Mr. Thorne is staying across the hall.
She stared at the door, willing him to appear.
Her stomach was throbbing where Thorne had stabbed her, when he’d been under Levana’s control. She pressed her fingers against the bandages over her stitches, trying to ease the ache. She wondered if she should have asked the nurse to leave her some pain medicine.
She took in a deep breath, feeling the sting in her ribs as her lungs pressed against them. She would be brave. She would be heroic. She would make her own destiny.
She urged her floating chair to the door and yanked it open.
Thorne stood in the hallway.
He jumped, clasping his hands behind his back, a rigidly formal stance. He was clean-shaven with his hair neatly combed, and he was wearing brand-new clothes: a blue collared shirt rolled to the elbows and khaki pants tucked into brown boots.
Cress squeezed herself against the back of the chair, feeling inadequate. Though she’d showered away the suspension tank’s goop, she still wore the paper-thin gown from the clinic and hadn’t even had a chance to comb her hair.
“Captain,” she breathed.
“Sorry,” he said, clicking his heels. “Were you leaving?”
“No. I … I thought I’d come see you.”
Thorne looked caught off guard, but then an edge of relief turned up one side of his mouth. He leaned down and placed his hands on her armrests. His right hand was cocooned in a cast. “You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, pushing her backward and shutting the door with his foot. He took her back to the window, then glanced around. “What can I get you? A portscreen? A masseuse? Whiskey on the rocks?”
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Even knowing he was alive, she hadn’t completely believed it until then. “You look…” She couldn’t finish. Her eyes started to water.
A grin in expectation of a compliment quickly turned to panic. “Oh, hey, what are you doing that for?” He crouched in front of her. “I don’t think crying will feel very good in your condition.”
She bit her lip, hard. He was right. Already her warbling breaths were making her abdomen throb. She forced the tears to subside.
Thorne took her hands, snaking his cast beneath her fingers. His skin looked tan and rugged against hers.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wanted to be there when they brought you out of the tank, but I was in a meeting when Scarlet commed to tell me, and I couldn’t leave, and I thought … I didn’t know…” He exhaled, a frustrated set to his mouth.
“A meeting?” Cress said, not sure if this explanation made her feel better or worse.
His expression brightened. “You’ll never believe this. President Vargas himself wanted to meet me. The actual president of the American Republic. Guess what he said.”
She considered. “He’s giving you a medal of honor for your bravery?”
“Close enough.” Thorne’s blue eyes gleamed. “He’s giving me the Rampion.”
Her eyes widened.
Launching to his feet, Thorne started to pace. “Well, I mean, he’s leasing me the Rampion, but I can start making payments to purchase it from the military. Cinder asked him to pardon me if I promised not to steal anymore, yadda yadda, and she recommended me and my crew to head the efforts of distributing the letumosis antidote. But I need a ship to do it, which is why President Vargas made the deal. You should have seen how unhappy he looked about it. I don’t think he’s my biggest fan, but—he still did it.”
Cress clapped. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Can you imagine, me, in a legitimate job?”
“And a job that’s helping people.” She beamed. “I can imagine it very easily.”
“I’m sure you’re the only one.” He stopped pacing long enough to grin at her.
Warmth flooded her face, and she looked down, noticing his cast again. He would have to retrain himself how to fly with his injuries. “I’m—I’m sorry about your hand,” she stammered.
“Don’t,” he said quickly, as if he’d been expecting this apology. “Scarlet and I are going to start a missing-fingers club. We might let Cinder be an honorary member.” Sinking onto the edge of the bed, he stared at his cast, twisting it in the light. “Plus, I’m thinking of getting some cyborg replacements. You know how Cinder’s hand does all sorts of tricks? I thought it might be nice to always have a toothpick handy. Or maybe a comb.” He sounded distracted, like his words and thoughts weren’t lining up with each other. When he dared to look up again, there was anxiety behind his eyes. “I’m sorry too, Cress. I … I nearly killed you and—”
“Levana almost killed me.”
His jaw flexed. “I was the one holding the knife. I felt it. I felt it happening, and there was nothing I could do…”
“There was nothing you could do,” she agreed.
Settling his elbows on his knees, he leaned over, his head hanging between his shoulders. “No. I know.” He dragged his good hand through his hair. “I know, logically, that it was her, not me. But … Cress.” He sighed. “I will have nightmares about that moment for the rest of my life.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Cress, that’s not…” Massaging the back of his neck, he peered up at her, but the look was so intense she had trouble holding it. Her blush deepened. “I…” He planted his hands on his knees, bracing himself. “Will you stay on my crew?”