CHAPTER 4

T he grey of early morning sky brightens the fissure in the ceiling of the gargantuan cave that houses our underground city. It washes my view of Warehouse District rooftops in a murky half-light. Beyond, the taller but equally ill-maintained structures of City Centre rise. Morning traffic whizzes above us in tiered lanes, looking more like brown and silver fish than streaks of neon now that the light of day dims the glow of their headlights.

Tori wears a glare as she points Carlson’s blaster at Vince, but I know her expression is a mask. She’s more shaken than angry. If I’m being honest, I’m not that mad anymore, either. Most of my anger was sated with one good punch.

I stand with arms crossed, looking Vince up and down. The smirk is back, now with the addition of bloodied teeth, and he’s once again leaning against the commandeered hoverbike.

I’ve got to hand it to him. He has reason to be smug. Technically, Vince did rescue us. And it was kind of badass, if you ignore the part where Tori plummeted almost to her death.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” I demand, keeping my admiration hidden. Vince clearly does not need an ego boost .

His gaze flicks to the nose of the blaster Tori keeps trained on him, then back to me. The way his eyes travel over my body sends warmth blooming in places I don’t need it right now.

I shift my weight and scowl harder.

“You two have a lot of nerve bloodying up my pretty face and then waving a blaster at me after I risked my neck for you.” His grin ticks up a notch. “You’re lucky I like my women feisty.”

“Funny,” Tori says. She clicks on the blaster’s sight guide, causing a glowing red dot to appear on Vince’s chest, then moves it so it rests directly over his heart. “I like my kidnappers dead.”

Vince raises his palms in a placating gesture and turns his gaze back to Tori. “Okay, okay. No sense of humour. Got it.” His eyes move between us. “I’ll get right to the point. I’ve seen your work, and I’m impressed. I’ve got a job—”

I hold a hand up and cut him off, looking at Tor. “By seen our work he means he’s the guy from the bathroom. He’s been following us since the start of the Zander job.”

Tori lets out an annoyed growl. “What the fuck? Why are we even listening to this guy, Gee? Can’t I just shoot him?”

“Now, hang on.” Vince turns his attention back to Tori, talking calm and slow. He’s obviously starting to realize she’s the loose cannon he needs to watch out for, not me. “It isn’t as sketchy as it sounds. I’ve got a special offer for a high level job, and I need females on it. When I saw the Zander listing, I knew it’d be snatched up by girls. Zander had a rep for being that brand of asshole. So I kept an eye on the nasty fucker and, like magic, two pretty girls start working him within a day. One all up in his space, clearly how he likes it.” He gives Tori an approving nod. “The other practically invisible.”

He turns to me, looking genuinely intrigued for once instead of smug. “But you were always trailing from a distance weren’t you? Or listening from outside, armed and ready to intervene. You must’ve been able to hear them. The Pink must have a safe word, so you’d know if she needed you.” He searches my face but I don’t give anything away, just keep eyeing him.

“You have aural mods,” he guesses. “You know, that could be useful for this job. You two are going to be exactly what I need.”

“No need to launch your rocket prematurely, Boss.” I want to take him down a notch while also letting him know there’s a chance we could be in. I’m interested to see what kind of job is worth a big enough payout that this guy would go through a week of trailing potential hirelings just to see us in action. “We’re selective about the gigs we take on. We’ve got standards.”

“If the Zander job meets your standards ”—there’s a bit of an eye roll in his voice—“then this one will, too. Only it’ll pay a hell of a lot better than small time hits like that two-bit trafficker have been earning you.” He leans forward a little, looking genuinely excited now. “I’m talking thirty thousand credits. Small fortune for each of us, even split three ways. ”

Tori’s eyes dart to mine at the mention of money.

Not going to lie, thirty thousand credits is a good way to get my attention, too. With that kind of money, we could not only get off this rock, we could start a new life. Somewhere we could walk in the daylight again. Eat food that doesn’t come in a can. Somewhere I could pursue my music for real and we’d never have to do another hit. For that kind of money, we could be free.

Vince doesn’t miss the look Tori and I share. His eyes spark with excitement as he continues. “The job requires one female accomplice, preferably two. Big-time trafficker got some Oralian politician in trouble and he’s willing to pay good money for revenge. We expose the jackass and get paid for it.”

