Winter by Marissa Meyer

uniforms found in her crew quarters, a lifetime spent barefoot and in simple dresses had made the clothes feel heavy and cumbersome. Plus, all of the pants were way too long on her. “Do you think you might see them? When we’re on Luna?”
    “It’s not a priority.” He said it like a military general, but his expression carried more emotion than his voice. “But I wouldn’t mind knowing if they’re still alive. Maybe seeing them again, someday.” His jaw flexed. “I was twelve when I was taken away. They must think I’m dead. Or a monster.”
    The statement resonated through her body, leaving her chest vibrating. For sixteen years, her father had thought she was dead too, while she’d been told that her parents had willingly sacrificed her to Luna’s shell infanticide. She’d barely been reunited with her father before he died of letumosis, in the labs at New Beijing Palace. She’d tried to mourn his death, but mostly she mourned the idea of having a father at all and the loss of all the time they should have had to get to know each other.
    She still thought of him as Dr. Erland, the odd, curmudgeonly old man who had started the cyborg draft in the Eastern Commonwealth. Who had dealt in shell trafficking in Africa.
    He was also the man who helped Cinder escape from prison.
    So many things he’d done—some good, some terrible. And all, Cinder had told her, because he was determined to end Levana’s rule.
    To avenge his daughter. To avenge her.
    “Cress?”
    She jolted. “Sorry. I don’t … I can’t access Luna’s databases from here. But once we’re on Luna—”
    “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Wolf leaned against the cockpit wall and clawed his hands into his unkempt hair. He looked like he was on the verge of a meltdown, but that was his normal look these days. “Scarlet’s the priority. The only priority.”
    Cress considered mentioning that overthrowing Levana and crowning Cinder as queen were decent-size priorities too, but she dared not.
    “Have you mentioned your parents to Cinder?”
    He cocked his head. “Why?”
    “I don’t know. She mentioned not having any allies on Luna … how it would be useful to have more connections. Maybe they would help us?”
    His gaze darkened, both thoughtful and annoyed. “It would put them in danger.”
    “I think Cinder might intend to put a lot of people in danger.” Cress worried at her lower lip, then sighed. “Is there anything else you need?”
    “For time to move faster.”
    Cress wilted. “I meant more like … food, or something. When did you last eat?”
    Wolf’s shoulders hunched closer to his ears, and the guilty expression was all the answer she needed. She’d heard rumors of his insatiable appetite and the high-octane metabolism that kept him always fidgeting, always moving. She’d hardly seen any of that since coming aboard the ship, and she could tell that Cinder, in particular, was worried about him. Only when they were discussing strategies for Cinder’s revolution did he seem rejuvenated—his fists flexing and tightening like the fighter he was meant to be.
    “All right. I’m going to make you a sandwich.” Standing, Cress gathered her courage, along with her most demanding voice, and planted a hand on her hip. “And you are going to eat it without argument. You need to keep up your strength if you’re going to be of any use to us, and Scarlet.”
    Wolf raised an eyebrow at her newfound gumption.
    Cress flushed. “Or … at least eat some canned fruit or something.”
    His expression softened. “A sandwich sounds good. With … tomatoes, if we have any left. Please.”
    “Of course.” Drawing in a deep breath, she grabbed her portscreen and headed toward the galley.
    “Cress?”
    She paused and turned back, but Wolf was looking at the floor, his arms crossed. He looked about as awkward as she usually felt.
    “Thank you.”
    Her heart expanded, ballooning with sympathy for him. Words of comfort sprang