Reaping by K. Makansi Page A

head, and avoids my gaze.
    “Want to come eat?”
    Unlike last night, when the need to eat was physically overpowering, the idea of food right now feels vaguely repulsive. Hodges gave me two sleeping draughts after telling him I’d been having trouble sleeping. Now, I’m groggy and a little off, even slightly nauseous. Maybe that means I need something in my stomach. Or maybe it means I need to sleep off the effects of whatever was in those draughts.
    “What time is it?”
    “Eight.”
    I shake my head.
    “Thanks for the roy-bus, Bear, but I’m going to try to get a few more hours of sleep.” The last thing I want is get up and face the day, the unanswered questions, the nightmares I managed to escape in the night. I give Bear my bravest smile, trying to reassure him,  it’s okay, I’m just tired,  without telling him how much deeper the ache goes.
    When he’s gone, I heave a sigh of relief, and close my eyes, sinking into my deepest sleep in months.
     
     
    A few hours later, I feel fingers tracing circles on my back. Spirals, really, like the swirls in a snail’s shell. I smile, almost against my will. Soren. I find myself leaning into the shapes, into his touch, like a cat scratching its back against the corner of a wall.
    “Hey,” he says. His voice sounds like echoes in a tunnel. I face him, open my eyes to his icy blues, lit as if by a flame when he smiles.
    “Hey there,” I say. I watch the way his eyes crease, the way his mouth wrinkles at the edges. He leans down to kiss me, and I let him. His hands are cool against my skin.
    “You’re quite the sleeper,” he says. “Everyone here is very impressed. Zoe said no one’s slept so well at Normandy since the victims of the Famine Years.”
    He’s referencing the number of people who were buried here. A kilometer away from Normandy, there’s one of the largest mass graves found since the Religious Wars.
    “I’m glad everyone thinks I have a lot in common with dead people.”
    He laughs.
    “At least you’re getting some rest. We all needed it.”
    “I’ll add ‘good at sleeping’ to my list of skills, the next time I’m petitioning the Director for a good mission.”
    “If she’s—”
    He stops short.  If she’s even alive , I finish silently. If she, or my father, or Rhinehouse, or anyone else from Thermopylae and Team Blue, are still alive. I swallow hard and clench Soren’s hands a little more tightly.
    “She is. They are. I know it.”
    Soren crawls over and lies down in the space between the wall and me, pulling me to him. I snuggle up against him, eliminating the space between us as he wraps his arm around me. It would all be so much simpler if I could let go. If I turned toward him, kissed him. I know he would yield to me, each body curving into the other. Instead, I stare at the ceiling and wonder where the others are.
    Where Vale is.
    “You missed the morning briefing,” Soren says, breaking the silence. His voice sounds faraway, like maybe it’s coming from underwater.
    “I didn't know there was one.”
    “Yeah, here at Normandy it’s so small, they just get everyone together over breakfast and talk about the day.”
    “Did I miss anything important?”
    “Just that they’ve gotten word there’s a group of travelers set to arrive today.”
    I sit up abruptly, looking down at him.
    “Why didn’t you mention that earlier?”
    Apparently their intel came from someone who’s not always trustworthy,” Soren says, placating me. “And even if it is true, there’s no guarantee.…”
    “That my father’s with them,” I finish for him. I glare at the wall. I want to see him again  so badly , just to know he’s alive, just to know I’m not the sole surviving member of the Alexander family, just to have someone else who can grieve with me.
    “Yeah,” he says, after a moment.
    “What about you? Did you get any sleep?” I ask, chastising myself to remember that it’s not all about me. Soren used to accuse me