Makes sense that Vince would look to the Zander job if he needs girls to pose as trafficker bait. There aren’t that many young female bounty hunters working the Underground. Still, thirty thousand credits is borderline too good to be true… I haven’t seen a bounty listed for even close to that amount. Not in this town.

I shift my weight to my other foot, levelling my gaze at Vince. “What’s the catch? For that kind of payout, there’s something you’re not telling us.”

“There’s always a risk. Higher risk, higher reward.”

I narrow my eyes. Everyone in this business knows that. “ And … ”

“And, well… it’s an off-planet job. I’m lining up transport, but…” He hesitates, glances between us. “We’d be leaving for Oralia tomorrow. You’d have twenty-four hours to say your goodbyes and get your business here in order.”

He says it like it’s a bad thing. Like he’s worried leaving the planet will be a deal-breaker. “It doesn’t have to be forever,” he hurries to add. “Once the job is done, a ticket home will be a drop in the bucket compared to the kind of cash we’ll be rolling in.”

My eyes find Tori’s again, and they’ve gone wide. I think I’m wearing a similar expression.

A massive payout and transport off-planet?

We just hit the jackpot.

-X-

“Maybe we should forget about it,” Tori says for the hundredth time, glancing across the street with a frown. “Once we do the Oralia gig, a few vials will be chump change.”

I eye the faded storefront of Beth’s Cleanery, the laundromat that disguises Beth’s more lucrative middleman bounty operation. A mother pulls an old hoverwagon piled with folded laundry through the rickety sliding door. A grubby child grins from the centre of the wagon, looking pleased with her hideout among the stacks of worn fabric. There’s nothing sinister about the customers who frequent the laundromat. Technically, this neighbourhood is better than ours. It boasts a steady flow of electricity, at least.

The possibility of running into our fellow bounty hunters is what Tori doesn’t like. She’s not usually this cautious, but last night’s events have her on edge. She’s been pale and twitchy ever since we parted ways with Vince.

My nerves are fried, too. I keep glancing at shadows, thinking I see black-clad guards with my family crest emblazoned on their shoulders. But it’s all in my head.

“We risked our asses on Zander. We can’t leave without collecting.” I take another hard look at the alley next to the laundromat before stepping into the street. “Besides, the only one who’d pay for a hit on Zander would be someone even worse than Zander himself. Might as well rid them of our fair share of their money.”

I don’t like to voice the reality, but it’s true. As much as we try to take jobs we don’t feel totally shitty about, only a competitor in the same disgusting business would’ve put a bounty on Zander’s head. At least we never have to meet our employers. That’s Beth’s job—connecting assassins-for-hire with anonymous employers and arranging payment.

Not long after we first landed in the Underground, Beth caught me and Tori scamming one of her laundry machines. I guess she saw something in the way I used my ear to rig the old- fashioned tech, or in Tori’s sweet talking, or maybe she was just sorely in need of females desperate enough to do anything for cash. Whatever it was, instead of beating the coin we owed out of us and throwing us on our asses in the street, Beth offered us a job.

We’ve been taking gigs for her off and on ever since.

“Fine,” Tori catches up, taking my arm as we skip the laundromat’s front entrance and hit the alley instead. “But let’s get in and get out fast.”

Balmy, soap-scented air gusts from vents on the side of the building, matts of clinging fibres billowing at their openings like sails. Big nests of dryer fuzz that have collected under the vents go skittering down the alley as we pass. I startle as one rolls across my path.

Nothing but dust bunnies .

I force myself to take a deep, calming breath.

Past a bin loaded with haphazard bundles of scrap fabric, we hit a pair of doors—one hinged, metal, and windowless, the other a garage-style door set high in the wall so hovers can back up to it for easy pickups and deliveries.

We come to a stop at the smaller door, and I punch the bell.

No answer.

Tori glances up and down the alley as I hit the button again. I jam my face close to the camera lens that stares out from the wall next to the bell. “Beth! Open up! ”

I listen for a response, but all I hear is the hum of dryer vents and the distant, high-pitched complaints of a kid on the main street.

“Guess she’s not in,” Tori says, not bothering to hide her relief. “Let’s get out of here. Vince said he had transport covered, so it’s not like we need the money.”

I shake my head. “I’ll give live birth to a big hairy Sevvie’s baby before I depend on a guy we barely know for cash.” Or on anyone, for that matter. I’ve been dependant before, and it made me helpless. Trapped. I refuse to ever feel that way again.

