The door to our hiding place was closed. Random kitchen items were piled throughout. Every few moons the items changed. Rumi and I had shared this desolate room even before Unit Seven. Five years of sneaking away for our breaks, when the Witching Hour was quiet, or when our searches came up empty. A refuge within the madness of Haven. No one in the Unit knew of the room. Only us.

The tip of my tongue slid against a familiar metal chain. My hands were too busy to hold my grandfather’s cross. The image before me wasn’t anywhere close to finished. Half the drawings in my sketch book weren’t. Some never would be. Three more strokes, medium pressure. There.

Three people with jet black straight hair were finally sketched out. Two young boys and a mother. They remained faceless. 

Faceless.

The pencil groaned beneath my grip. Steps moved past the door. It didn’t open. Rumi still wasn’t back. The nuisance of my pulse flooded my eardrums, dissolving my surroundings. My vision blurred, the figures blending, until I only saw birds taking off from the trees too suddenly. A resounding echo filtering through the trees. A disturbance of my peace. My lashes fluttered rapidly, like a camera shutter.

Each blink—an image. 

A forgotten boot. Ammunition spilled onto the ground. A full moon, high in an inky sky. A rush of decaying foliage. A cluster of tents. A roaring fire. 

The image would be different this time. It could be different. At least here in my mind. 

The memories continued: a tent flap swaying in the breeze, revealing poorly crossed bare feet. 

It would be different. She’d smile at me. Please, God. Let it be changed. 

A lifeless—faceless, person—figure. The snapping of sticks beneath boots. A revolver in a delicate hand. My father sprinting, holding a rifle, sweaty faced. An explosion of words, fists. Wet blood. Tears. 

You were supposed to stay with her.

There was a clatter. My fingers ripped at my chest. The necklace wasn’t there.

“It’s in your mouth, Patty.” 

I spit the cross from my mouth. Rums leaned against the closed door. My hand engulfed my wet cross. Dark, knowing eyes cataloged everything. The hitch in my breath. My wet cheeks. She was back. 

“Took you a while to file an empty report.” My voice cracked like a poorly tuned radio. I dragged my face across my sleeve. 

Our Witching Hour shift had been uneventful. We patrolled the main thoroughfare, near the entrance. There hadn’t been a single disturbance. I usually liked breaking up fights, an excuse to throw a punch, but after six moons without Rumi on patrol, I simply enjoyed her familiar presence. The routine of us. 

“Yeah.” She pushed off the door, kneeling before me. Her hand found my knee, kindly, reassuringly. A tether. It’s what we were to one another. Tethers to life. My hand covered hers. There was no different outcome for my sister. Rums grabbed my journal and pencil from the ground. “Who were you drawing?” 

“You don’t know—”

“Pebble.” 

One word. I swallowed my lie. She saw through it. All of mine. Theirs. Everyone’s. Always. There was a weight to carrying them all. So between us it was pebble. One word. A safe word against lies. No bullshit, half-truths, or masking. Just honesty—debilitating truth. 

“It’s only sketching people that triggers you.” It wasn’t admonishment in her stern tone. Just facts. “So who?”

“Daiki, Jun, and Mui,” I admitted. Her slender fingers slipped, and I clung to her hand. Not allowing her to fall somewhere I couldn’t reach her. 

“May I?” Rums lifted the journal. I squeezed her hand and let go, nodding.

The slide of my cross against my gold chain smoothed my nerves. She flipped through the pages as she stood. She was the only one allowed to look through them now. 

Rums sucked in a sharp inhale. Her back met the door again. Her fingers ran across the page, eyes dilating. She would transfer oils onto the page. I didn’t tell her. 

“Did I get it right so far?” I asked. “Are they close to how you remember them?”

She didn’t answer. Gleaming eyes found mine. She hadn’t brought any family photos with her when they came to Haven. 

A snap rang out. She handed me the worn journal. “You shouldn’t draw people. You gave it up. Remember?” 

It wasn’t something I could forget. My full freak out in the living quarters shortly after we became a Unit. I had tried to draw my sister. I needed to see her face again—to put it right. Let her smile burn through the memories of the night I lost her.

