The Moon Dwellers

She looks like she wants to cry but she doesn’t, not so much as a single tear. Even growing up, she was never much of a crier. If she got hurt or disappointed she’d always just go silent, preferring to keep her emotions on the inside. That’s what she does now, shifting to the corner, hugging her knees, staring into empty space.

“Thank you for your help, and I’m so sorry about your friend,” Tristan says. “If we hadn’t chased after you, maybe he would have survived. I feel responsible.”

“No!” I say fiercely. Tristan isn’t going to take the blame for this. Rivet is the one to blame, and whoever sent him after us; the President, or his advisors, or whoever. “It wasn’t your fault. You tried to help us.”

“We just got in the way,” Tristan says softly, lowering his head.

I shake my head. “This is our life,” I say. “As moon dwellers it doesn’t seem to matter who does what, it always ends in tragedy.” Even I am surprised by my words. They sound so defeatist. It’s not like me, but it is how I am feeling.

“Maybe we can change things,” Roc says.

“How?” I say blankly. Change is so far from my mind I can barely even focus on it; I am just trying to survive.

Tristan says, “Use my reach. I might not act like my father, but I am well known across the Tri-Realms. If I can convince others to join the cause, maybe we can change things.”

“The cause?” I say. “What cause? All I see are star dwellers blowing up moon dwellers, moon dwellers acting like sheep, sun dwellers ruling over all. There is no cause.” I am starting to a

“We are the cause,” Tristan says. “That is, if we want to be.”

“We?” I say. My mind is racing. My sister is in a faraway place, Tawni is a mess, and I am talking to two guys, who’ve been beaten to a pulp, about a revolution.

“Well, I don’t know, we haven’t really thought much about it yet,” Tristan says.

Great, I think. I’m joining an ill-pla

“Look, guys, I appreciate what you want to do, but I’m just trying to find my parents.”

“In Camp Blood and Stone?” Tristan asks.

“Yes, how do you know that?”

“I know a lot of things. You know, because I’m the President’s son and all.”

“Well, we’re going to be leaving soon to rescue my dad, so…”

“We’re coming with you,” Tristan says.

Coming with me? Why would he do that? Why would he even offer? Here he is talking about revolutions and changing the world, and he is willing to risk his life to help a random moon dweller, who happens to be an escaped convict, rescue her father from a secure prison where he is being held on charges of treason? I just don’t understand.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because…because…”

“Because he’s been chasing you all over the Moon Realm—of course he’s go

“Chasing me? But…but…” I am about to ask why, but I already know the answer. I’ve known it the whole time, but won’t allow myself the enjoyment of believing it—not even for one fraction of a second.

He feels something for me, too.

Chapter Twenty

Adele

Things get pretty awkward after that. No one really speaks, and I barely make eye contact with anyone. Tawni finally stops crying and we all agree that we need to sleep. Elsey and I go and find a few more thin pads to sleep on.

There isn’t much space to stretch out, so we have to cram tightly together. Determining the sleeping positions is a bit embarrassing, probably not for anyone else, but definitely for me.

I want to sleep next to Tristan. Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not thinking about trying anything with him—I’m not that kind of girl, plus the room is like a sardine can. I’ve never even kissed a guy before. Pathetic, I know. I just want to be near him, to bask in the energy that I feel when I’m in his presence.

Tawni knows it, too, which is embarrassing in and of itself. Right away, she lays her mat near the edge of the room, against the wall. Roc seems to sense the unspoken plan, too, pulling his mattress to the opposing wall, leaving plenty of space. He smirks the whole time he is doing it.

That leaves me, Tristan, and Elsey. I could position Elsey in the middle, between Tristan and me.

I don’t.

“Here you go, El,” I say, helping her lay out her pad next to Tawni. I put mine next to hers while Tristan fills the gap between Roc and me. We leave the candle to burn itself out.

I sit down, being careful not to accidentally brush past Tristan, who is already sitting on the floor. I stretch out stiffly, lowering my knees and head to the floor in jerky motions. I lie like a dead person, staring at the ceiling. I am acutely aware when Tristan sprawls out next to me, mere inches from my body by my own design. I’ve never slept this close to a guy before. Although there’s a gap between us, it feels like there isn’t, like our arms and legs are touching, or maybe our hips and shoulders. It feels nice. Wonderful, to be exact.

Everyone else seems to fall asleep immediately, exhausted from one of the longest days of our lives. I can hear heavy breathing on all sides. I can’t sleep, though. Not with him so close to me. I can’t manage to deepen my breaths, or relax my body, or even close my eyes: all the standard requirements for sleep. I just lie as still as a stone, my eyes glued to the ceiling, which is getting dimmer by the minute as the candle’s wax melts away.

After an hour I am getting worried I’ll be up the whole night. A lot of good that will do me when we are trying to break my dad out of jail. So I try to sleep, try to forget who is sleeping next to me. Close my eyes.

My eyes snap open when I feel something touch my hand. I jerk my head to the right and stare through the deepening gloom at my hand, which is resting lightly on my hip. I hold my breath when I see what touched it.

Tristan’s hand.

His hand is resting gently on top of mine, his fingers sitting in the cracks between my fingers. The feeling is remarkable. Another first for me: my hand touching a guy’s. Not holding, per se. Just touching. I don’t think the feeling would be the same with any other guy. With Tristan the feeling is special.

I glance over at him. His eyes are closed, his breathing slow and even. He appears to be sleeping. Is he faking it? Or did he simply move in his sleep, his hand randomly slipping onto mine, a mere fluke of nature?

I feel his fingers push their way between mine, curling inside so they are touching my palm. My heart leaps to the ceiling and tries to rip out of my chest. It settles back into place and demonstrates its enthusiasm by beating rapidly, sending shivers through my nervous system. I feel so warm, so right.

He is awake, I can sense it. It is no mistake that his hand is on mine.

My instinct is confirmed when I feel his thumb, the only finger not nestled under my palm, start to stroke the top of my hand. Gently sliding back and forth across it, sometimes making circles.

It is weird how good it feels. It is such a simple thing, the mere sliding of a finger across skin, but it sends tingles through my whole body. I close my eyes, like Tristan, and begin slowly ru

Things are moving so fast. I know, I know—it is just holding hands. But it feels like so much more than that. This is going to sound stupid, but it almost feels like we’ve done it, like I’ve lost my virginity through our hands touching.

The feelings I have for him are remarkable, but I finally realize they aren’t anything supernatural. The whole time I’ve had this weird feeling that some mysterious force is drawing us together. Now I feel silly for thinking that. It is just attraction, plain and simple. A really, really, ridiculously strong attraction, yeah, but a natural force nonetheless.