Thank you so much for preordering my debut novella! Your treat is this gorgeous digital poster and three exclusive deleted scene fragments that didn’t make it into the final story.

The poster was done by the incredible Eepz (@eepzies on Twitter/X). I’d originally planned to have a bit of blood splattered on the characters’ clothes, but in the end that felt too heavy-handed. The words floating above their heads do enough to suggest that Amara, Vinh, and Jesse are, to say the absolute least, morally complicated people.

As for the deleted scenes, I probably shouldn’t admit this, but Jesse is my favorite character in This World Is Not Yours. All three of the snippets are from his point of view. Even though these fragments take place years before the story starts, while he and Amara are still working on their PhDs, I recommend saving this page somewhere and reading these bits after you’ve finished the novella. They’ll make more sense in context.

All the best,

Kemi

CWs: internalized acephobia, brief slut-shaming, attempted violence

Snippet #1: Jesse is banned from TA’ing ever again, and for good reason.

Jesse draws in a deep breath, plants both hands on the smooth gray-speckled surface of the lab table, and leans forward. “Are you stupid?” 

The first-year across from him, basalt sample in one hand and hand lens in the other, flinches. “Er—” 

“The answer is no, because you’re not.” Jesse considers this for a moment—his words, chosen specifically for this particular student, and the concept of intelligence more generally. “No one is, not really. So then why are you giving me stupid answers? Ordinarily, I’d blame poor pedagogy, but Professor Silvaka is a great teacher, probably the best in this entire department, so that means you’re either stupid or extraordinarily lazy. And we’ve already established that the former isn’t the issue.” 

The first-year bursts into tears. Two days later, Jesse is informed that he is no longer allowed to run office hours solo (read: unsupervised), ever, even though that student went from failing every exam to acing them in the span of two Earth-standard weeks.

Snippet #2: Amara pays Jesse a visit at his grad school.

Jesse’s been counting down the seconds since they stepped into his apartment, so he knows exactly when it’s time to kick his latest guests out. Unfortunately, they’re slow to leave, taking the long way through the objectively short hallway, meandering through the living room, stalling by the door. Jesse is as polite as he can ever be, but at this rate, they’ll still be dawdling around pretending to study the photographs hanging on his walls by the time Amara shows up—

The door chimes.

Well, fuck.

Jesse straightens, marches over, and jams a finger into the button by the door. The painted panel whooshes open and he waves an impatient hand at his guests. They finally get the message and shuffle out, stepping around Amara in the process. She’s not moving, standing right there in the middle of the doorway in a patterned blouse that probably cost more than his monthly rent. Her arms are crossed and one elegant brow is perfectly arched.

“I, uh. I had a really good time. See you again?” one of the guests ventures, fidgeting as he looks up at Jesse over Amara’s left shoulder.

“Sure,” Jesse lies.

He isn’t even looking at the pair he invited over last night. He has other, better concerns now. He ushers Amara into his apartment with a far gentler gesture than he gave the guests. The door panel slides shut behind them. 

“So,” says Jesse, leaning against the kitchen counter as his friend kicks off her heels and makes herself at home, “how was your flight?”

“Oh, fine.” Amara is already rooting through his cabinets. She pops two multivitamins into her mouth and rips open a bag of chips. “I took one of the nice ships.”

She does not mean that she booked passage on a commercial transport. No, she summoned one of the shiny private spaceships her family purchased on stations scattered throughout the galaxy. The fully automated vessels sit pretty in dark hangars, waiting for the moment a member of the Obi dynastic line feels like going on a vacation.

“Which manufacturer?” Jesse asks.

Amara shrugs and offers him a chip, holding it up to his mouth between two glossy burgundy nails. “How should I know?”

Because she’s that wealthy. Money is of no consequence for the rich; money, titles, and luxury brand names are of no consequence to the filthy rich. Jesse has to laugh. They fall into easy conversation, as they always do. An hour, a week, a month, a year of separation. It wouldn’t matter. Eventually, they make it through the bag of chips and into his bedroom. Amara’s wine-red lips curl as her gaze falls upon the navy blue covers on his bed. 

“I changed the sheets already,” Jesse tells her. 

“Wow, you didn’t even wait until they were gone?” Amara strides in and straight toward the closet like she owns the place.  

He makes himself grin as he flops onto the mattress. “I’m just giving the people what they want.” 

