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Fewer people to miss us.

“There were four of us left,” I continue, “and we thought maybe—”

“Why are you telling me this?” Pestilence interrupts.

I pause. “Don’t you want to know why I shot you?” I ask.

“I already know why you shot me, human.” The horseman’s voice is sharp. “You wanted to stop me from spreading plague. All these justifications you’re spewing aren’t for my benefit, they’re for yours.”

That shuts me up.

I was trying to save the world. I’m not evil like you think I am, I want to say. But somehow, his words burn those explanations away like acid.

The room is quiet for a long moment.

“You’re right,” I finally say, flipping over to face him. “They are.”

My reasons make no difference to him; they don’t change the fact that I shot and burned him. That I didn’t listen when he begged me to stop.

The horseman has his forearms resting on his bent knees, his penetrating gaze on me. “What do you hope to gain by agreeing with me?” he asks.

“You’re the one everyone calls Pestilence the Conqueror,” I say. “Can’t you even tell when you’ve won an argument?”

Pestilence frowns.

I pull at that loose string again. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“Killing you—or attempting to, anyway.” Twice, technically, since Pestilence probably only lived through the gunshot wound because he was undying.

He lets out a hollow laugh. “Lies. You’re only telling me this now because you’re my prisoner and you fear what I mean to do with you.”

It’s true that I’m afraid of whatever terrifying punishments Pestilence wants to exact on me, but—

“No,” I say. “I don’tregrettrying to kill you. I absolutely hated what I did to you, and I’ll never be the same because of it, but I don’t regret my choices when I made them. Still, I am sorry.”

The horseman is silent for a long time as he scrutinizes me.

“Go to sleep,” he eventually says.

And I do.

Chapter 7

I wake inthe middle of the night, ripped from sleep by the sound of crying.

I blink, looking around.

Thought the neighbors had all evacuated …

I grope for my bedside oil lamp before I realize thereisno bedside oil lamp.

Not my room. Not my apartment.

Then the last few days wash over me like a cold shower.

Drawing matches, shooting Pestilence, the brutal runs I’d been forced to endure until I could no longer. As the memories flood in, so do all my lingering pains.