We don’t say a word until June finally stops us at a small, steaming café several blocks from my apartment. Right away I can see why she chose it—it’s mostly empty, a tiny little spot on the first floor of a towering high-rise washed wet with slush, and not very well lit. Even though it’s open to the air, like many other cafés in the area, it has a few dark nooks that are nice for us to sit at, and its only lights come from glowing, cube-shaped lanterns on each of its tables. A hostess ushers us inside, seating us at June’s request in one of the shadowy corners. Flat plates of scented water sit scattered throughout the café. I shiver, even though our spot is pretty warm from our heat lantern.
What are we doing here again? A strange fog washes over me, then clears. We’re here for dinner, that’s what we’re doing. I shake my head. I recall the brief struggle I’d had a few days ago, when I couldn’t remember Lucy’s name. A frightening thought emerges.
Maybe this is a new symptom. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid.
After we place our orders, June speaks up. The gold flecks in her eyes shine in the lantern’s orange glow. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispers.
I hold my hands against the lantern, savoring the heat. “What good would it have done?”
June furrows her eyebrows, and only then do I notice that her eyes look kind of swollen, like she’s been crying. She shakes her head at me. “The rumors are all over the place,” she continues in a voice I can barely hear. “Witnesses say they saw you being carried out of your apartment on a stretcher thirty-four hours ago—one of them apparently overheard a medic discussing your condition.”
I sigh and put my hands up in defeat. “You know what, if this is all somehow causing riots in the street and more trouble for Anden, then I’m sorry. I was told to keep it a secret—and I did, as well as I could. I’m sure our glorious Elector will figure out a way to calm folks down.”
June bites her lip once. “There must be some solution, Day. Have your doctors—”
“They’re already trying everything.” I wince as a painful spasm runs through the back of my head, as if on cue. “I’ve been through three rounds of experiments. Slow and painful progress so far.” I explain to June what the doctors had told me, the unusual infection in my hippocampus, the medication that’s been weakening me, sucking the strength out of my body. “Believe me, they’re running through solutions.”
“How long do you have?” she whispers.
I stay silent, pretending to be fascinated with the lantern. I don’t know if I have the heart to say it.
June leans closer, until her shoulder bumps softly against mine. “How long do you have?” she repeats. “Please. I hope you still care about me enough to tell me.”
I gaze back at her, slowly falling—as I always seem to do—back under her pull. Don’t make me do this, please. I don’t want to say it out loud to her; it might mean that it’s actually true. But she looks so sad and fearful that I can’t keep it in. I let out my breath, then run a hand through my hair and lower my head. “They said a month,” I whisper. “Maybe two. They said I should get my priorities in order.”
June closes her eyes—I think I see her sway slightly in her seat. “Two months,” she murmurs vacantly. The agony on her face reminds me exactly why I didn’t want to let her know.
After another long silence between us, June snaps out of her daze and reaches to pull something out of her pocket. She comes back up with something small and metallic in her palm. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you,” she says.
I stare blankly at it. It’s a paper clip ring, thin lines of wire pulled into an elegant series of swirls and closed into a circle, just like the one I’d once made for her. My eyes widen and dart up to hers. She doesn’t say anything; instead, she looks down and helps me push it onto my right hand’s ring finger. “I had a little time,” she finally mutters.
I run a hand across the ring in wonder, my heartstrings pulled taut. A dozen emotions rush through me. “I’m sorry,” I stammer out after a while, trying to put a more hopeful spin on everything. That’s all I can say, after this gift from her? “They think there’s still a chance. They’re trying out some more treatments soon.”
“You once told me why you chose ‘Day’ as your street name,” she says firmly. She moves her hand so that it’s over mine, hiding the paper clip ring from view. The warmth of her skin against mine makes my breath short. “Every morning, everything’s possible again. Right?” A river of tingles runs up my spine. I want to take her face in my hands again, kiss her cheeks and study her dark, sad eyes, and tell her I’ll be okay. But that would just be another lie. Half of my heart is breaking at the pain on her face; the other half, I realize guiltily, is swelling with happiness to know that she still cares. There’s love in her tragic words, in the folds of that thin metal ring. Isn’t there?
Finally, I take a deep breath. “Sometimes, the sun sets earlier. Days don’t last forever, you know. But I’ll fight as hard as I can. I can promise you that.”
June’s eyes soften. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Why should you have to bear it?” I mutter back. “I just . . . thought it would be easier this way.”
“Easier for whom?” June snaps. “You, me, the public? You would rather just pass away silently one day, without ever breathing another word to me?”