Echoed Lullabies (Lunar Chronicles x Reader)

Chapter 35

When Cress exited the washroom, she was humming again and rubbing a towel through her hair. She tossed it aside and crossed to the netscreen on the wall.

"Screen, on."

It was set to an animated netfeed that showed orange octopuses and blue children bopping around to tech-beats. Cress changed it to the local newsfeed, then opened a new box in the corner to check our GPS coordinates.

It was strange watching her work. Petite hands meant for braiding hair danced over the keyboard with purpose. Narrow shoulders hunched over a desk in a desert hotel rather than one in a classroom. Wide blue eyes concentrated on the screen in front of them, searching the newsfeeds for a chance to contact allied fugitives instead of close friends for a late night out.

Part of it saddened me. She should have had the chance to go to school and live like a normal girl. But instead she was kept locked in a satellite for seven years by one of Levana's witches.

What was it with the Lunar Queen and ruining teenagers' lives?

"...Lunar satellite..."

I snapped my attention to the news anchor who was rambling in the language Kwende had spoken.

"Set translation overdub to Universal," Cress commanded.

The language switched as the news anchor was replaced with video footage from a vast desert, a horrendously familiar desert. And there in the middle of it was the wreckage that we had abandoned. Cress' satellite, still attached to the obliterated Lunar podship and the parachute strung out behind it. A large square was cut from the fabric.

Cress gulped.

It wasn't long before the gist of the story had come through. Multiple witnesses had seen something drop out of the sky—the blaze could be seen as far north as the Mediterranean—and the satellite had been discovered two days later. There was no question that it was Lunar built. There was no question that someone had survived and abandoned the wreckage, taking what supplies they could carry.

If any of the caravaners learned about the crash, they would no doubt suspect that we were the survivors. They would turn us in, and when the authorities found Thorne and I, they would recognize us immediately.

"Shit," I muttered. I snatched my gun and tucked it in the back of my pants, covering it with my shirt so it couldn't be seen. I laced up my boots at lightning speed and rushed towards the door.

"Stay here," I told Cress, then breezed out the door.

I had to force myself to relax as I crept down the hallway so as to not look suspicious, but it was difficult with my racing heart and the gun digging into my back.

The noise from the hotel lounge roared up the staircase. Laughter and bellowing and the clinking of glasses. I peered over the banister. The crowd had quadrupled since we'd left the lobby—this must be a popular hour. Men and women loitered around the bar and card tables, snacking on bowls of dried fruits.

The crowd around a corner table hollered in delight, and I was relieved to spot Thorne in their midst, still blindfolded, and holding a hand of cards. I crept through the crowd toward him, mouth watering from unfamiliar, spicy aromas.

The crowd shifted, and I froze.

There was a woman on Thorne's lap. She was net-drama beautiful, with warm brown skin and full lips and hair that hung in dozens of long, thin braids dyed various shades of blue. She wore simple khaki shorts and a blousy top, but somehow she made them look elegant.

The woman leaned forward and pushed a pile of plastic chips toward one of the other players. Thorne tilted his head in laughter. He took one of the few chips still in front of him and flipped it over his knuckles a few times before tucking it into the woman's palm. In response, she trailed her fingernails down his neck.