Glass knew that she should go over, introduce herself, smile at the Vice Chancellor, and raise her glass to him in a toast. She should thank him for her freedom and look grateful and overjoyed as the crowd of well-dressed Phoenicians looked on and whispered. It’s what her mother would have wanted; it’s what she should have done, if she valued her life. But as Glass stared at his hateful dark eyes, she found she couldn’t bring herself to move toward him.

“Here, take this. I need some air,” Glass said, handing Cora her still-full glass of wine. Cora raised her eyebrows, but didn’t argue—they were allotted only one glass each tonight. With a final glance to make sure that her mother wasn’t watching, Glass wove her way through the crowd and back into the corridor. She didn’t run into a single person as she made her way quickly to their flat, where she slipped out of her gown and into a pair of nondescript pants, piling her hair under a hat.

There was no designated observation deck on Walden, but there were a number of corridors with small windows on the starboard side, where the comet was expected to make its appearance. The Waldenites who didn’t have shifts that day had begun gathering early in the morning to reserve the best seats. By the time Glass arrived, the hallways were flooded with crowds, talking in excited voices and clustering around the small windows. Some of the kids were already pressing their faces against the quartz glass or clambering onto parents’ shoulders.

As she turned a corner, Glass’s eyes settled on a group at the window a few meters down: three women and four children. She wondered whether the women were watching the fourth child for a neighbor, or if it was an orphan they’d taken in.

The youngest child toddled over to Glass and blinked up at her with a shy smile. “Hi there,” Glass said, leaning forward so that she was level with the girl. “Are you excited for the comet?” The girl didn’t say anything. Her large, dark eyes were fixated on Glass’s head.

Glass brought her hand up self-consciously, grimacing slightly when she realized that her hair had fallen out of her hat. She began to tuck it back inside, but the little girl reached up and pulled at one of the loose strands.

“Posy, leave the lady alone.” Glass looked up and saw one of the women walking toward them. “Sorry,” she said to Glass, with a laugh. “She likes your hair.”

Glass smiled but didn’t say anything. She’d learned how to downplay her Phoenix accent, but the less she spoke, the better. “Come on, Pose,” the woman said, placing her hand on the child’s shoulder and guiding her awauidndered y.

It was past 2100. The comet was due to appear any moment now. Up on Phoenix, the observation deck would be silent as everyone waited in quiet reverence. Here, children were laughing and jumping, and a couple of teenagers were yelling out a countdown.

Glass looked up and down the corridor, but there was no sign of him.

“Look!” a little girl called out. A white line was rising over the outline of the moon. Instead of fading away like most comets, it grew larger, the tail expanding as it blazed through space. It made even the stars look dim.

Glass stepped forward almost unconsciously, and a couple leaning up against the nearest window shuffled aside to give her space. It was so beautiful, Glass thought in wonder. And terrifying. It was growing larger and larger, filling up the entire viewing space in the porthole, as if it were coming straight for them.

Could there have been a miscalculation? Glass pressed her hands into the ledge so hard, she could feel it cutting into her palms. Around her, people started to step back, with a flurry of low murmurs and frightened cries.

Glass closed her eyes. She couldn’t look.

An arm wrapped around her. She didn’t even have to turn to know that it was Luke. She knew the scent of him, the feel of him, like a second skin.

“I was looking for you,” she said, glancing back at him. Although the astronomical event of a lifetime was playing out right before his eyes, he was looking only at her.

“I hoped you would come,” he whispered into her ear.

The crowd’s anxious murmurs bubbled into exclamations of astonishment as the comet swept up and above the ship in a blaze of fire. Luke’s arm tightened around her, and she leaned into his chest. “I couldn’t imagine seeing this without you,” she said.

“You didn’t have any trouble getting away?”

“No, not really.” Her stomach twisted at the thought of her mother standing next to the Vice Chancellor. “I just wish we didn’t have to sneak around.” She reached up and ran her fingers along his cheek.

Luke took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Maybe there’s a way to change your mom’s mind,” he said earnestly. “Maybe I could talk to her. You know, prove that I’m not some barbarian. That I’m serious about my future— ourfuture. That I’m serious about you.”

Glass gave him a soft smile. “I wish it were that easy.”

“No, I mean it.” He took her hands in his. “She thinks I’m just some Walden jerk taking advantage of you. She needs to know that this isn’t just a fling. It’s real.”

“I know,” Glass said, squeezing his hand. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Luke said, pulling something out of his pocket. He turned to face her, his gaze unblinking.

“Glass,” he began, his eyes glowing, “I don’t want to spend another day without you. I want to go to sleep every night with you by my side and wake up next to you every morning. I want nothing else but you, for the rest of my life.”

He held out his outstretched palm, with a small, golden object in it. It was her locket.

“I know it’s not exactly a ring, but—”

“Yes,” she said simply, because there was nothing else to say, nothing sa="-1">else to do but put on the locket and kiss the boy she loved so much it hurt, as behind them the comet streaked the sky with gold.

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CHAPTER 29

Bellamy

Bellamy couldn’t sleep. His mind was a jumble of thoughts all elbowing for his attention, making it impossible to tell where one stopped and the other began.

Staring up at the stars, he tried to imagine what was happening on the ship. It was strange to think of life going on as usual hundreds of kilometers away—the Waldenites and Arcadians toiling away while the Phoenicians complimented one another’s outfits on the observation deck and ignored the stars. That was the only thing he’d miss about the Colony—the view. Before the launch, he’d heard of a comet passing, which would’ve been pretty spectacular to see from the ship.

He squinted into the darkness, trying to figure out how many days they’d been on Earth. If he’d counted correctly, then the comet was meant to appear tonight. There was going to be a fancy viewing party on Phoenix, and less-formal gatherings on Walden and Arcadia. Bellamy sat up and scanned the sky. He couldn’t see anything from the clearing—the trees blocked too much of the sky—but he’d have a better view from the ridge.

Octavia was sleeping peacefully beside him, her glossy hair fanned out underneath her, her red hair ribbon tied to her wrist. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered, then took off at a jog across the clearing.

The thick canopy of leaves blocked most of the starlight, but after all his hunting expeditions, he knew this area of the forest well, anticipating every slope and turn and hidden log. When he finally reached the ridge, he paused to catch his breath. The cool night air had helped to clear his head, and the burning in his calves was a welcome distraction.

The star-filled sky looked just as it had every other night since they’d landed on Earth, and yet there was something different about it—the stars were pulsing, charged, as if waiting for something big to happen. And then, all at once, it did. The comet erupted across the sky, a streak of gold against the glittering silver, brightening everything around it, even the ground.