All of it—for this. Leading us to a door we can't open, a password we don't have.

I reach for her hand and wind my fingers through hers, turning them so the rain patters down onto her palm. I trace a circle there with my thumb, smoothing the water in her skin. I want to show her there's nothing to be afraid of.

But who names a starship the Icarus? What kind of man possess that much hubris, that he dares it to fall?