“We’ll make do. Levi, BLINK will be moved to the next budget review, and by then NASA will approve full funding. That way we won’t need NIH.

You’ll still be in charge.” “That’s a year from now, and you can’t guarantee that. Just like you can’t guarantee that the Sullivan prototype will be used.”

A pause. “Son, I understand this is important to you. I feel the same, but—”

“I doubt it.”

“Excuse me?”

Levi’s voice could cut titanium. “I seriously doubt you feel the same.”

“Levi—”

“If you do, authorize the equipment purchase.”

A sigh. “Levi, I like you. I really do. You’re a smart guy. One of the best engineers I know—maybe the best. But you’re young and have no idea about the pressure everyone’s under. BLINK’s unlikely to happen this year.

Better make peace with it.”

Seconds pass. I can’t hear Levi’s reply, so I lean in even farther—which turns out to be a terrible idea, because the door swings open. I jump back quickly enough that Boris doesn’t see me, but when Levi steps outside I’m still standing right there, by the office. He slams the door and begins stalking away angrily. Then he notices me and freezes.

He looks furious. And big. Furiously big.

I should say something. Play it cool. Make it seem like I only just wandered here, looking for the office supply closet. Oh, Levi, do you know where they keep the pencil sharpeners? Problem is, that ship has long

sailed, and while we study each other with equally raw expressions, I experience an odd, transient feeling. Like this is the first time Levi sees me.

No, not quite: like this is the first time I see him. Like the elaborate maze of mirrors through which we’ve been looking at each other has been shattered, the shards swept away.

I can’t bear it. I lower my gaze to my feet. Thankfully, the feeling dissolves as I stare at the pretty daisies on my fauxleather sandals.

My fingers need to quit shaking or I’ll chop them off. If my tear ducts dare to let even a single drop slip through, I’ll tie them shut forever. I’m almost ready to look up again without making a fool of myself, when a large hand closes firmly around my elbow. Shouldn’t have worn a sleeveless top today. “What are you—?”

Levi lifts one finger to his lips to signal me to be quiet and leads me away from the office.

“Where—” I start, but he interrupts me with a low whisper.

“Hush.” His grip is gentle but tight around my flesh. I’m dismayed to find that it seems to help with my nausea.

Without having a clue of what to do, I close my eyes and follow his lead.

• • •

I’M A SLOW processor. Always have been.

When my nonna died, everyone around me had been sobbing for several minutes by the time I finally parsed what the white-haired doctor was saying. When Reike decided to take a gap decade to go travel the world, I didn’t realize how lonely I’d be until she was on a plane to Indonesia. When Tim moved out of our apartment, the implications only hit me several days later, the moment I found two of his mismatched socks still in the dryer.

Probably why the enormity of what I heard outside Boris’s office doesn’t fully dawn on me until I’m on one of the benches in the little picnic area

behind the Discovery Building, elbows on my knees and forehead in my hands.

It’s such a lovely spot. The shades of two cedar elms and a live oak cross right where I’m sitting. I need to eat lunch out here from now on, I think.

Then my Lean Cuisine won’t stink up the office. My stomach twists. There might not be

an on from this now.

“Are you okay?”

I glance up, and up, and up. Levi is standing in front me, still icily furious but more in control. Like he counted to ten to calm down a bit, but would gladly go back to one and flip a desk or three. There’s a hint of concern in his eyes, and for some reason I’m thinking again of him pinning me to the wall, of the smell of his skin, the feeling of his hard muscles under my fingers.

There’s something very wrong with my brain.

“I double-checked,” he murmurs. “I received seven emails from you, and all my replies were sent. I’m not sure why they didn’t deliver. I’m assuming the same happened to the one Guy sent to invite you to today’s meeting, and I take responsibility for it. You should have a NASA email address by now.”

The weather outside is perfectly nice, but I’m cold and sweaty at the same time. What a complex organism, my body.

“Why?” I ask. I’m not even sure what I’m referring to.

He exhales slowly. “How much did you hear?”

“I don’t know. A lot.”

He nods. “NASA wants exclusive control of whatever patent comes out of BLINK. But it currently doesn’t have the budget to pull off the project, and there was some armtwisting to include NIH. But NIH is insisting on co-owning the patent, and NASA decided that letting BLINK die a natural death is better than picking a fight with NIH.”

“And this is it? The natural death?”

He doesn’t answer, simply continuing to study me with worry and something else, something I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s unsettling, and

I nearly laugh when I realize why: this is the first time Levi has sustained eye contact with me for more than a second. The first time his eyes don’t flit away to some point above my head right after meeting mine.

I turn away. I’m not in the mood for ice green. “What if I told NIH?”

A brief hesitation. “You could.”

“But?”

“No buts. It’d be fully within your rights. I’ll support you, if you need me to.”

“. . . But?”

I look at him. There are small scratches on his hand; hairs dust his forearm; his shirt stretches across his shoulder. He’s so imposing from this angle, even more than usual. What did they feed him growing up, fertilizer?

“If you told NIH, the only outcome I can imagine is NIH pulling out and the relationship between NIH and the human research branch of NASA souring.

BLINK would be shelved until—”

“—until next year. And it would still be a NASA-only project.” Either way, I’m screwed. Catch-22. Never liked that novel.