Of course, it had been Levi to notice first. He had run to find Rumi as the others crowded in. Dame had saved my sketch book from my destruction. Lily had grabbed my hands, urging me to breathe, Ingrid at her side. Isla had watched, terrified. I had woken hours later on the sofa, my head in my partner’s lap, the others nowhere to be seen. 

My father’s constant disparaging comments about drawing pictures as a waste my entire life had infiltrated my thoughts for moons. I had let that voice win. Drawing had no financial benefit like law school had. Then Dame had given me the book back with one request. A drawing of tiles. He didn’t want faces. He wanted the comfort of his home—his favorite room. The kitchen. He had breathed life back into my passion.

But I hadn’t drawn around the Unit since. It was always here, in our hiding spot. On the edge of the Kitchens, cramming sketch time into the silent moments during the middle of the night.

“I remember,” I uttered, dropping my cross. “This is the only portrait I’m working on.” Dark eyes cast that knowing look my way. I didn’t know anyone who could say as much as Rums did with a look. She had seen the other portrait—the one of Isla. My neck warmed. “That wasn’t a full portrait. It’s only part of her face.” 

“Fitting.” Rumi sharpened my pencil with her knife. The tip had fractured on the fall.

Wasn’t that the ugliest truth, even off the page? I had only seen fragments of Isla. A controlled portion of who she really was. Half of the truth. A segment of her soul. A part of her heart. The dark parts. While he got her sun. A light I could never ignite in her. Levi hadn’t taken her back when I ended it because I found out about them. The years they shared. What they had been. I was a pastime—something to soften the sting of her perceived rejection from Levi. Something to make Auction bearable.  He was hers. 

I found the cross again. 

Sunshine. The only callsign I had ever given. She wasn’t just sunshine. She was the sun—at least mine and his. An ineluctable gravitational pull. The center. Levi and I suspended in her orbit, careful never to collide. To collapse the entire Unit. 

My apology to Levi, man-to-man, hadn’t fixed anything for them. He didn’t even blame me, because he was a decent guy. His cool acceptance only to pummel Hayes the next day on the mats had sent me into a vitriolic drunken craze. Now, I had a callsign to remind me of the deathblow I had delivered to any possible future between me and Isla. It was the only slight Levi had ever given me—McFumbles. I don’t think it had anything to do with Garcia and Hart. 

Maybe Levi’s injury would fix things. I knew she was in the Ward and I was here, hiding. The handbook on our shit laws lay open on my bag, above an old law school book I couldn’t part with. I hadn’t found anything yet to help keep Levi in the Unit. Keep him. I finally believed my father’s words. I was a pathetic, weak, fucked up person, unable to take Isla from him. 

“I ripped out all the others. It’s only this one,” I answered Rums. “I would be done by now if you’re willing to answer a few questions.” I started this sketch three years ago.

Rumi handed me back my pencil. The point was sharp enough to be a weapon. She sheathed her knife. “Ask them.” 

Two words held more weight than the useless book that lay open. She saw my pain and offered her own. 

I flipped my journal back open. I could draw the faces. I would.  “The eyes?”

Rumi’s eyes closed. “Mui and Daiki’s are like mine. Jun’s are rounder. Happy. Always.” 

I waited until her lashes fluttered open. I made light guidelines on the three faces looking between the paper and her eyes. “The noses?” 

“We all had my dad’s. Hers is wider. She hates it.” 

I made several more marks. Tracing my partner’s face with my eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. Her braid was a mess. It was never a mess. I didn’t press. Not yet. 

“The mouths?” I asked when I finished. 

Her lips pursed. They were swollen again… She had a secret. She had tons, but not from me. In allowing me to ask her these questions and study her face, she was allowing me to glimpse the truth. I racked my brain for the first time I had noticed. It had been a while now. A year? Longer? 

“Jun’s are always chapped from talking and smiling. He smiles with his entire face. Makes his cheeks rounder.” She pressed into the door, keeping herself in this room. She’d be tapping the door to the beat of her favorite song, as she did to my back at night on missions. 

I had so many things I wanted to ask. I didn’t. The others didn’t get her. The more you pushed, the more she closed up. Yet with whatever, whoever, she was hiding… She was talking about her family. Finally. Giving me insight to finish the sketch. Which meant one thing. Even if she had taken the rock from me in the Abyss to lay at her and her families meeting spot for our next mission. She was giving me details to fill in their faces. She was accepting their fate. 

