Champion: A Legend Novel by Marie Lu

take
this
risk.
    Day must see the frustration dancing across my face, because he softens and steps closer. I can practically feel the heat coming off him, the warmth of his nearness that turns my breath shallow. “I came here tonight for
you,
” he says in a low voice. “There’s nothing in the world they could’ve said to convince me, except that
you
wanted me here. And I can’t turn down a request from you. They told me you had personally . . .” He swallows. There’s a familiar war of emotions in his expression that leaves me with a sick feeling—emotions that I know are
desire,
for what we once had, and
anguish,
for desiring a girl who destroyed his family. “It’s so good to see you, June.”
    He says it like he’s letting go of a huge burden that’s been holding him down. I wonder whether he can hear my heart pounding frantically against my ribs. When I speak, though, I manage to keep my voice steady and calm. “Are you okay?” I ask. “You look pale.”
    The weight returns to his eyes, and his brief moment of intimacy fades as he steps away and fiddles with the edge of his gloves.
He’s always hated gloves,
I remember. “I’ve had a bad flu for the last couple of weeks,” he replies, flashing me a quick grin. “Getting better now, though.” (Eyes flickering subtly to the side, scratching the edge of his ear, stiffness of his limbs, timing slightly off between his words and his smile.) I tilt my head at him and frown.
    “You’re such a bad liar, Day,” I say. “You might as well tell me what’s on your mind.”
    “There’s nothing to tell,” he replies automatically. This time he points his eyes at the floor and puts his hands in his pockets. “If I seem off, it’s because I’m worried about Eden. He’s gotten a year of treatment for his eyes and he still can’t see much. The doctors tell me that he may need some special contacts, and even then, he might never get his full eyesight back.”
    I can tell this isn’t the real reason behind Day’s exhausted appearance, but he knows that bringing Eden’s recovery into this conversation will stop any questions from me. Well, if he really doesn’t want to tell me, then I won’t pressure him. I clear my throat awkwardly. “That’s terrible,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry to hear it. Is he doing okay, otherwise?”
    Day nods. We fall back into our moonlit silence. I can’t help recalling the last time we were alone in a room together, when he took my face in his hands, when his tears were falling against my cheeks. I remember the way he whispered
I’m sorry
against my lips. Now, as we stand three feet apart and stare at each other, I feel the full distance that comes with spending so much time apart, a moment filled with the electricity of a first meeting and the uncertainty of strangers.
    Day leans toward me, as if drawn by some invisible force. The tragic plea on his face twists my stomach into painful knots.
Please don’t ask this of me,
his eyes beg.
Please don’t ask me to give up my brother. I would do anything else for you. Just not this.
“June, I . . . ,” he whispers. His voice threatens to break with all the heartache he’s keeping bottled inside.
    He never finishes that sentence. Instead, he sighs and bows his head. “I can’t agree to your Elector’s terms,” he says in a somber tone. “I’m not going to hand my brother to the Republic as another experiment. Tell him I’ll work with him to find another solution. I understand how serious this all is—I don’t want to see the Republic fall. I’d be glad to help and figure something else out. But
Eden
stays out of this.”
    And that’s the end of our conversation. Day nods at me in farewell, lingers for a few last seconds, and then steps toward the door. I lean against the wall in sudden exhaustion. Without him nearby, there’s a lack of energy, a dulling of color, gray moonlight where moments earlier there had been silver. I study his paleness a final