MacConnor looked like hell. He might be dead.
I would not believe he was dead. Not after all this. I remembered his eyes well enough to see them through the smoked glass goggles. His chest, lined with the taut muscles of someone who worked for a living. And that chipper fearlessness. That chin.
Stubble—he was alive!
No, hair grew after death.
If we made it, if we both actually stood on solid floor again, dinner was not the only thing I would get out of him.
I released my hand and loosened my legs so he could drift free.
Grabbed the tag of his chute box.
And yanked.
MacConnor exploded out of my grasp like a shotgun blast.
Some part of him smacked my chin—a leg? a hand?
My vision went gray around the edges.
My precarious balance shattered.
MacConnor vanished into the sky, and I c
