Losers, Peter called their troupe, but Jane isn’t one. She finds things, constantly, everywhere, in the stars and in small machines she puts her eye to, in the stories Gamora tells and in Gamora’s eyes as she tells them. She finds secrets in Gamora’s lips and between Gamora’s legs, her fascination boundless, her eyes endlessly bright.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” she tells Gamora.
“You never will again,” Gamora says, sharp with sudden memory.
But she is tired of loss. In Jane’s soft hair, at the join of her jaw and her neck, Gamora finds something, too. Something new.