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“You came back forhim.” His finger falls away, and his legs go rigid under my head. I can almost feel the surge of angry blood coursing through him.

“And to stop the Centress,” I add.

“I thought you’d go back to Caldera after seeing…”

“The towers?” My heartstrings twine and tangle, the image of the tattoo all caught up in them, reminding me that he’s the one who got Kelter and me into all this. He let his people hurt me. I shouldn’t care. Not when I’ve done much worse, when I’ve taken a life, maybe more, sent them over the falls with whatever wretched magic seeks out my hands.

But I do care. “Hating you won’t keep me from Kelter.”

I try to roll off his lap, but he crushes my head against his stomach, his fingers buried in my hair and ammo-filled suspenders mashed into my cheek—a hug. I close my burning eyes, too dried up for tears, wishing I could go back to the escape I found in him. But no. He can lock me behind bars, push my body and mind, test my boundaries. But pushing my heart past its limits? Looking so deep that he managed to trick me into the slightest flicker of trust—just to demolish it? That’s brutal.

“Let me go.”

He looks down at my face smushed up against him, his expression unreadable, every emotion packed away tight behind the black and brown and white of his eternal eyes. I take in the contours of his face—the cut of his jaw and the scar that slices through it, the high domes of his cheeks, the angled fret of his brows—then try to loathe them as fiercely as his betrayal blisters my heart.

He fastens an arm around my shoulders, pulling me so close that I fold, pain drilling into my side from the broken rib he doesn’t know about. One finger strokes my nose, bridge to tip. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m never letting you go?”

A wave of nausea pushes me under, shrouding the pain in black bliss.

He hasn’t moved.

My head is still in his lap, his hand resting on my face. His dark aura swirls around me, the scent of earthy depths. It’s been hours, based on the daylight struggling to push through the heavy layer of clouds. Freshness thrums through me—like I’ve been brought back from the dead or just had a vision. I sit up and scoot away, the pain in my rib somehow only a dull throb.

Trees surround us, the scent of pine overwhelming me. The green of the foliage is saturated, the brown of the bark too rich. I stare at Eli, every line and angle of his face jumping out at me, his eyes dancing with life, every golden speck glaringly obvious. He has a pack at his side, similar to the canvas backpacks in Caldera, but seamless and made from a thick brown fabric that looks like dried leaves. A drawstring cinches the pack shut, its ties like roots.

“How did you find me?” I throw the question out between us, accusing, not inquiring. My matted hair springs back up when I smooth it. My clothes are crunchy and crusted, my arms coated in dirt and dried blood from the scratch of branches. The last few days still hang over me, but my feelings are a mirage, out ofreach and impossible to chase. Even my anger with Eli is muted compared to the thoughts of him roiling in my mind.

Eli pockets his lucky stone, pulls his knees up in front of him and wraps his arms around them. “You went the wrong way. We’re in the far north now. You must have walked in the wrong direction for days. I could feel—” He pauses, his laced fingers writhing as he devises an obvious lie. “Luck. I left as soon as Milo uncuffed me, but I had to pack supplies first.” One brow shoots up. “We still need to have a little chat about that.”

“About what?” I pick at a fresh scab on my arm, the brown-red color vibrant.

“You running away. Again.”

I look up—straight into those striking eyes. “You mean when I realized you’ve been lying to me about my abduction this whole time, then pretended I wanted your cock in my mouth so I could cuff you and leave you in the woods?”

Utterly unperturbed, not a muscle twitching, he says, “I lie about everything.”

“That’syour defense?”

“I don’t need one.” He pulls a bar from his pack. “Eat before the elixir wears off and you’re too miserable to chew.”

“You gave me the elixir?”A Hollow dosage won’t work…

“Not the Hollow elixir. That’s already in the water. It’s Milo’s invention, his morning-after elixir.”

“What kind of activities need a morning-after elixir?”

“Eat.” He wags the bar at me. “It only lasts so long, and you’ve slept through most of it.”

So that’s why I feel so…fresh, as though I’ve downed ten cups of coffee and managed to escape without jitters. I snatch up the bar.

“Just a couple bites, or it’ll hurt. You haven’t eaten in days.”

“And you care about that?”About me?

I stop stuffing my face, already in pain from my wounded tongue, and pocket the rest of the bar, hating that he’s right. I swear he’s about to have a fucking seizure with the way he blinks at me, a hand pulling at his curls.

“Either you care or you don’t,” I add, staring at his arrested features, waiting, but neither response would set me at ease. And I can’t take it anymore. I swipe a canteen from beside his pack and run.