Accepting was too much. She was abandoning her denial. I could hear tapping now. I stayed silent. Something had shifted. She was trying to move on. Had this person caused this change?

“Daiki had—” the tapping stopped. Had. Past tense. Something that had already happened. Finished. 

Our gazes met. It’s okay. I can pretend I didn’t hear it, I tried to convey. She looked away first.

I wasn’t getting anymore. I flipped the pages, finding a different drawing I had finished a couple moons ago. I wouldn’t dwell. Wouldn’t suspend her here. Her taps started anew. They were knocks now. Knuckles firmly against wood. I could feel her thoughts churning, becoming violent.

I ripped a picture from the book and stood, catching a glimpse of another image. A new request from Damien. Rumi grabbed my wrist in a panic. “I didn’t tear out their drawing,” I assured her. “It was something else. They are still in here.”

Silently, she released me. 

It was time to head back. The witching hour shift was almost over. “Let’s go back and sleep.” 

She ripped the door open without answering. I felt my heart walk out with her. I was plagued by the images, memories, but there was a conclusion to them. I didn’t go back to check that second gunshot the night my sister took her life. It rang out thirty minutes after my father had thrown me and my stuff from the tents. I knew that conclusion. Delcan McMurphy was a good shot. Brave in ways I couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have backed out. He wouldn’t have missed. I knew where the other McMurphys were. Damned. 

My arm brushed against Rums as we turned away from the Kitchens. I didn’t know which of us initiated it. She stared straight ahead. I started humming. She carried no closure. No answers. She was haunted by possibilities. I hated that for her. The hope was fed enough to exist but not to prosper. 

I had flipped bodies with her in those early days. Pulled double shifts, searching for Daiki, Jun, and Mui. Logically, I knew. Deep down, she did too. She knew if they weren’t in Haven they had passed—her heart just couldn’t hold it. I ran from the images of first meeting with her. Delicate hands holding a knife. It was my sister all over again. I had changed that outcome. She was still here. Six years now. 

Would she stay when she accepted her family’s fate? A part of me never pushed out of respect, but also fear. If she wasn’t looking…would she give up? Was that the motivation behind her secret? 

“I know what you’re doing,” Rumi muttered.

I stopped humming. “Your thoughts are loud. I can hear them.” 

She stayed quiet.

“You could tell me, you know,” I said. Broken eyes found me. She knew I wasn’t talking about finishing the portrait. “When you’re ready.”

“Patty.” That’s all she said. She wouldn’t say more. People lie about what they care about. She had given me little pieces of her grandmother’s wisdom over the years. I couldn’t apply any of it to the messes I made. But here, with her, I could. Her family was the only lie she told herself, because they mattered. Now she had a different secret. A person who must matter. 

If the person mattered to the woman I knew better than I knew myself—my best friend, my partner, my family, my tether—then that person mattered to me. She had to know that. 

“I know, Rums,” I insisted.

“No, you don’t.”

“Pebble.”

Her mouth clamped closed. Her mind was becoming uncontrollable.

“Whatever it is,”—I stopped. She did too. Instantly—“Whoever it is.” I grabbed her arm. Tethering. “You stay. I stay. No matter what. That’s the promise. Our promise.”

“I can’t.” 

“You’ll never lose me, remember?” 

Her eyes fluttered closed. “Yes.”

“Are you okay?” The only question that really mattered. “Bad days or bad moments?”

“Only moments.”

“Do they make it better or worse?”

“Better.” There was no hesitation. 

“You’ll tell me if that changes?”

“Yes.”

“And when you’re ready, you’ll tell me.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t purely about her secret.

“I’ll have to.” The words pained. 

I held out the drawing I had ripped out. Something words couldn’t convey. Something Rumi could find solace in.

She gazed at the picture, her grasp gentle. It was a simple drawing—a teapot. But it wasn’t. It was hours spent with her grandmother. She couldn’t call Mui her mom, but Satomi was always only Sobo. The only person Rumi claimed ever saw her. That loved her fully. She stared at the teapot. Her thoughts had quieted. 

