Shutdown (Glitch)

wished I had drawing supplies. I wanted to capture on paper what his hands looked like in motion. So careful in their every movement, artful almost.
    After a while, he noticed me staring.
    “Are you tired?” I asked. “Do you want to sleep?”
    He shook his head. “I’m rested enough.” He squinted his eyes, as if scrutinizing me. “But you look really tired.”
    I put a hand up to rub my aching temple. “I used up most of the oxy tank last night and got a few hours of sleep.”
    “It doesn’t look like it did much good.” A deep worried crease settled in his forehead. “I’ll stay up with you tonight to make sure you don’t accidentally fall asleep.”
    His eyes were locked on mine. I couldn’t read what I saw there. He looked at me like … like … I swallowed and forced myself to look away. No. He’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t feel that way about me. Not anymore.
    “Why don’t I read something?” I turned away abruptly and reached for the small rectangular box of tech chips from his pack. A couple of days ago after fiddling around with all the different chips, several of which I couldn’t figure out the function of, I’d discovered that one was loaded with texts of all kinds: history, scientific treatises, even fiction. There were so many archived on it, I’d had a hard time knowing where to start. If Ginni had been with me, she would have pointed me toward some melodramatic romance, but on my own, I had no clue. Thinking about Ginni had brought on another wave of worry. I could only hope she hadn’t been able to make it in the pods and was safe somewhere in the Chancellor’s holding cells. In the end, I’d settled on rereading a book we’d read in Humanities last year.
    “Sure, if it’ll help keep you awake,” Adrien said.
    We didn’t say much for the next few hours. He moved to the blanket across from mine, separated by the small pod light in between us. Every so often, I’d glance up and find him staring at me. His eyes were almost iridescent as they reflected the light, and his expression was so … intense. Each time I dropped my eyes quickly again. He was probably just interested in what I was reading. I’d chosen a philosophy text because I thought he might like it, but it was pretty incomprehensible to me.
    Sometime in the middle of the night, the pod light flickered and beeped. “Cracking hell,” I swore. It was about to lose its charge. The light from my arm panel would be tiresome to read from without it. “I forgot to put it in the sun to charge today.”
    I didn’t tell him why. That I was so sick with worry about something happening to him, the rest of the world had seemed to drop away.
    He frowned. “It’ll be harder for you to stay awake in the dark. Are you sure you don’t want to get in the biosuit? Then at least you could get a thirty-minute nap, and I’ll wake you up when it runs out.”
    I rubbed a hand over my face. I was exhausted, there was no denying it. Still, the precious oxygen left in that tank felt like a symbol of hope. As long as I didn’t use it, there was still a chance …
    The pod light went out and the cave was enveloped in darkness so thick, I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. If I touched my arm panel, it would light up for a minute, but what was the point?
    The light going out suddenly sapped my optimism. I tried to fight back against the heavy cloud of dread that threatened to douse me. Tomorrow we’d go find more oxygen, I tried to reassure myself. We’d find a way.
    Or … was this how the second vision happened? What if Adrien saw us leave the cave because we had no other choice? Because if I didn’t find more oxy tanks, I’d die. The security in the city Adrien had just raided would be doubly tight. I’d need to fly us somewhere far away, but what if … I blinked hard several times as a thought I’d been trying to avoid finally settled in.
    Adrien’s visions used to always come true.
    Were we just lying to ourselves by trying to pretend they were different now? The storm had driven us here, and now my need for another oxy tank would somehow drive us into a city, bringing about exactly what he’d seen.
    I couldn’t help the tears that leaked down my cheeks. All year, I’d been so good at keeping it together, I’d cried maybe twice. But sleep deprivation turned me into a perpetually dripping faucet. All my emotions were so close to the surface.
    “Is there anything I can do to