I inhale Marcy's scent, her warmth drawing me in. Then, as my lungs grow full, I close my eyes and lean forward.

Our lips lightly brush, as soft as the fog that rolled in over sandy dunes on the night we first almost confessed our feelings for each other.

Her mouth is soft. Gentle. Tentative and unsure.

And then she pulls away.

The kiss lingers in the air, a tangible presence in the small room. I look up, my eyes searching Marcy's for any sign of regret. But all I find is a reflection of my own nervous excitement.

"Wow," Marcy finally whispers, her voice a mix of wonder and uncertainty. "Charlie, I—"

"I know," I interrupt, not wanting to let the moment slip into awkwardness. I lean forward and let my lips communicate my feelings without words.

As the heat of our breath flows between us, Marcy's hands clasp the side of my face and she pulls me closer. Her lips part, and a new world opens up.

As our kiss deepens, I taste her longing, and my need, and the years of desire that has built up over years.

A jolt of heat explodes inside of me and I want to grab her, melt into her, close any distance between us. But I restrain myself, inhaling through my nose to temper the roaring flames.

My fingers travel up the length of her arm, skim across her neck, and get lost in her soft hair.

The moment stretches into forever and ends much too quickly.

Marcy's eyelids flutter open as she breaks away. Her pupils are black pools ringed with flecks of bronze and gold.

"Was that okay?" she asks, her voice deep and breathy.

"Okay?" I ask in disbelief. Doesn't she know how long I've been in love with her? "Shit, Marcy, that was more than okay. That was amazing."

My hand still cups the back of her head, and I brush my thumb against the soft dip where her jaw meets her neck. I want to jump into her depths. Get lost exploring her embers.

"This changes things, doesn't it?" she asks.

"No," I say. "It doesn't. I've always felt this way."

A tint of rose hues her cheeks, and she looks down. "You're my best friend. I don't want to lose that."

As my eyes dance over her face, lingering on her swelled lips and the flush spreading down her neck, I can't imagine ever losing her. But I also know what she means.

Fire burns. It consumes and it can destroy.

Should we extinguish the flames to safeguard our friendship?

I take my hand away, placing it in my lap. It's already cold, missing her heat.

"Marcy," I say, her name a prayer on my tongue. "You'll always be my best friend. I'd do anything for you."

After a beat, her eyes finally meet mine. "Promise?"

Before I can answer, the image of Jenelle walking down the hall intrudes my thoughts. Would I be able to forgive Marcy if she wanted to revert to just being friends? Would that be a consolation prize I could accept?

I don't want to lie to her. But in this moment, all I know is that I can't lose her. I can't lose this hope she has rekindled in me. The spark she formed when she stirred up my coals.

"Of course. I promise," I say with a deep exhale that only fans the flames of my desire.

Her eyes search mine for confirmation. "What if we mess this up?"

"We won't know unless we try," I say, reaching for her hand. "We've always been good at figuring things out together."

She squeezes my grip. "Yeah, we have."

We fall into a comfortable silence, our thoughts turning inward. I replay the kiss in my mind, each sensation more vivid than the last.

When the bed's mattress grows uncomfortable, I stand, stepping toward the small table next to the door to run my fingers along its smooth edge.

The room is probably smaller than our dorm room, but it feels larger because it's so sparse. Just the bed and this small table. Our bags are still slumped in the corner.

"I wonder when we'll get moved to a different room," I say.

"I don't think I want to get moved." Marcy stands and steps towards me. "I heard you just get assigned a bunk in a communal area."

"How large of an area?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Sounds pretty big. Most of the people we saw this morning in training all live together. And when you are proficient using wearable tech, you get an assignment and move someplace different based on that. We're just here because they've run out of bunks."

"So, there isn't really any privacy there, is there?" My eyes scan her body, and she steps closer to me.

She shakes her head and bites at the edge of her lower lip. "No."

"It's kind of ironic," I say, standing up straighter, puffing out my now-flattened chest. "We have been sharing a room for years, but never took advantage of that privacy until now, right when we are about to lose it."

She reaches out, tentatively touching the front of my shirt. When I don't flinch, she continues to explore, laying her palm flat against me, her fingertips at the edge of my collarbone.

"Yeah," she says, "but maybe it's also a good thing. I don't think I would have gotten any studying done if you'd looked like this when we shared a dorm."

It's both the exact right thing for her to say and the exact wrong thing. I swell with pride for finally looking like a man, but I'm also reduced to these technological enhancements.

