Page 13 of Leveling

Luna laid down on her side, leaned on an elbow. “How long did you train?”

“They trained us for many contingencies, it took a few weeks.”

“Like?”

Beckett dropped to his left side, propped on his elbow, mirroring Luna. “Nomads with attitudes, combative adults, obstreperous youths.”

“Well, you’ve certainly used your training with me.”

“That’s what I meant when I said you were not what I expected. You got it when I read the edict. You were willing to go. So far, my contact with Nomads has been pretty adversarial.”

Luna watched him quietly as he picked at the blanket with his fingers.

“When you say you’re worried about the water level, what are you worried about, exactly?”

Beckett wanted to tell her that the Outpost wasn’t safe. That it could fall at any moment. That every centimeter of rise, meant a centimeter closer to collapse. That he still had to finish his tour of duty and every second he felt more desperate—until she showed up. But he couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t speak it. And he didn’t want to scare her. So he said, “Nothing, just the usual wanting to stay on higher ground.”

She sighed and curled within the quilt. “I’m sleepy.”

She was gorgeous and sleepy and in bed, wrapped in his blanket, within reach. Beckett’s hand itched to reach out and touch the side of her face. “Go ahead and sleep, we should probably stay down here through the storm.”

“Thanks, but it’s not usually easy. When we’re out, we have to lash together and someone has to keep watch and we sleep in shifts and—suffice it to say it’s hard to sleep, even when it’s safe to sleep.”

Luna’s gaze was direct, and Beckett lost himself for second in her eyes. “Oh.”

Safety. The beautiful girl laying beside him in the Outpost needed to feel safe. Wanted to sleep—safe. He had volunteered for this but hadn’t trained for this. Instead he thought back to his stint as a camp counselor two summers ago, tucking the kids into their bunks, making them feel safe. He sat up and pantomimed wrapping a thick strong rope around her half of the bedding and tying a tight knot. “How’s that? You’re securely anchored.”

“Better.” She closed her eyes but felt him watching her for a few moments.

Then with a deep breath he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, and then Luna opened hers and watched the side of his face for a while.

She wanted to feel safe. She wanted to fall asleep without worry, because her new friend had tied her securely, but in Beckett’s pantomime she had seen that the knot he created wasn’t a good strong knot. And, at sea, the knot was everything. Everything.

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