“Did I get it right?” I never knew if the pictures in my head matched theirs. “I’ve worked on it since you’ve been off our shift.”

“Yes. I broke it when I was seven,” Rumi answered, the paper inches from her face. 

“I tried to get the graphite to shine to resemble the gold,” I confessed. “You called it something, the gold.”

“Kintsugi,” Rumi said in a hushed voice. “Mui was so mad at me for breaking it. Sobo told me I made it more beautiful. You even got the cherry blossoms right. Those petals never matched again. Mui always pointed it out, but Sobo told me sometimes we must break to be whole.” 

“Wise woman. I would have loved to have known her,” I whispered.

“She would have loved you.”

“Did she have an affinity for all broken things?” 

Rumi glanced up at me. A sad smile there. “She knew the breaks were where the light got in.” 

“Whatever it is, Rums, no matter what, I’m here.” I slung an arm over her shoulder and guided her home. “Also, we never talked about how intensely you defended Cadell last night.”

“Someone has to. Ingrid can’t keep hating her. Not with what’s coming,” she said. “Plus, you know how Levi is about his partners. We can’t have any more drama in the Unit.”

I hummed a noncommittal response.

“Have you gone to see him?” Rums asked, turning left. 

I withdrew my arm from her. “Thought you said we can’t have any more drama in the Unit. It’s best I give him and her space.” 

Rumi rolled her eyes. “There is no him and her.”

“She’s there, isn’t she?” 

“Yes. Only because she’s addicted to the chase. It allows her to avoid anything real. She’d crumble if she stayed with either of you.”

I knew better than to tell Rums she was wrong. Especially when she wasn’t entirely. Isla was complex. “Harsh.” 

“Lies help none of you.” 

I changed the subject. “So you trust Cadell, Beast?” I didn’t want to think of Isla, or I’d think of our last night together. 

“I hate the callsign.”

“Damien is desperate to give someone a callsign. We out voted all of his other suggestions.”

“He’s bad at naming things.”

I grinned. “Don’t tell him, or he’ll put more effort into the Mission names. You trust her, though?” 

“No, but she cares and is strong. She got Levi back. She’ll help us when it’s time.” We turned down our tunnel.

“Guess that will have to do,” I mumbled. Rums looked at the teapot again. 

“Thank you, Patty. I love it,” she said at our door.

“Don’t mention it. Don’t let the ghosts win on the mat.” I pushed the door open. The noise of our Unit instantly made me tired. Safety. A shower and sleep sounded glorious.

“No meditating or sleeping. Hayes said everyone is due at Formation,” Ingrid said, leaving immediately.

“Did he say why?” I asked, disappointed. Rumi walked right past the mat and disappeared into the girls’ side.

“My guess, Jaxhole,” Damien called from the sofa. I glanced around, peering into the girls' room. I didn’t see Isla. Maybe she stayed at the Ward the entire night. Good. “Five minutes, Sunshine,” Damien called out. A muffled okay came from the bathroom. Dame tapped the seat next to him, calling out again. “You too, Beast.” 

I melded into the sofa next to Dame. The tiredness heavy on my body. 

“How was your night?” Damien asked me.

“Fine. Quiet enough. Yours?”

“Eventful. I just got back.” Damien grinned. 

“You stayed the night?” I fought a laugh.

“I’m a hopeless romantic or whatever.” Damien shrugged. 

The laugh won. Damien joined in.

“Dude—” Damien wacked my arm, excitedly, as he turned to face me. “Remember when I said Kaleo was fucking around behind Burdon?”

“You had a theory.”

“I was right,” Damien said. “Guess who shares a wall with Noah. Guess!”

“Just tell me,” I bemoaned, rubbing my arm.

“No, that’s no fun,” Dame said incredulously. “Play along.”

“Fine.” I rested my head against the top of the sofa. “Hmm, who could possibly share a wall with Henderson… Kaleo?” 

Damien glowered at me. “Fun is a foreign concept to you, isn't it?” I shrugged, and he huffed, “How did we become friends again?” 

“I think it had something to do with a competition with Isla on who could get in my pants quicker,” I muttered, closing my eyes. 

