They sat, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. Wells was staring straight ahead, watching the trees fade into silhouettes until they were almost impossible to distinguish from the shadows. Then he glanced over at Sasha, and saw her looking at him with an expression he hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since the days when he and Clarke used to sit on the observation deck, sharing the bits of information they’d saved up all day for each other, knowing that the other was the only person in the universe they wanted to share it with.
“It’s not your fault,” Sasha said, breaking the silence. “You were doing what you thought was best to keep them safe. It isn’t easy, making those kinds of decisions. I know that. And I also know the difference between you when you’re trying to be the leader and you when you get to just be a boy.”
“It’s funny you should say that,” he said, surprised.
“Say what?”
“That you see the difference between me as a leader and me as a person.”
“I believe I said boy,” she corrected. He could hear the smile in her voice. Above them, the blossoms on one of the strange nocturnal trees were glowing pink, as if the petals were clinging to bits of sunset.
“Well, I gave myself a promotion.”
“Person is definitely a step up from boy.” Sasha nodded in mock gravity. “Although I’m not sure they’re quite the same species.”
He reached out and tugged lightly on a piece of the silky black hair that swept down her shoulders. “I haven’t decided yet if we’re the same species.”
She grinned and bumped his shoulder playfully, then scooted over to close the distance between them. “Why is it funny, though?” she asked.
Wells had almost forgotten his original point, he was so lost in the sight of her, her eyes luminous in the evening light. “Oh, just that I always used to think about my father that way. There was the Chancellor, and then there was my dad. Sometimes, it felt like they were two completely separate people.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Sasha said quietly. “Your dad is going to be so proud of you when he comes down.”
If he comes down, Wells thought. He fell silent as the now-familiar pain crept into his chest.
“Look!” Sasha was pointing up to the sky, where the first intrepid star was emerging from the gathering darkness. “Make a wish.”
“A wish?” Wells repeated, wondering if he’d heard her correctly.
Sasha pointed to the sky. “You’re supposed to make a wish when the first star appears.”
Wells turned to Sasha to see if she was joking, but her face was sincere. It must be some Earthborn custom, he realized. If stars granted wishes to people living in space, his life would be very different. His mother would still be alive. His father wouldn’t have been shot.
He had nothing to lose, so he closed his eyes. He started to wish for his father to come to Earth, but then he realized what his father would think of that. Non nobis solum nati sumus. Instead, he thought, I wish that Bellamy would find Octavia, and that we could live peacefully with the Earthborns.
He looked back at Sasha, who was watching him with a small smile. “Don’t you want to know what I wished for?” he teased, but she shook her head emphatically.
“Oh no,” she protested. “You can’t ever tell anyone your wishes. They have to be secret.”
Wells knew plenty about keeping secrets—after all, he’d learned from the best.
Wells hadn’t been able to forget about his father’s lie. He’d spent the week following his birthday paying extra attention to everything the Chancellor did or said, hoping some small detail would explain why he’d lied about missing dinner for a Council meeting. But there was nothing. Wells’s father still left at precisely the same time each morning, before the circadian lights in the hallway began to chase the darkness away, returning just in time to kiss Wells’s mother on the cheek before she went to bed—she’d been so tired lately—and interrogate Wells about his schoolwork. His mother liked to joke that “how did you do on your calculus exam?” was Chancellor-speak for “I love you, and I take pride in your accomplishments.” Wells knew his father really was at work late, because he’d snuck out multiple times, hurrying to his father’s office and pressing his ear against the door. Each time, his pounding heart had been appeased by the sound of the Council arguing in weary tones, or the soft clank of his father’s cup on his desk that marked another sip of tea.
So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that his father was hiding something—something big?
By the time Unity Day came around, Wells could hardly look at his father without feeling a stab of unease. Wells always hated Unity Day, when he had to spend the whole morning standing between his parents, doing his best not to look bored as visiting children from Walden and Arcadia marched by.
For as long as Wells could remember, he’d spent the ceremony staring up surreptitiously at the boughs of the Eden Tree. If he looked at just the right angle, he could imagine that he was an explorer lost in a forest. Sometimes, he fought a hungry tiger. Other times, he built a boat to sail down a dangerous river.
But this year, he couldn’t take his eyes off his father. The Chancellor, who normally observed the proceedings with a bland smile, was staring intently at one of the orphans from the Walden Care Center. It was so unlike him that Wells found himself startled into speaking.
“What’s going on?” he whispered to his father.
“What are you talking about?” The Chancellor gave a brief, sharp look before returning his attention to the kids from the Care Center, who’d begun to recite the poem they had been taught for the occasion.
Anger bubbled up in Wells’s chest. “What are you hiding?” he hissed.
This time the Chancellor looked straight at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, speaking very slowly. “Now be quiet and behave yourself before you embarrass me and your mother.”
His tone was normal—clipped, terse—but there was something different about the Chancellor, something in his eyes Wells hadn’t seen before.
Fear.
“You can tell me if your wish came true, though,” Sasha whispered. She was sitting so close to him, Wells could feel her breath on his cheek.
“What?” he asked, startled.
“Your wish. Has it come true?”
“Oh,” he said, suddenly confused. “Is it supposed to be immediate? Because mine might take a while.”
“I see.” There was a faint hint of disappointment in her voice, which confused him.
“What did you wish for?”
Sasha leaned forward and kissed him.
Wells hesitated for a moment, a million thoughts whirring around his brain, but then Sasha slid her arms around his waist, and all those thoughts were silenced. He pulled her closer to him, losing himself in the kiss. Finally, she broke away and put her mouth to his ear.
“That’s what I wished for,” she whispered, her breath tickling him.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I’m glad your wish came true.” He felt like he could stay in the woods with Sasha forever. There was nothing he wanted more than to spend the night watching the stars appear, using each silvery glimmer as an excuse to bring his lips to hers.
But of course, that wasn’t a real option. We aren’t born for ourselves alone. Wells couldn’t abandon the others after the horror of that day. He needed to get back to help bury Priya, to comfort those who wouldn’t be able to sleep. To restrain those whose grief and fear might turn into a need for vengeance.
“You need to go,” Wells said, unable to keep his voice from cracking.
“Go?”
“Yes,” he said, this time more firmly. “Go home, just like you and Clarke were planning to. It’s not safe for you here—you saw what Bellamy did, and I know what Graham is capable of.” He reached through the darkness to grab her hand. “Will you make it there safely alone?”
“Home,” she said, slightly wistfully. Sasha smiled, a slow, sad smile. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She leaned forward and kissed him again, lightly, before vanishing into the darkness.