friend. She looks like her normal, perky self—not the devastated girl from the day before. I wish I could cope with things the way she can.

That’s when I remember the position I was in when I fell asleep: holding hands with Tristan. I sneak a glance down at my hand. It is alone—safe. Whew, I think. It isn’t like I am embarrassed that Tristan seems to have feelings for me—ecstatic would be a better word—but I’m not keen to have everyone know about it just yet.

I turn my head to see what Tristan looks like when he’s sleeping, but he isn’t there. Roc is gone, too.

“Gone with Elsey to do some recon,” Tawni says, guessing my question.

“Elsey?” I say, suddenly worried.

“It’ll be okay,” Tawni says. “They promised to be very careful and look after her.”

I nod, still worried.

I hear quick feet on the steps and then Elsey bounds through the doorway, practically crashing into me. “The bombing finally stopped!” she says excitedly. “We can go rescue Father.” Her smile is a mile wide. I am amazed at her ability to bounce back from the horrific events of the previous day.

Slower steps thud down the stairs. I raise my head in anticipation of seeing him, hoping it won’t be awkward after our night together.

Roc’s head pops out. He is wearing a wide smile, too, grinning like a banshee through the cover of his bruised face. I’m not sure what everyone’s been smoking, but I want some—clearly it’s good stuff.

Tristan follows behind him and my breath catches in my lungs. Despite his injuries—although the swelling has lessened, his face is varying shades of black, blue, and purple—he looks amazing. It isn’t just his face, or his athletic body, but the confident way that he carries himself, his penetratingly blue eyes, the way I feel when I’m around him. As usual, I am drawn to him.

He looks at Elsey. “Did you tell them?”

Elsey grins at him. “Mission complete,” she says, standing at attention, her hand perpendicular to her forehead in a rigid salute. “Ready for your next order.”

“At ease, soldier,” Tristan says, laughing. “She really likes this role-playing stuff,” he says, explaining to me.

“She always has,” I say, “but she’s no soldier and you’re not a general.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m just kidding—lighten up,” I say, grinning. Although our hands are clearly soul mates, our minds still have a ways to go. He doesn’t know I am sarcastic a lot, but he’ll learn quickly.

“Oh, sorry,” he says again.

“And enough of the apologies,” I say. I’m trying to act normal, but am not sure if I’m succeeding. I am also trying to avoid making direct eye contact with him, for fear of being sent into a stupor, unable to speak or think.

“Fair enough,” he says. “If I’m not the general, then who is?”

“I nominate myself,” Roc says.

“I second it,” Elsey says.

“Hey, don’t I get any votes?” I say.

“Nah, Tristan and Roc are really fun,” Elsey says.

“And I’m not?”

“Not as fun as them,” she says, grinning.

“Thanks a lot!” I exclaim, grabbing her and whirling her around.

“As general,” Roc says, “our first order of business is to eat breakfast. Then we’ll head over to the Camp of Death and Skulls and Crossbones and all that.”

“The Camp of Blood and Stone,” I correct.

“I think that’s what I said,” Roc says, chuckling.

Tawni hands each of us one of the wafers Elsey found the night before. It isn’t a very appetizing breakfast, but it is better than going hungry. And it is quick, which I like. I am anxious to find my dad. He’s done so much for me in my life and now I have the chance to do something for him. I can’t fail him.

I also need the distraction. Although I try to keep up my side of the constant bantering that has begun ever since Tristan and Roc joined us, inside I am still a wreck. I can’t block my emotions out like the rest of them seem to do. I feel bad that my heart ballooned the night before, when Tristan held my hand, feeling more alive than it has in months. I feel bad because Cole is dead, and yet I am enjoying myself, getting to know Tristan. Why do I deserve to find such happiness in the midst of such misery? Every five minutes it feels like my heart is shriveling up like a raisin. And then I look at Tristan and it pumps back up again. I wonder if my heart can survive such imbalance for long.

We leave our little hideaway without seeing anyone. People are staying indoors after the previous night’s bombing. The smoke has cleared, revealing the extent of the destruction. It is bad, but not irreparable, if only the star dwellers will let us rebuild.

Although the dusty streets are deserted, we walk single file, sticking to the edges of buildings, ready to dive for cover if any sun dwellers appear. Or any star dwellers. Probably any moon dwellers, too. We don’t know who we can trust.

Tristan is just in front of me, which I would know even if my eyes were closed. It’s like an invisible tether connects us whenever we are close. The tether has low-voltage electricity surging through it, leaving me tingling. His strides look awkward, ginger, like he’s walking on eggshells, trying not to crack them. Each step is likely sending splinters of pain through his injured leg and back.

We speak in hushed voices.

“Where did your brother come from?” I ask.

“Although I’d like to say he was adopted, I’m pretty sure he came from my mom’s stomach, same as me,” Tristan says, grinning.

I shake my head and grin back. “No, I mean yesterday. How’d he know we were here?”

“I’ve been wondering that, too,” Tristan says, his smile fading. “If I had to guess, I’d say my dad sent him as soon as Rivet reported that you were headed here on the train.”

I nod slowly. “But why’d he attack you like that?” I ask.

Tristan glances back and says, “We haven’t been getting along lately.”

He didn’t really answer my question. “But why—”

“He’s not like me, Adele. He’s different—like my father. Not good.”

“So you mean bad, right?”

“Yeah, bad.”

“Which makes you good then?”

He sighs. “I don’t know, I guess because I don’t believe what my father does. Or maybe I’m not good, because it doesn’t seem like anyone is these days. I’d rather classify myself as not bad.” He turns his head and manages a sideways grin, but I can tell that talking about his family is hard for him.

But I plow ahead anyway. I feel like I have to. After all, we did hold hands last night when I barely knew him! The least I can do is try to get to know him the morning after. Plus, I want to. I want to know everything about him.

“So you’re not like your dad or brother…”

“My father or brother,” he clarifies. It seems the distinction between dad and father is important to him. I wonder if it’s a sign of respect for the President or a lack of closeness with the man who helped create him.

“Okay—father. So if you’re not like them, does that mean you are like your mother?”

“I hope I’m like my mom was,” he says, once more changing my word slightly.

“Was?” I say, hoping I’m not probing too much.

Tristan goes silent for a moment and I worry I’ve offended him. We tiptoe across an empty intersection and duck behind another building. Roc is leading—he said he knows the way.

Finally, Tristan says, “My mom disappeared a while ago.” Although he says it calmly, evenly, I can feel a weight behind his words. The same kind of weight I feel in my own voice when I speak about my parents.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It was better that she went. For her. I’ll find her someday,” he adds.