He can almost hear her rolling her eyes as she laughs. A hand whips out from behind the closet door and a rolled-up towel is hurtling toward him. He snatches it out of the air right before impact. Amara steps out and leans her hip against the wall, smirking. 

“And a narcissist, I ever tell you that?”

“Oh, you could stand to say it more,” he drawls. 

Amara leans over him and snatches the towel from his hands. With a flick of her wrists, she unrolls it and sets it over the (clean!) sheets. 

“Oh, wow—” 

“Calm down. I just like how your towels feel,” Amara says. She throws herself down on the bed beside him. “So.” 

“So?” 

She flips onto her side, her eyes sparkling like faceted onyx. “I met someone new.” 

Jesse briefly considers acting surprised. He knew the last gold-digger wasn’t going to last a week from the moment he laid eyes on her. “Oh. Who?” 

“Her name’s Vinh. Which is, like, traditionally a masculine name, but her uncle really liked the sound of it and convinced her parents.” She says it all with a note of wonder; she’s from a culture that only ever bothers to care about gender when it’s sufficiently profitable. “I like it too. Vinh.”

“Huh,” says Jesse. In two weeks—maybe four, if Vinh is snarky and smart and at least two meters tall—there will be a new name to forget.

“What do you mean, huh? She’s amazing. She’s funny and sweet and I want her to crush me with her massive biceps.” Amara wriggles around a bit before she settles on her back. She stares up at the slanted ceiling and sighs. “You know, you don’t have to sleep with people just because they throw themselves at you.” 

He shrugs. They don’t ever talk about this. He likes that they don’t ever talk about this. “I don’t mind it.” 

“But you don’t really like it, either. Unless things have changed?” 

He shrugs again. “I just like the physical contact, okay?”

“But—” 

“Can we stop talking about it?” 

“Sure, kitten.” Amara abandons the sanctity of her stolen towel, pushes up the arm he has flung over his chest, and sets her head atop his heart. “That better?” 

The answer is yes, but Jesse huffs instead. “I suppose.” 

Amara snorts. “There are people who’d be perfectly compatible, you know. You don’t have to bonk your way through every department here just to get oxytocin.” 

“One, don’t ever use the word ‘bonk’ like that ever again. And two, sure, but finding those few kindred spirits would require actually talking to a bunch of people, and I despise people.” 

Amara starts drumming her fingers on his chest. “We’re talking right now.” 

“Well, I like you.” Obviously.

“Okay, but before you knew me, when we first met at that conference on the Garda Orbiter. You talked then.”

“Only because your parents paid me to.” The tap-tap-tap of her fingers on his ribcage slows for two full seconds before she gasps. “Screw you,” she snaps.

“Wait, you actually thought—” 

“They’ve pulled shit like that before. So, Jesse Séverin Brel, why did you talk to me during the conference?” 

“I read the full program, the week before, to schedule everything I wanted to see—” 

“Ugh, you incorrigible nerd,” Amara says, like she doesn’t do the exact same shit. Like she isn’t also three years into her PhD. 

“Anyway, I saw your abstract and it was the only thing that interested me. Everything else being presented was boring, or had been done before, or the person doing the research was an asshole. I went to your talk, it was amazing, and I had so many questions, but you’re practically a celebrity and you got swarmed—” 

“Only because of my parents.” 

“Yeah, well, your figures could’ve used some work, so probably it was just your family and not your research.” He doesn’t move his arm quite fast enough to avoid her pinch. “Ow! Anyway, I wasn’t able to talk to you then.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” 

“You should be. So after three days of not talking to you or anyone else, I was bored out of my mind. I was just going to go home after my poster session. So I went up to the observation deck to enjoy the view before I tried changing my ticket home. And then I saw you.” 

“I saw you first, actually.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

Amara smacks him lightly. “I did! If you laugh I’ll eviscerate you, but I read the paper you published when you were a baby undergrad.” 

“Liar.” 

“No! Your introductions all really buried the lede—that’s why you didn’t get it in a top journal, by the way—but the discussion was gorgeous. You’ve always written gorgeous discussions. I saw you go up the lift and I followed you. But I didn’t know how to approach you. I was so relieved when you came to me.” 

“Are you saying you had an academic crush on me, Amara?” 

She props herself up on his chest, digging her elbows into his stomach. Her eyes are narrowed into slits. Jesse presses his lips together and tries to look serious. “Let that giggle out, Brel. I dare you.” 