I give up on the bell and bang on the door instead, hard enough to bruise knuckles. “Beth!” The door rattles slightly in its metal frame. “Hang on…” I turn the knob and yank. The door budges. “It isn’t locked.” I tug again and the door jerks free, squawking on its hinges as it swings wide.

A grey rectangle of daylight falls from the doorway across the peeling tile of Beth’s office floor. Otherwise, the room is dark.

“Beth?” I step over the lip and up into the room, damp boots squeaking on tile. “You here?”

I take another step in and stop short.

“Gee, I don’t think…” Tori’s voice trails off as she takes in the sight that stopped me in my tracks.

Beth’s big body slumps forward over her desk, forehead down to reveal only the crown of her short-cropped, greying head. One tattooed arm stretches across the desk’s surface, knuckles tight on the grip of a blaster.

“Oh God,” Tori whispers. “Let’s get out of here.”

I force myself to start breathing again. Force myself to step forward into the cluttered office. Closer to the body.

I don’t lift Beth’s head. I know what I’ll see. Instead, I rest a hand softly on the woman’s outstretched arm. “Her skin’s cold. She’s been like this for a while.”

“Does it matter? C’mon, Gee. Let’s go.”

“Hang on.”

Swallowing hard against the bile that threatens to creep up my throat, I move behind Beth’s desk. Her safe’s in the other room, but she keeps the pay she’s expecting to dole out on a given day in her desk.

I crouch to examine the bottom drawer, brushing my fingertips along its smooth black face. The colour and texture tell me it’s made of reinforced carbon, immune to my burn-blade. But the lock is a simple, old-fashioned number pad like I suspected. I press the buttons one by one, listening carefully to the sound each makes—a catch, a click, a loose jiggle.

I drag the memory of our last visit to Beth’s office from a file in my mind, remembering the series of minute sounds as she reached down and opened the drawer to retrieve our pay, keeping her eyes on us as she punched in the code from memory. I have a good memory, too, especially for sound. I quickly match each click in my memory with one of the buttons I just listened to on the pad. I type in the code. The drawer pops open.

I find the file with our names—Pink and Gee—handwritten on a plastic tab. Silver light shines from inside. Other files emit glows of their own.

“How’d you know the code?” Tori’s leaning over me now, eyes wide at the sight of all that glowing silver. We could take not just our ten vials, but all the scheduled payouts. Quadruple what was intended for us. I slam the drawer shut before I’m tempted. Beth was rough around the edges, but she was kind to us. Her partner Veronica’s going to need the money.

I stuff our ten vials into my pack and rise. “My aural mods. Last time we got paid…”

Something on Beth’s desk catches my eye—the greenish glow of a tablet screen, partially hidden under a stack of fallen towels. I push the nubby cloth aside.

Zander’s watery eyes, set between a receding hairline and thin, scowling lips, stare at me from the screen. It must be Beth’s bounty file. Below his mugshot, white text lists Zander’s aliases, last known whereabouts, the bounty on his head…

And at the bottom of the page, our names.

I grab the tablet and throw it to the floor, smash the paper-thin screen under my heavy boot with a crunch. The display flickers and winks out. “You’re right, Tor. We need to get out of here. Now. ”

I sling my bag over my shoulder, and we book it to the exit. I cast a final furtive glance at Beth’s slumped body before slamming the door behind us with a clang.

I want to believe Beth’s killer was after Zander. But deep down, I know it can’t be a coincidence we found Beth dead the morning after our run-in with Carlson.

Beth died because of me.

I swallow guilt and step into the alley just as someone comes around the corner. Someone big, silhouetted against the murky light where the alley opens to the street, the outline of a blaster visible at each hip. A hitman heading to Beth’s office to collect on his own bounty.

“Act natural,” I whisper in Tori’s ear as I take her arm and steer her in the opposite direction. “He won’t bother us.”

Hopefully.

We’re most of the way down the alley when a metallic clamour resonates behind us—the big man bludgeoning Beth’s door like I did.

Abruptly, the banging stops.

“Hey! You two!” The man’s deep voice echoes down the long narrow space. “What’s going on with Beth’s—”

We speed up.

“Hey! Come back here.”

Heavy footsteps fall. He’s coming after us .

