Page 51 of The Garnet Daughter
But then he stands taller and exhales deeply. “You didn’t really think I’d let you come here alone, did you?”
Bastard.
I step backward in disbelief. The cadence of his voice is familiar, but the tone is so muffled by his mask, he did not even need to disguise it as he did.
I shake my head, eyes so wide they dry in the recycled air of the cockpit.
He removes his helmet, pulling it high above his head and holding it at his hip, reluctant to make eye contact with me, scratching at the back of his neck as if waiting for me to say something.
“How? What have you done?” I stumble over my words with the sense of betrayal.
“Calliape.” He reaches for me.
“Don’t! Is this a joke to you? Walking around the ship pretending to be our pilot, laughing at me?”
“No! I wanted to tell you once we got to the next town,” he confesses.
“Once we had no choice but to let you stay.”
He clenches his jaw.
“This is important to me. You can’t just?—”
“I came to help, Callia,” he interrupts.
“I don’t want your help, August. That is why I left without telling you!”
His expression does not change, even though I’ve hurt him now and in leaving altogether.
Commander Wesley’s loud tread halts when he enters the cockpit, and from the way August rolls his eyes to the side, he is not looking forward to another scolding.
“Where is Commander Vermeil?” Wesley asks.
What a stupid question.
“This is Commander Vermeil. Don’t you recognize him?” I quip.
August gives me a flat expression as I take a seat, already too tired to help Commander Wesley understand what is happening when I have just gone through it.
Then they both become so irritatingly silent, it sends a crawling sensation under my skin that could only be relieved by peeling it off.
“August is our pilot!” I snap.
“I have to report this to the 99th Commander. He may instruct us to return.”
August glances at me before answering, “No need. I have already sent him a comm.”
“Where is Commander Vermeil? He was assigned to this ship.”
“He’s fine,” August says.
“What did you do?” I ask, rage fully in bloom.
August places his stolen helmet down on the command station. “We had a few drinks . . .”
It gets worse. He planned this; it wasn’t a desperate, split-second decision. No, he knew I was leaving and made sure he was coming with me.
“Commander Wesley, do you know how to fly this ship? Because I would like to leave our current pilot here.”