“I would never laugh at you. I take you very seriously,” says Jesse. 

She rolls her eyes and tucks her head back under his chin. 

It occurs to him then that Amara has never, not once, defended any of her crushes, hookups, girlfriends, etc. before. He’s said some shit he’s not proud of about those women, a number of times he’s not proud of, and she laughed along each time. But she went stiff when he rolled his eyes and dismissed her new toy.

“So,” says Jesse. 

“So?” Amara echoes. 

“This Vinh.”

“Hopefully my Vinh, soon.” Amara smiles over his collarbone.

Jesse feels her heartbeat against his stomach. It’s going way too fast for someone who’s never been able to maintain interest in another woman for longer than a month. This Vinh is not a passing distraction from Amara’s infuriating family. This Vinh is not a warm body to entertain Amara for a few nights. He’s never shared his best friend before. 

He’s not about to start.

He asks, “When can I meet her?”

Snippet #3: As I imagined this bit, Jesse treats Vinh terribly when they first meet in person. After Amara leaves them alone for a minute, he apologizes and promises to make it up to Vinh by showing her the best view on the planet. One extremely awkward hike to the top of a cliff later, he makes his move.

Vinh slides down the short sandstone slope leading up to the edge and keeps going. There’s such purpose in her stride that for one exhilarating moment, Jesse wonders if she’s just going to march right off. It’d certainly make his life easier. But no, she walks right up the ledge and plops down. This is basically just as good. He’ll bash her head in and kick her over. Then he’ll wait until she stops twitching before calling for help. As the sun crawls above the horizon, he looks around and spots a sharp, loose fragment. He wraps his fingers around it as he slips down after Vinh.

“It’s harder than you think.”

Jesse freezes, only a meter behind her. “What?”

“To smash in a skull,” Vinh says coolly. “It’s harder than you think. It’s been a while since you killed someone, huh? You were right, this is a great view.”

Jesse drops the rock, heart slamming against his ribs. Vinh turns her head to the side, one eyebrow raised, but does not move otherwise. That she does not consider him a threat is made abundantly clear. Amara did say she worked in security. Ordinarily, underestimating him would be her downfall, but she’s right; he’s out of practice.

“How do you know that I’ve killed before?” Jesse rasps.

“It’s all in the eyes,” Vinh replies, as if commenting on the weather. “It’s a certain look.” 

Jesse scrambles for his usual twin shields of snark and sarcasm. “Familiar with it, are you?” 

“Oh, sure. I see it every time I look in the mirror.” 

Jesse lets out a bark of laughter. “I can see why Amara’s thinks she’s going to fall in love with you.” 

Vinh turns back to the view and tilts her head. After a long moment, she says, “I’m not trying to replace you, Jesse. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” 

“Is that so?” he snaps.

“I’m never going to understand her the way you do. I’m going to have to be okay with that, even though I know I’m going to love her one day, too. I’m certainly not going to murder you over it.” 

Jesse groans and goes to sit beside Vinh, letting his legs dangle over the sudden drop below. What else can he do? He lost, he’s never going to get another chance like this, and he never much liked murder anyway, however justified. 

“I didn’t actually want to kill you.” He leans back, taking in the sunrise. Molten gold rays pierce swirling amethyst wisps of cloud. The sedimentary rock forming the sprawling canyon glows like burnished copper. “I just… felt that there was no other choice.”

“Hm. Between a rock and a hard place?” Vinh chuckles, and Jesse stares at her. “It’s funny, because you’re a geologist.” 

He squints at her. “Ugh, you’re horrible.” 

“And you’re not very gneiss, mister. You did try to kill me, after all. But it’s okay, we all have faults.”

 “Keep it up,” Jesse says. He didn’t actually try that time. “I’ll pick up the rock.” 

“Please do. You should add it to your collection,” Vinh replies easily. “Amara told me all about it.” 

Jesse reaches back and snatches up the fragment. It’s an entirely unremarkable chunk of rock, regular old sandstone tinted red by iron oxide. There aren’t any fossils in it, not even bad ones. “Okay. Sure, why not. To commemorate the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” 

“Hm, I don’t know if I want to be friends with you,” says Vinh, but she’s grinning. 

Jesse returns her smile, the first genuine one he’s given her. “I don’t think you have a choice. It’s good to meet you, Vinh.” 

And he extends his hand to shake.

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