We’re almost to the main street, though, and he’s far behind. “We’ll make it. Blend in or duck into a shop or something,” I tell Tor. “He won’t want to make a scene over nothing.”

It seems like a good plan until I hear another pair of footsteps, so light they’re barely audible, fall much closer behind us. My heartbeat speeds. Someone else must have been lurking in the shadows, and we were too focused on the big guy to notice.

Shit.

The burn-blade stashed up my sleeve slides into my palm. My thumb hovers over the trigger.

“No need to get all stabby. It’s just me.” I recognize Vince’s voice just before he pushes between me and Tori, slinging an arm over each of our shoulders.

“Shit…” I breathe, glancing behind us. Down the alley, our pursuer’s stopped. He eyes the blaster strapped to Vince’s pack. Apparently, he thinks better of interrogating us, turning on his heel to lumber back the way he came.

My muscles slacken, but annoyance bites at the heels of relief. I turn a glare on Vince. “Could you give a little warning next time?”

“Can’t help it if I’m good at what I do.” Vince glances over his shoulder at the retreating man. “And anyway, it looked like you needed backup. You girls seem to have a knack for getting yourselves into trouble. ”

I roll my eyes. “We’ve survived this long without your help.”

Vince just snorts and steers us into the street, arms still slung over our shoulders.

“Well?” I say, letting irritation take over because it feels a hell of a lot better to be mad than to think about Beth. About how Veronica’s going to fall to her knees when she finds the body. How she’ll cling and cry, like I once did.

“Well what?”

“Well, since you’re so gloaty, I assume you got the transport details worked out?”

“’Course I did.” Vince glances at Tori and then me as if appraising us. “What do you two know about the Children of Nature?”

The Children of Nature… I force a shrug instead of stiffening like my body wants to. Officially, the Children are responsible for the clinic bombing that killed my mother, though I know differently, now.

“I know they think I’m a soulless meat sack,” I say with false brightness. The cult, popular among Varus’s poorest classes, believe the soul can only enter the body through natural conception. People born in a lab, like me, are soulless in their eyes, only half alive. And my mods further condemn me, making me a cyborg. “I’m a total affront to all they see as holy. ”

“Well, prepare yourself to be sanctified.” A smirk slides across Vince’s face as I glance up at him in confusion. “You two are about to become Mothers.”

My boots stop moving on the damp pavement with a squelch. “Wait, what?”

Tori stops, too. She shrugs out from under Vince’s arm and turns to face him, waving a hand from her neon-pink crown to her rosy shoulders. “Are you colourblind? I can’t play a Mother.”

Tori is very visibly an inter-species hybrid—half-human and half-Pink—and, consequently, unable to have children of her own. In the eyes of a cult that reveres motherhood, a tragedy. She’d never pass for one of them.

“You might start practising for your role by having a little faith,” Vince says. “If not in Nature, at least in my ability to get you two past Customs.”

I raise a brow. “Impersonating Mothers is going to get us past Customs?”

“It’s going to get us on a refugee ship,” Vince says. He turns and starts walking again. “And that’s going to get us past Customs.”

A refugee ship. Tori and I have always known we wouldn’t be able to sneak off-planet aboard a legitimate passenger vessel. We’d be busted at Extraplanetary Customs and Immigration before we ever hit lightspeed. That’s why we’d been saving to bribe our way onto a smuggling skiff. The refugee thing is actually kind of genius.

Not that I’m going to tell Vince I think so.

“But why Children?” I ask instead, splashing through a puddle as I catch up.

“Just so happens that a Mr. Terra and his two wives are scheduled to be smuggled off-planet tomorrow morning, straight from the Fissure Shipyard.” Vince shoots a glance at the several-kilometre-long, jagged gap in the Underground’s ceiling. “Couldn’t have worked out better if we’d prayed to Nature for a miracle.”

We turn a corner and our apartment building comes into view, its damp facade uninviting in the gloomy half-light. My stomach twists with unease. It doesn’t feel like home anymore. Not after finding Carlson in our flat.

Inside, our apartment looks like it’s been ransacked, but it’s only the result of our hurried packing. Junk we’re not bothering to bring litters the floor. We’ve already given our meagre food stash to Sana, along with the chem supplies I use to synthesize pheromones for the misters. They’re too delicate to pack and worth a few credits if she can hock them.

Our bags, loaded with clothes and weapons, sit ready by the door .

