Little Moon, Almost Full

I set the ring on Adrian Vale's workbench while he was still holding a wrench. He looked from the diamond to me, then down at the scattered sketches and metal fittings between us. The hangar smelled of cold steel and coffee that had been reheated too many times. Behind him, the half-built wing of his experimental aircraft stretched beneath the fluorescent lights. "I'm ending the engagement," I said. His hand tightened around the wrench. "Good morning to you, too, Lydia." "It's not a joke." "I didn't think it was." He set the tool down with care. "I just thought you'd wait until we were somewhere with fewer witnesses." There were two mechanics at the far end of the hangar. Both had found sudden, intense interest in a toolbox. I wished I had chosen a private office. I also knew that if I'd chosen a private office, I would have found another excuse not to come. "I'm sorry," I said. "I should have said something sooner." "How much sooner?" "Before our parents announced it." "That was four years ago." "I know." Adrian studied me. He was twenty-four, tall and lean, with dark hair that never seemed to stay combed. There was a small streak of grease on his jaw. In the book, the first description of him had mentioned his hands: precise, steady, brilliant. I remembered that detail because the author had returned to it after the accident, when the hands still worked and the rest of him did not. I pushed the thought away. "I don't want to marry you," I said. His face changed by almost nothing. The wrench remained where he had put it. "Do you want to tell me why?" "Because we don't love each other." "That seems like a reason to postpone a wedding. Not necessarily to end an engagement." "I don't want to postpone it. I want it over." Adrian's eyes met mine. "Did you meet someone?" "No." "Is someone making you do this?" "No." "Then why today?" Because you have three years before the test flight that will break your spine. Because I once read a story in which I was a villain, and I am not going to wait until you are hurt to leave you. I couldn't say that. Not yet. I didn't know whether he'd believe me, and I didn't know whether I believed the story myself. I had woken in the life of Lydia Wren with a head full of someone else's memories and a future that felt less like prophecy than a warning. The accident was supposed to happen three years from now. The test aircraft was supposed to fail over the cliffs at Rook Bay. And I was supposed to leave Adrian afterward. "I've been avoiding the truth," I said. "That isn't fair to you." "You've been avoiding me." "I know." He picked up the ring and turned it once between his fingers. "Your family will ask me to keep this quiet." "My family can ask you anything. You don't have to do what they want." His mouth tilted. "That sounds like something you needed to hear yourself." "I did." The hangar door rolled open behind me. A gust of salt air swept across the concrete, carrying the low thunder of waves from the cliffs. I had driven up the coast without calling, convinced I could do this quickly and leave before the day could turn into something else. Adrian slipped the ring into his pocket. "I won't announce anything until you tell your parents," he said. "I'm not going to make this harder for you than it has to be." "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet. They may blame me." "They'll blame you either way." He turned toward the wing. One of the mechanics approached him with a clipboard, but Adrian lifted a hand to hold him back. "Is there anything else?" he asked. I had planned to walk out. Instead, I stared at the exposed panels beneath the aircraft's wing. The plane in my memory had been called the Aster. This one was called the Aster too, though it looked newer than the battered photograph in the novel. A white test tag hung from the central spar. "Is this the aircraft you're planning to fly next summer?" "Yes." "Who certified the wing assemblies?" His gaze came back to me. "Why?" "I want to know." "You're ending our engagement, not conducting an audit." "I know. Just answer the question." "Westbridge Components. Their paperwork is in the project office." He folded his arms. "Lydia, why do you care?" I stared at the plane, at the beautiful, dangerous shape of it. Three years was a long time. Long enough for any number of things to change. Long enough for an accident that might never happen. "I think that aircraft is going to crash," I said. Neither mechanic moved. Adrian's expression hardened. "Why?" "I don't know how to prove it yet." "Then don't say it as though you do." "I know what I saw in the future." The words came out before I could soften them. Adrian took one step toward me. "What does that mean?" "It means I can't explain it in a way that will make sense right now. It means that plane is not safe." His eyes dropped to the ring-shaped indentation left in my palm. "And that's why you're ending our engagement?" "No. I'm ending it because I don't want to marry you. I would still say that if the aircraft were perfectly safe." He watched me in silence. The hangar seemed to hold its breath with him. "Then leave the future out of it," he said. "If you have a real concern, bring me evidence. Don't use fear as a way to make a clean exit." I deserved that. I also knew I couldn't walk away. "I'll bring you evidence." "Fine." He stepped aside, making room for me to leave. "But don't come back because you feel responsible for me." I left the ring behind in his pocket and the promise between us.