Page 19

It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to lower my gaze and look. The faint hint of her brown areolas are tempting me by the second, but I maintain eye contact, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable on top of being irritated with me.

“Wonderful. My tits are out, aren’t they?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.” She readjusts the shirt. “I guess I should be thankful I flashed you my tits and not my pussy. I haven’t trimmed my bush in a while.”

For a brief moment we both drop our defenses and do something I thought I forgot to do—laugh.

“Seriously, though, Ren, what kind of Jumanji shit is this? I missed you and all, but this is a bit much, even for me.” Her lip quivers again as her head lowers. “Either way, I’m glad your mom found the envelope with the key in it. Better late than never, I suppose.”

I should ask how she’s doing, or how my sister is coping having to deal with our mom without me, but all of it feels too heavy to process. Pushing all the unresolved feelings I have to the side, I ask, “Did my mom give you this key?”

Lia squints. “I don’t like how you said that. This key? You’re making it sound like I am making this up or…” Her posture straightens as the inflection in her voice rises an octave or four. “…like you have no clue what I’m talking about.”

I don’t. Not one single clue.

I came to terms with not being able to see her again, and as nice—no, amazing—as it is that she’s here in front of me, I’d be lying if I said it’s not freaking me out to think that something far more sinister is potentially at play here.

“It’s fine.” My attempt at reassuring her dies on impact.

“No, it’s not. If it was, you wouldn’t be doing that.” She points to my hands. “You’re cracking your knuckles.”

“So?”

“Soo…you only crack your knuckles when you’re lying or afraid of something. And I think you’re both.”

I see our time apart has done little to fracture the foundation of our friendship, and that’s enough to help me flash a quick smile and loosen the tension spreading along my jawline. She knows me. Probably better than anyone. It’s painful for me to keep this from her but some things are better left unsaid. I did this to help her, not to have her in harm’s way, and as long as she’s here, it’s not safe.

“I need you to listen to me.” I stop to point at the door in front of us. “I’ve become an expert at navigating the levels.” Her brow furrows inquisitively at that last part but she doesn’t question me. “At the end there is a control room. We need to get you to it.”

A quick “Okay” is all she says instead of the storm of questions I imagine are flooding her mind right now.

“Good.”

“But you mean we need to get to it. I’m not leaving here without you, Ren. You are leaving with me.”

My jaw tenses. I don’t know how to break it to her that getting into the control problem isn’t the problem, it’s the leaving part.

I know how Lia is, once she has something on her mind, that’s it, there’s no convincing her otherwise. So I have to go about this strategically.

“Of course,” I lie, guilt already settling into my bones.

She lifts her head, angling her chin playfully in triumph, and it only makes what I know to be the inevitable hurt that much more.

But if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s being able to suppress how I feel in order to get the task at hand done. And right now, the task at hand is more dire than the one that led me here in the first place.

Now we have that settled, I take hold of her hand again and place my free one to push the level bar on the door.

I know what I need to do—open it. But I also know what lies behind this door likely won’t give us much opportunity to ask many questions. The loop is designed to be fast-paced. Dallying is frowned upon. And with her here I anticipate it being the case even more so.

Still, it’s been so long—too long—since we’ve seen each other. I don’t want her to think I haven’t missed her like I have. Or thought about her every second of every day since I accepted my fate. So what’s another second or two of delaying?

“How old do we turn today?” I ask her, hand frozen in place.

“Thirty-four.”

I feel an invisible sucker punch to the gut. I’m—we’re thirty-four? I’ve been here, away from her, from life as I knew it, for that long?