Vince throws his own bag down on the foldout bed and pulls out a huge wad of fabric. “Mrs. Terra,” he says, handing it to me.

I shake out the costume as he passes another to Tori. The baggy brown maternity dress, characteristic of the Children, is threadbare and patched in places. Not grubby, but I can tell it’s been worn by someone since its last wash. It smells of herbs and some natural perfume. I flick a look at Vince. “Where did you get this?”

“Bought it special for you, wifey.” His tone is joking, but the look he gives me is sharp. A don’t ask if you don’t really want to know look.

My feeling of uneasiness grows.

Do I want to know?

Just so happens that a Mr. Terra and his two wives are scheduled to be smuggled off-planet tomorrow morning.

Refugees.

One of them pregnant, judging by the dress.

And probably desperate to escape not just poverty but the often brutal intolerance the Children have faced ever since that bombing was pinned on them.

Vince wouldn’t have murdered the family for their clothes, surely. He might have simply paid them off. Or he might have held them at gunpoint. Threatened them .

Either way, we’re taking their place. Taking their clothes. Taking their chance at freedom.

I glance at Tori. She meets my gaze with furrowed brows, probably feeling as guilty as I do. Then her eyes sweep around our flat, landing on the bed where she was tied and gagged last night. She winces and looks away.

I clench my teeth.

Dad’s guard held a gun to Tori’s head. Beth was murdered with our file open on her desk. We don’t really have a choice. We’ve got to get out of here, no matter whose place we’re taking.

-X-

Red gravel crunches underfoot. Harsh morning sunlight glares off the motley assortment of docked freighters and salvage craft that line the perimeter of the Fissure Shipyard, pushing my eyelids to a squint over dark contacts.

I stumble to a halt, shove both hands under the sagging girth of my false belly, and hoist. Rubber squelches audibly against sweaty skin as the monstrosity schlumps back down, jerking my shoulders forward as it settles into its preferred position against my hip bones.

“Remind me again why I have to be the pregnant one.” I throw a long-suffering look Tori’s way, though I don’t really expect her to answer. We’ve been over it. After a miscarriage, a Mother wears a mourning veil until her next pregnancy, and the veil provides the perfect cover for Tori’s half-human features.

That leaves me to waddle across the blistering shipyard in the maternity costume, baby bump sliding and sticking against my sweaty abdomen with every step.

“At least you can breathe,” Tori pants from behind her black face covering. “It’s a sauna in here.”

I have to admit she doesn’t look comfortable. Besides the dark veil, fabric the colour of reconstituted porridge powder swaths Tori’s body from head to toe. She’s hiked up the voluminous outer layer and thrown it over one arm, but her underskirt still drags in the rust-coloured gravel, threatening to trip her up with every trudging step.

Wherever the former owners of these clothes came from, it wasn’t summer there.

“Ship should be just around the corner, sweethearts,” Vince says from behind us.

I toss a glance over my shoulder at our adoring husband. A brimless prayer cap pushes black locks down over his brow and into his eyes before the tips curl outward, giving him an air of rustic humility completely at odds with his true personality. He’s not struggling under the weight of all our bags, but he doesn’t look comfortable, either, with hair in his eyes and sweat staining his pits .

Somehow Vince’s discomfort makes me feel better. I grin evilly and blow him a kiss before returning to my waddle.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Gee,” Tori hisses. “You’re supposed to look holy.”

She’s right. The crew could be waiting just around the corner, and our successful deception relies heavily on my untried acting skills. I train my face into a serene expression.

Tori drops her hiked skirt and fluffs it over her feet as we hit the bend around the last of the corrugated metal outbuildings that form the centre island of the shipyard.

Docking space A–142 comes into view, and I take in the ship’s exterior with a critical eye. Rusted panels patchwork a squat, rounded hull. A pair of blast engine shafts arch from the sides like narrow hunched shoulders. It’s nothing special. Just your run-of-the-mill small-time cargo transport, indistinguishable from its neighbours in the docking spaces on either side. But that’s the point—to keep under the radar.

I tug my grey headscarf lower on my forehead as we come to a halt in the shadow of the ship. My stomach tightens into a nervous knot.

This is it. Showtime.

There’s a clunk and a hiss, and a loading ramp lowers with a hydraulic sigh, looking like a ridged metallic tongue ready to lap us into the dark maw of a beast. I squint into the ship’s shadowy innards, but no one seems to be waiting inside .

