The others do not mind her slower pace. They are too busy watching her, their curiosity palpable. Every movement she makes, every vocalization she speaks, draws their attention. I even notice they are not wincing as much when she forgets to use mindspeak. I do not know if I like that they are adapting to her, but I push the feeling back. I want them to welcome her. I want her to be happy. Comfortable.

Focus shifting back to her, I watch her stumble slightly, her foot catching on a loose stone, and my chest tightens.

“Let me carry you,” I project into her mind.

She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a small, rueful smile. “Not yet,” she thinks back.

“Why?” I press. I do not understand. “It would be easier for you.”

She hesitates for a moment, her gaze flicking to the horizon. “You need to conserve your energy,” she replies finally. “The others—the females—they’ll need you more than I do when we find them.”

The words catch me off guard, and I stare at her, uncomprehending. My energy? For the others?

“They might not be able to walk,” she continues, a flicker of concern in her thoughts. “Or they might be hurt. You’ll need your strength for them, Rok. I can manage for now.”

Her reasoning is sound, but it does not sit well with me. She is my Jus-teen. My light. My duty is to her first.

“I will carry them if needed,” I say simply. “But you come first.”

She glances up at me, her cheeks flushing faintly, and I sense her gratitude even as she shakes her head. “I appreciate that,” she thinks, “but I’ll be fine. I promise. Let me do this on my own for now.”

I do not argue further. I can feel the resolve in her mind, the quiet determination that has carried her through every challenge since she fell to this world. So I stay beside her, matching her stride, my presence a silent reassurance.

At one point, Tharn falls back to walk beside her. “Your water-sharing,” he begins, his mental tone cautious. “Is it common among your kind?”

Jus-teen pushes a laugh through her nose as she glances at me, her cheeks coloring slightly. “It’s…not something we talk about casually,” she thinks, her voice hesitant.

Tharn tilts his head, clearly unsatisfied with her answer. “Strange,” he says again, his favorite word for her.

I suppress a growl, my hand finding hers as I guide her forward. “Enough questions,” I project firmly to Tharn.

He falls silent, but his curiosity lingers, a constant hum in the back of my mind.

“Go away, Tharn.”

But he is not the only one.

Two sols pass. We are almost there. We continue on.

Jus-teen is the slowest among us, yet none complain or show impatience. They do not know her stamina has much improved, as if she has changed, too, as I have been. If anything, they seem content to match her pace, stealing glances when they think I am not watching.

I find myself reflecting on their fascination. They see only her femaleness, this rare thing they have heard of but never witnessed. They do not know how truly remarkable she is beyond this simple fact of her existence.

They did not see her face death without flinching.

They did not witness her attack Tharn to protect me.

They cannot comprehend the gift she gave in accepting me into herself, in sharing her water.

This last thought sends a wave of possessiveness through me so strong, it makes Tharn glance sharply in my direction. I know what most of my brothers are thinking. They wonder if they, too, might claim a female, if Jus-teen’s arrival heralds a change in the endless sameness of our lives.

Kol has said nothing of how we will proceed once we find these other females. He is cautious, as a leader must be. But I can sense his curiosity, his calculations.

I am not certain these other females will be as receptive as my Jus-teen. I am not certain they should be. The thought of my brothers bonding with them brings a complexity of emotions I do not fully understand.

Each time we stop to rest, the others gather around Jus-teen, their questions coming fast and eager. She answers with patience I would not possess in her position, explaining concepts that must seem as foreign to them as our world must have once been to her.

“Do all females produce water from their eyes?”

“Why do you wear these different hide coverings?”

By the third rest period, I find myself wishing, with some guilt, that they might each find a female of their own—if only so they would leave mine in peace. The thought surprises me with its selfishness.

In the dark, when the temperature drops and Jus-teen curls against me for warmth, I can sense the weight of watching eyes. The interest of my brothers grows with each passing solmark, until our camp buzzes with anticipation like a hive of stinging mites.

Their questions become more specific, more personal.

“What did her water taste like?”

“How did you know she was yours to claim?”

“Will the others let us claim them, too?”

By the fourth sol, relief washes over me like cool water. We have arrived. We stop as a group, looking out over the dust. The Silent Valley—a vast area of dust that even the most fearsome predators do not tread.

And there, in the distance, something reflects Ain’s rays back at us—a gleam of unnatural smoothness amid the rough terrain.

Jus-teen straightens beside me, her hand finding mine in an instinctive gesture.

“Oh my goodness…it’s them,” she vocalizes, her thoughts coming scattered, filled with relief and anxiety in equal measure. “It’s the ship.”

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Chapter 36

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JUST WHEN I THOUGHT THINGS WERE LOOKING UP

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JUSTINE

The moment I see the glint of metal in the distance, something in me breaks loose. I’m moving before I can think, my feet carrying me forward in a stumbling run through the shifting sand.

“Jacqui!” I call out, my voice swallowed by the vastness of the desert. “Jacqui!”

Behind me, I sense hesitation from the Drakav, their confusion rippling across my mind like disturbed water. They didn’t expect this sudden burst of movement, this desperate sprint toward the unknown. But I can’t slow down. Not now. Not when I’m so close.

After a moment’s pause, I sense them following. Rok’s presence stands out most clearly in my mind, a mixture of concern and protectiveness washing over me.

“Be careful,” his thoughts reach me. “This Valley holds much danger.”

I don’t slow. I can’t. Every cell in my body is driving me forward, toward that glint of metal, toward the hope that everyone is still alive.

As I run, a terrible thought grips me: What if I’m too late? What if the bus is empty, nothing but a metal coffin baking in the relentless sun? My imagination conjures the worst images—bodies withered from dehydration, or worse, nothing at all, just an abandoned shell with no clue as to what happened to the others.

My chest tightens, lungs burning both from exertion and from the fear squeezing my heart. The bus grows larger as I approach, but I still see no movement, no sign of life. The silence is oppressive, broken only by my labored breathing and the sound of my shoes pounding against the sand.

“Jacqui!” I call again, my voice cracking from strain and desperation. “Anyone! Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

I push myself harder, stumbling slightly as my shoe catches in a small depression. Rok’s thoughts flare with alarm, but I right myself and keep moving. I’m close enough now to make out details—the bus sits just as I left it, half-buried in sand on one side. The drag chute still stands, creating that makeshift shelter extending from one side of the vehicle.