White Crystal Butterflies | Wattys 2021 Shortlist | ✔

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Pod is too quiet the next morning.

I wake with a start and lie still as death, just listening. There's nothing out of place. I'm the first one up—it's not quite dawn yet—and the resident hums and clicks of the station are all present, correct, and accounted for.

It's not the quiet, then. It's something else. Something's wrong, and I don't know what it is yet.

I sit up slowly and slide out of my sleeping bag. My fingers find the switch on my bedside lamp. Light leaps around the room. We still have electricity. My floor is as I left it, clean-swept and tidy. There's still ice over my single, small window, but it's no thicker than it was yesterday. The predawn glow of Mahaha's sky plays through it like a monochrome kaleidoscope. We're on higher ground again. I wouldn't be seeing this much light if we were still surrounded by ice peaks.

I switch off the lamp again.

Getting ready quickly, quietly, and in the dark was a skill Yahvi and I both mastered by the end of our first year as Aventureros trainees sharing a tent. Parting ways to our own private tents became an option when we both became leaders, but we opted not to, shaving mass and volume off our luggage on long trips. It was also far more fun. We were both early risers, so whichever of us happened to wake first would try to sneak out without the other noticing.

I'm soon slipping down off my bed to land on the throw rug trying and failing to protect me from the cold of the floor. I pause with one hand on the doorknob. With a deep breath, I open it. The hallway is empty. I steal sock-footed to the common room, confirm that the view there supports what I saw out my window, then retrace my steps, checking every piece of electronic equipment I come across. Everything seems to be in order.

I return to the common room and continue my comb-through of the station. No trace of electrical fire, gas, or other chemicals. No sign of Mahaha's infiltration. The weather panel on the wall is blank again, but I can see blowing snow like faint fog through the ice-caked windows. It's windy out, but it doesn't look like pre-blizzard conditions. Just normal winter wind. I rest my palm against the window, but the ice shell on its other side kills any attempt to gauge the outdoor temperature.

I move on to the other hallway and stop dead in front of the station thermostat. I suddenly know what feels so wrong. I'm not just chilled. It's a good five degrees colder in here than it's supposed to be.

The Pod is warmed primarily by our own body heat, and waste heat from the kitchen. The built-in heating system supplements both of those, but it isn't strong enough to replace them.

I dart back to the comms room and pull up every diagnostics page I can think to check. The heating system is working, and the air in the Pod is fine. We haven't sprung a leak anywhere. My hands sink slowly to the desk. That leaves me with the worst possible option.

I walk to our tiny, near-unlit entryway. Two suits hang like deflated, chubby mannequins on opposite walls. The other two hooks are empty.

Krüger's room remains silent when I knock on his door. I test the handle; I know he locks it at night. It's not locked. His bed is empty, neatly made. I already know what I'll find in Liu's room, and I'm not disappointed: she didn't make her bed, but she's also gone.

They're both gone. Alone. And I know exactly what they're trying to do.

The world has started to spin ever so slightly. My vision narrows to a tunnel, offering me only the details of the center of Liu's room. My hand grips her doorknob tighter, catching me before I realize how close my knees are to giving out. I try to call for Kwon, but it comes out as a whisper.

I try again. "Dea!"

I hear her stirring. She emerges in a sleepy shuffle, housecoat-clad, and freezes at the sight of me standing between the two open doors.