“Fuck you. I mean it was—you were so moody and hot during Auction—but no.”  The bathroom door opened. “Oh, hi, Sunshine.” 

“Morning.” Steps carried Isla away. 

“Two minutes, ladies. Anyway, where was I?” Damien asked.

“Kaleo is fucking around on Burdon. Kaleo shares a wall with Henderson,” I recited. Something hit the ground in the girls' room. 

“You ladies good?” Damien called out.

“Yeah,” Isla called out. “Rumi’s bag fell.”

“Cool. Ninety seconds. I think that’s why we’re friends,” Damien addressed me. “Details are your thing, not mine. But yeah. Noah and I heard someone in there this morning. A woman. She didn’t talk, but she did do something else. A noisy something else.” Damien’s brows disappeared into his waves. “You know.”

“Yes. Detail expert and all that. I can put it together,” I retorted. “Why were you up?” 

Damien blushed. “We aren’t talking about me.” 

“But details are my thing.” I smirked at Damien. I never felt light with anyone the way I did with him. His happiness was infectious. “So everyone in Commander’s Hall is getting laid.”

“Fucking asshole.” Damien chuckled. “Thirty seconds.” 

“So who was it? And how do you know it wasn’t Burdon?” 

“I have not and will never be able to forget us walking in here to her and Tristian that one time.” Damien shuddered. “Fuck, that was horrible. We should scrub down the our room again.”

“It’s been years, Dame.”

“The sins are still there. Anyway, it wasn’t Burdon. It was someone else. So, I was right.”

Isla, Rumi, and Sasha entered the room, beelining for the door. I stood, stretching. Isla didn’t glance back. “Congrats,” I said around a yawn.

“Hey, Rums, I love you, you know that, right?” Damien called out, ignoring me. 

“You can have my coffee,” was Rum’s only response. 

“You’re the best. Don’t listen to the others who say you’re scary. I mean you are, but you’re our scary girl.”

“You’re late,” Rums said hollowly. Our eyes met. She was still upset. 

The girls left the room. 

“We need to move. Also, I thought you said witching hour shift wasn’t bad,” Damien said, shoving his boots on. 

“It wasn’t.” 

“What’s with Rums, then?” 

“Something else.” 

“Got it. Partner stuff?”

“Partner stuff.”

“Why aren’t you freaking out about Kaleo? This is juicy gossip.”

“Kaleo is a piece of shit. Why would I care who he’s fucking behind Burdon’s—also a piece of shit—back?” I darted into our room, shrugging off my patrol uniform quickly. Damien’s boots scuffed across the floor.

I tugged my uniform out from under my cot. Something red caught my eye. I should return it to Isla…I shoved it under my pillow instead. 

“Still, he’s doing something sneaky,” Damien said.

“Why do you care? If Kaleo’s distracted, it only helps us.” I slipped my boots back on. 

“He’s up to something. I think it’s important. I feel it, you know?” Damien said, hand over his gut. Damien felt everything through his stomach. 

“Tell me when you figure it out.” We left. 

“I will. But how is the question?” Damien asked, keeping my pace.

“Was your sleepover a one-time thing?”

“Ahh, no. Definitely not.” He was blushing. Hard.

“There’s your answer. They share a wall.”

“Noah’s tried. It isn’t the first time. He thinks it’s the same woman.”

“Noah’s, what, spying on Kaleo?”  

“He’s looking for weaknesses.”

“Spying.”

“You know how Kaleo is. We have to stick with Unit twelve.” 

The clamor of the Gym drifted our way. Henderson strode toward the entrance. He nodded toward Damien. 

“A nod, I see he shares your hopeless romantic tendencies,” I jested. 

“I think I could love him one day,” Damien whispered. 

“So you’re keeping it casual then?” I ducked as Damien went to shove me.

“Dame, guess what!” Isla hurried toward us, her hair flowing behind her, freckles scrunched from her smile, each elegant curve of her face captivating. Light shone from her. I had missed a freckle on the sketch.

“Nah, it’s not casual,” Damien admitted.

I was happy for him. I was. Isla was almost to us. Her hand stretched out. Easy enough to grab.

“I’ll find you later.” Damien’s hand wrapped around Isla’s.

Mine wrapped around my cross.