Before she could read the truth on my face, I said, "No more talking or I'm gonna mess up."

"Mess up? How could you mess up?"

"I could accidentally stitch your mouth closed."

She giggled, then gasped as I made the first stitch.

"Try to relax," I said. "Think about Wesson and his excruciatingly detailed analysis of everything he did on shift." She snickered, then fell silent as I worked. I'd sewn up countless corpses, but live flesh felt different beneath the fingers: warmer but also more delicate. There was something immensely satisfying about rejoining live flesh, a feeling that repairing machines never elicited. On the other hand, machines never swear at me.

"There, done," I finally said. "Sit up so I can wrap it." I grabbed her arm and pulled her to a sitting position. "So, how are you gonna explain the wound to Wesson? Should we make up a story now? Or would it be easier to dump him?"

She paused for so long, I thought she wouldn't answer. And when she spoke, her voice was unnaturally soft. "Actually, Wesson proposed... three nights ago."

It took me a solid ten seconds to process her words. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think you would understand."

This time her words cut. Wouldn't understand because I didn't have a letter? Because I'd never spent the night with a man? Because I could never marry? All of the above? I hid my hurt. I'd pretended so often— to have parents, to have a letter—lying was second-nature. "What are you going to say?"

"I don't know." She hesitated, and then, "What do you think I should say?"

You should tell him to piss off.

But I didn't say that. This was what Yaneli wanted—for Xyla to find a more secure position in life. And who better than big, strong, boring Wesson? He was loyal, a safe choice—while my presence endangered everyone I knew. I forced myself to shrug. "You know what Yaneli would say." I made my voice high, shaking a finger in mock sternness at her. "An W, Xyla? You could at least get a V!"

She laughed, and I hoped she couldn't see the betrayal curling in my gut. How long before Wesson became Xyla's best friend? Before he replaced me? Footsteps came down the hallway, and I felt an unexpected surge of gratefulness as I tucked the extra bandages under the thin mattress just a moment before Yaneli opened the door.

She glanced at the two of us, her eyes narrowing. "What are the two of you up to?"

"Nothing," Xyla flashed her a smile and then jumped off the bed— a slight wince betraying her. "I'm off to see Wesson. Back in an hour."

"Fine," Yaneli called after her retreating form, "but be back before light's out."

I pretended to fix the blanket, avoiding Yaneli's gaze, sure that she knew what we'd been up to and was about to grill me. Instead, she sat heavily on the bed. "I told a few engineers you could look at them tonight. They're waiting outside."

I nodded, trying to force down the guilt that while Yaneli thought only of helping me and others in the Belly, I had accepted a necklace from a woman from the Top— a necklace that seemed to burn against my neck now. "Of course, Yaneli."

She hesitated, smoothing out the blanket I'd already fixed. "You can practice on me first."

At first I thought she was joking, but when she didn't move I stood up. Yaneli rarely asked for medical help— she was as strong as the Beast. I used my best doctorly voice now, hiding my curiosity, "What seems to be the problem?"

"Lungs. Getting harder to breathe lately. And my throat has been burning."

I frowned and then held my metal hand on one side of her chest, pressing my ear to it, listening to her lungs as she breathed in and out. I could hear the congestion, the sure sign that the Belly cough would begin soon. The constant smoke in the Belly painted your lungs black; no one lived past fifty, and once the cough set in there was nothing any doctor could do. But that couldn't be because Yaneli was only... thirty-eight? Maybe there was another explanation? Pneumonia? Allergies? It suddenly felt harder to breathe myself.

"I'll mix you some tea for your throat." I could have made the tea in my sleep, but I used it as an excuse to turn and try and collect myself. And then my mouth opened and the question escaped before I could stop it: "Did you ever work on Level N?"

I could feel her flinty gaze on mine, the careful, cold way she asked, "Why do you ask that?"

"I talked with an engineer, Smoky, and she... mentioned something. She asked me if you regretted it? At least that's what I'm assuming she was talking about." She stared at me, and I answered for her. "But there wasn't any other way, right? You didn't have a choice, and neither did the Top. There'd been all those reports of sickness—"

"There weren't any reports of sickness in Level N before they shut it off."

A cold feeling crept down my spine at her words. "You mean because it all happened so fast?"

She shook her head, turning away, shrugging. "I got so used to doing what I was told, and not asking questions— maybe I do regret that. But I had you and Xyla to take care of." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly seeming so much smaller than I remembered her. "Things are changing in the Beast. The two of you need to learn to watch out for each other. Someday I won't be here to do it for you." There was no laughter in her eyes, no kindness that her advice usually came with. She stared at me, waiting for me to put the pieces together that a real doctor, even a good engineer, would have already understood.

Yaneli was dying.

The force of that revelation took my legs out from under me. I sank to the cot beside her. Her hand threaded through mine, voice gentle. "Z, maybe it's time Xyla married... and you found a new way to make money."

"I could always fight in the Letter Trials."

Her voice hardened. "Don't even joke about that."

Any other day I would have apologized, but today, below the ice, a red hot ball of anger began to curl and grow. Of course Yaneli would want Xyla to get married, to move on with her life. I was the person, the Z, that held everyone back.

"You're too smart to live and die in the Belly, Z," Yaneli whispered. "Maybe too smart to live and die in the Beast."

"Everyone lives and dies in the Beast."

"I know. I spent my whole life teaching you and Xyla to make the best of our lot, to be grateful for what we have. But now I wonder..." She sighed and shook her head. "I wonder if the sky was really blue. I wonder if I did right by you."

"Of course you did," I said instantly, as if I could fight for her with words alone. "You taught me to be an engineer. When I lost my arm, you showed me how to rebuild it. You showed me that even if I couldn't be a real doctor, I could still find a way to heal people. I'll find a way to heal you, I promise." It was as impossible a promise as I'd made to the dead woman in the Chute, but I meant it with all my heart. She lifted my flesh hand and kissed the back of it.

"I have regrets, Z. But you were never one of them." There were tears in her eyes now. "I just want you to be happy."

"I can be happy here, Yaneli," I whispered, the words desperate. "Just like you."

For some reason those words didn't have the effect I thought they would. She stood and made her way to the door, no longer moving in that swift, silent way I'd emulated for so long... When had she become a shadow of herself? She paused with her hand on the doorknob, and turned back to me, the softness of her voice belied by her unflinching gaze. "You aren't like me Z. You aren't like anyone on the Beast. You aren't a real doctor. You're not a real engineer. You're a Z: the only person on this entire ship out of the Trials without a letter. That is your strength, and the only thing that will let you do more than just live and die in the Beast."

Then she was gone, the door left ajar, her footsteps receding down the metal hallway.

You're not a real engineer. You're a Z.

Those few words cut deeper than the thousand endless taunts I'd endured in the Belly. How could being a Z, literally the lowest of the low, ever be a strength? I was nothing, no one, and the necklace of a dead woman— and my whispered, foolish promise to her—didn't change that. Aliyah, if that even was her name, was dead. Whatever secrets she held died with her.

The room suddenly felt small and stale. I stepped out into the hallway, too late remembering the people Yaneli had promised I would help. The line of engineers receded and disappeared behind a turn, a single fluorescent light struggling for life above them. They stared at me with sunken eyes, hunched bodies, and wheezing breaths, hoping for a miracle I couldn't give them. And like a dark premonition suddenly rang true, I saw the truth.

I am a doctor of the dead.