I swallow.

She was just making a joke.

All that matters is here. Now.

"Yeah." I smile and lean down to kiss her.

She lifts her chin and our lips meet, soft this time.

Fleeting.

"At least," I say, "when we are in the bunk room, we'll learn more about what we've gotten ourselves into."

Marcy lets out a small snort. "A little late for regrets."

I run my fingers through my new, short haircut. "No regrets. Just curious."

Thoughts of Marcy's conversation with Jenelle creep into my consciousness.

"Earlier, when Jenelle was here," I begin hesitantly. "Did she say anything more about the workings of this place?"

Marcy's expression turns thoughtful. "She hinted at something, but we didn't get into details. She seemed...cautious. I meant to ask you if you talked to Harry about it."

I shake my head. "No, we were too caught up in the tech stuff, but I did overhear something when I first walked over to him."

"Oh yeah?" Her eyebrows raise.

"He was talking about Sequoia, and he didn't seem happy. Said something about muscle. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Maybe." Marcy steps away and sits back down on the bed.

"Oh, yeah?" I stay, resting my hand on the bare table.

"Did you see that red-headed boy that Tyree was with this morning?"

I nod.

"That's the Mitchell he mentioned at lunch, and I guess he's been here for a while."

I wonder where this is headed. "Okay."

"Well, he's told Tyree even more than he shared at lunch, but he did tell Jenelle–"

"What did he say?" I interrupt, not really wanting to hear Jenelle's name right now.

Marcy shrugs. "He heard that Sequoia and Christopher might be talking to the Luddites."

"What?" The word comes out sharper than I mean to. I stand up straighter, my brows furrow. "The Queer Rebels hate the Luddites."

Isn't that what Harry said? Or did I just assume?

"I'm not sure," she says, her words tentative. "But maybe that's the muscle Harry mentioned? They are strong."

"Yeah, could be a code word or something." I scrunch up my mouth. "But what would they be talking about?"

"Mitchell wasn't sure. But that was his guess about the commotion. That something happened at the loading dock."

"Like what?"

Now I'm curious. If there's some kind of conflict, we should know what we've gotten ourselves into.

Marcy shifts on the bed. "I don't know. I would just be assuming."

I try to think back on what I know about this group. What Harry told me after he helped me escape. What Sequoia said when we arrived last night. Two days ago, I didn't even know the Queer Rebels existed, and now I've put my whole future into their hands.

"Aren't the Queer Rebels pro-tech and anti-violence? Wouldn't they avoid those terrorists at all costs?" I scoff.

"Maybe it's not by choice," Marcy muses. "And, really, it's just a rumor. But if you have another chance to talk with Harry, maybe see what else you can find out."

I nod in agreement and then walk over and sit next to Marcy. "We're part of this now, whether or not we planned to be."

Marcy leans against me, her head resting on my knee. "It'll work out, Charlie. It always does."

I wrap my arm around her, wanting to believe her. A sense of determination settles over me. Feeling her next to me, her warmth, it grounds me.

I wonder how many more nights we'll have to ourselves. And while I don't want to rush things, I also don't want to lose the opportunity.

I need to kiss her again. To taste her. To imbibe her heat and ingest the flames of her fire.

I turn towards her and am about to pull her into a kiss when the air is invaded by muffled voices and the sound of hurried footsteps.

Marcy looks up at me, her eyes both curious and concerned.

"Should we check it out?" she whispers.

My mouth is suddenly dry, but I nod.

We both stand and tiptoe towards the door.

Pressing our ears to the cold metal, the sound of raised voices becomes clearer. One of them sounds like Harry, his tone laced with a mix of frustration and worry.

"You tried to hide it from me," he says, his voice barely audible. "They tried to leave the city, and we couldn't protect them. And now they're dead. If only you would listen to me!"

Marcy grips my hand, her fingers cold. "Is that Harry?" she asks, her voice trembling. "Who is he talking to?"

"Baby, it's not that simple," a man answers. I've heard the voice before but can't place it.

"I don't know," I whisper to Marcy.

Their footsteps get louder. They're passing by our door.

"Something needs to change," I hear Harry say. "And if you don't support me, then I don't know what this is between us anymore."

"Watch it," the voice scolds. "And, change is coming, don't worry about that, baby."

The footsteps fade, and Marcy and I are left just looking at each other.

There is nothing to say. We heard both too much to feel settled, but too little to make any sense of it.

But it sounds like something dangerous.