Page 13 of New World

Warmth filled her when she saw Ash’s face. The drawing had captured Ash alive with movement, freezing him forever in mid-spin. His arms were outstretched, his head tilted back in laughter. The background was blurred, giving the illusion of floating in zero gravity, the faintest hint of music notes sketched in the air beside him.

The chill of movement against her cheek caused her to lift her hand to brush it away. Her hand froze in midair and she stared at the tips of her fingers when she realized that she had brushed away a tear. Her gaze flickered between the dampness and the page. A wistful smile curved her lips, and for a moment, she almost felt like she could close her eyes and travel in time back to that day.

“Come on, Mei,” Ash had coaxed, grabbing her wrist and tugging her toward him. “You can fight like a demon with Sergi, but you can’t dance? What kid never learned to dance?”

“The kid who didn’t want to embarrass herself,” she had laughed.

Ash had snorted, spinning effortlessly.

“Nonsense. Dancing is just another form of exercise. Think of it as getting in shape to catch Sergi next time. Consider me your new exercise coach.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m ‘vested. Josh, Julia, and I have placed bets, and I hate to lose.”

He had tried to teach her, guiding her movements, his warm laughter filling the air whenever she got a move wrong. And she had. Many times. On purpose, just so the lessons wouldn’t end.

She traced the edges of the sketch, remembering the way he had grinned at her triumphantly when she had followed his steps without tripping over herself.

“See?” he had said, beaming. “Told you I was the best dancer on the ship.”

“You are the only one who dances,” she dryly pointed out.

“Semantics, my dear pupil. Now, I have five marshmallows riding on you catching Sergi the next time.”

She chuckled and brushed another tear as she remembered Ash wiggling his eyebrows at her and leaning in. Shaking her head, she drew in a deep breath, gathering her emotions before she fingered the blue tab. Everything beyond it was focused on Sergi Lazaroff.

She knew Sergi’s history—just as he would have known hers. Cheng had given her a dossier on every member of the crew. Sergi’s had been thin, but the limited information had been enough to warn her that she was dealing with a man who wasn’t to be toyed with. Her lips quirked at the thought.

“Oh, Sergi. You’d better have survived,” she murmured, flipping over the pages.

She felt her throat tighten as a flood of emotions threatened to crush the icy wall she imagined protected her heart.

Sergi’s sketches differed from the others. The lines were heavier, bolder, capturing the smirk tugging at his lips, the mischief in his eyes, the cocky tilt of his head.

Each drawing made her chest ache.

Beneath the first, she had drawn a self-portrait of her with Sergi. He had his hand resting on her shoulder, their arms pressed together in a way that spoke of effortless camaraderie, of shared secrets, of unspoken trust.

“You know, you’re not as terrifying as you think you are.”

“Says the man who hid in a ventilation shaft for two hours after stealing my dessert.”

“I regret nothing and admit even less.”

“You should. That was my last piece of chocolate.”

“You don’t even like chocolate.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“That you’re a thief and I will have my revenge.”

Sergi had laughed so hard, he had nearly fallen off the table.

“I like you, pandochka,” he had said, using the nickname he had given her. Little panda. “You remind me of home.”

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