I glance at Tor. She shrugs.

“Hello?” I call. “Is anybody—”

“Mrs. and Mrs. Terra? And Mr. Terra?”

I start as a deep voice sounds from behind us. How did I not hear footsteps?

I take a steadying breath and plaster a peaceful expression on my face before I turn.

A few metres beyond the shadow of the ship stands a young man with close-cropped brown hair and the straight-backed posture of a soldier. Grease-smeared khaki coveralls suggest he’s the ship’s mechanic. They’re rolled down and tied at the waist, and the thin cotton tank he wears underneath showcases a body built of pure, lean muscle.

Striking hazel eyes scan our group, waiting for a response.

I’m distracted by a bead of sweat that drips down the mechanic’s muscular biceps. I imagine tracing it with my finger. Or maybe my tongue. I wonder if he’s into—

Tori stamps hard on my toe under the cover of our billowy skirts.

The young man’s brow furrows. “You are the Terra family?”

I clear my throat as I force my mind out of the gutter. As a waddling pregnant holy woman, I’m not likely to be getting cozy with the ship’s mechanic on this little adventure.

“Uh… Yes.” I attempt to speak with the old-fashioned formality characteristic of the Children. “I am Firstwife Ge mma Terra, Mother of one deceased and one preborn. This is Secondwife Toriana, Mother of one deceased. And this”—I arc my hand slowly toward Vince in what I hope is a holy-looking gesture—“is our husband Vincent.”

The mechanic flashes us a smile that’s unexpectedly honest and welcoming. Wholesome even, but with a hint of sadness in his eyes that saves the expression from looking na?ve in this bleak, thirsty setting.

“I’m Captain Mitchell,” he says, wiping a hand on the thigh of his stained coveralls before reaching out.

Captain, not mechanic.

His youth and attire had me fooled, but I should’ve guessed his status from the confident posture. I used to be so accustomed to sorting people into social tiers that subtle cues like posture would have clued me in automatically, but I guess life in the Underground has put me out of practice.

I take the captain’s calloused hand and shake it, noting his awareness and respect of the Children’s customs. He knows to address me, the Firstwife, as the representative of my family.

He smiles and nods at Tori and Vince, but the expression becomes a grin when he looks beyond them. “And this is Sam, my First Mate,” he says, jerking his chin at the open hatch behind us.

A blue-skinned boy, maybe ten years old, dashes down the ramp and flies past us, skidding to a halt next to the captain. “ Hi!” He puffs out his scrawny chest, obviously proud to be introduced as First Mate. The smile that shines from his round-cheeked face is as guileless as the captain’s.

Something heavy settles in my stomach as I look from the kid to the man. Those genuine smiles would turn to sneers of disgust if they knew who we really are. How we’re using them. I try to keep my face serene as I incline my head. “May Nature bless you for your kind welcome.”

The captain takes my bag from Vince, not letting rank stop him from helping with the luggage. Sam grabs Tori’s pack from Vince’s other hand.

“Follow me,” Mitchell says as he tosses my bag over his shoulder and strides up the ramp, Sam on his heels. The two disappear into the shadows of the ship.

“Nice acting,” Vince whispers in my ear. “You’ve got them eating out of the palm of your virtuous little hand.” He winks and saunters up the ramp, attitude contrasting starkly with his humble attire.

Unease keeps me frozen in place as I watch his back.

Tori’s footsteps clang lightly on the ramp, then stop. She turns. “Gee? You coming?”

I drag a toe through red gravel.

It can’t be guilt pushing me to step backward, urging me not to enter that ship, can it ?

I’ve worked for this. I need this. I’m getting off this rock, and if I have to dupe a couple of goody-goody bleeding hearts in the business of risking their lives to help the poor, I will.

I narrow my eyes at the freighter’s rusted hull. This Mitchell character is fooling himself if he thinks he can save the world hauling refugees out of hell one family at a time. A lifetime of smuggling runs wouldn’t make a dent in the supply of starving, desperate poor clamouring for a better life.

No.

This world will never change, and we’ve all got to do what’s necessary to make the best of it for ourselves. Right now, for me and Tori, this is what’s necessary.

Shoving my hesitation aside, I step onto the ramp and let the ship swallow me as I swallow my doubts.