But it wasn’t home.
The strange sounds of the ship woke me every night, throwing that internal panic switch in my brain and sending me into an unrecoverable spiral of anxiety. My pulse roared into overdrive and I had to lie there for hours, waiting for it to pass. Sometimes it didn’t.
Nightmares about my mom or being back in the race always tugged at the back of my thoughts, shadows in my brain even when I was awake. Was Mom okay? Had she given up on finding me yet?
The air on Rout’s ship always felt too cold and dry. And while my room was nice, it didn’t feel like I belonged there. When I did wake up, gasping and drenched in cold sweat, it took me a while to remember where I was. Nothing was familiar. And I actually found myself missing the inside of our beat-up runner craft. At least I’d known where I was when I’d woken up in there.
Here, I never really felt safe.
My mind drifted to the only person who might’ve been able to make me feel the teensiest bit secure. I still hadn’t had a real conversation with Phox since, well, since he’d tried to bail on me at the medical facility. In fact, we’d hardly spoken at all. That invisible wall still hung in the air, cutting me off like I might as well have been back in that confining dredger cube.
When our paths did cross, Phox kept his head down. He didn’t say much. And I didn’t know what to say, either.
He’d said a lot of stuff while we’d been in the god-awful race. Now … I could only guess it was just to keep me from freaking out long enough for us to get through it. None of it was real. We weren’t friends. Not really. He wanted out—away from me. And as stupid as it was to be disillusioned by him now … my chest ached and my heart sank every time our eyes met.
I shuddered. How long would this feeling last? Would it ever go away?
“You might want to reconsider your stance on the selected attire,” a smooth, masculine voice called across the room.
I didn’t have to look to know who it was. Rout’s accent was distinct—and unlike any I’d heard from the other alien creatures I’d met so far. He stepped into view, standing right beside the dressing pedestal with a thoughtful, somewhat critical expression as he studied me. “This gown was designed by a highly sought-after Alzumarian seamstress especially for you. It is a statement, not merely a garment. Wearing Alzumarian-designed clothes sends the message of your social equality—something still denied to your competitor, Sienne. Think of it not as a garment, but as a symbol.”
I blinked, my scowl dissolving to shock. “Faulbender doesn’t let Sienne wear Alzumarian clothes?”
Rout’s grim, piercing turquoise gaze locked with mine in answer.
My stomach flipped as a frenzy of emotions made my hands go clammy. I wanted to hate him. And I certainly didn’t trust him. But this Alzumarian man was now my only hope of survival—the devil I’d made a deal with. He was a disgusting creature morally, even if his sharp features and polished style made him disturbingly if not eerily handsome, and I wasn’t dumb enough to believe he didn’t still have some secret ulterior motive by making this bargain. I mean, he hadn’t even fought me on all my terms. Suspicious, right? Right. It was just like Phox said: Alzumarians always had a motive.
But I had one, too.
Eyeing the sort-of-not-really dress, I sighed and let my shoulders drop. “Fine.”
Goodbye, dignity. Nice knowing you.
Rout nodded approvingly. “Tomorrow will be a momentous occasion. We are presenting you to the entire galaxy as a champion to rival Sienne. This impression will set the tone for your relationship with the public. We need it to be a good one and lock in their full support. Everything must be perfect, hence my insistence on the thorough examination of your wardrobe choice.”
“Is that why you’re here? To give me a pep talk about my dress and public speaking skills?”
“Yes,” he conceded, bowing his head and brushing back a few stray locks of his silky black bangs. “Well, that, and to warn you that some of the questions you’ll be asked during your interview might be … uncomfortable if you go in unprepared.”
I frowned. “Uncomfortable how, exactly?”
“It’s very possible that you will be asked about how you shattered the Archilex scythe. And while I’ve attempted to further the rumor that it was merely good fortune, that the blade or reactor-staff must have been compromised during the fight with Phox and shattered on its own, the vast majority of your adoring fans prefer to believe that you did it.”
“Uh, fans?” I actually had fans?
He gave me that slightly amused, patronizing smile, like a parent adoring a child’s innocent ignorance. “You’ve amassed quite a following, Brinna.”
I went back to chewing on the inside of my cheek. “So what should I say if they ask about it?”
“I’d recommend holding to our story—that you had nothing to do with its destruction. We don’t need the council taking any more interest in you apart from being fans of your racing performance, wouldn’t you agree?”
Unfortunately, I did.
“I’ve already discussed it with Phox. He is also in agreement. But I’d wager you’ll be doing most of the talking.” Rout stepped around the pedestal to stand before me, his arms crossed and his expression tinged with uncertainty. “Perhaps I’m incorrect, but it seems you two are … somewhat at odds.”
I shifted and looked down at my feet. Of course we freaking were. And it was partly his fault. He was the one who’d basically twisted Phox’s arm
