His voice was low, gravelly and familiar. Miranda didn’t turn around. She didn’t move at all. She continued to stare at the arrangement of twisted metal and desiccated branches, like a gnarled hand reaching for the sky. It was, she knew, meant to represent an exploding star. It was crudely done. Stars, when they exploded, were far more delicate, far more vast and powerful, than the statue could suggest. Still, it was a monument to her kind, and for that reason, it moved her. Overhead, the two suns were beginning their descent toward the rust-red horizon. She gathered a handful of brown petals and tossed them into the air. They immediately began spinning, as if lifted by powerful winds. With a flick of her wrist, Miranda directed the winds and sent the leaves off the edge of the cliff. They separated and floated away in all directions. Just like we have. “You take a chance being here with me,”
