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When I look at him in question, he just smiles and wiggles his fingers at me. Is this how people greet each other now? The new form of a high five or fist bump? I lift my hand and wiggle my fingertips against his, then glance up at him. He twists his lips, as if trying not to laugh, then he turns his hand and grasps mine, giving it a little squeeze.

I stare at our joint hands dangling between us and when I finally clue in to the fact that he’s just trying to hold my hand, my cheeks heat in embarrassment at how long that took me to figure out.

“Oh,” I say stupidly. He thankfully says nothing about my stupidity and gives me a little tug towards the path. We walk in silence for a few minutes as I try to calm my rapidly beating heart.

Why does Kingsley want to hold my hand? And why does it make my stomach feel funny? The even bigger question is, why am I letting him? Am I really so starved for touch and attention that I’ll take any scraps he’ll give me? EvenI’mnot dumb enough to answer that question.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Hmm?” I look at him and see he’s pointing at my arm. I lift it up and see the red marks I made when I was trying to scrape the mud off. They are looking better today. “Oh, I scratched myself,” I answer vaguely, hoping he won’t ask a follow-up question.

Lucky, as we approach the path that leads to the huts he changes the subject. “You left your bag in the hut, did you want to get it first?”

“Um, sure,” I say, suddenly realizing how vulnerable I am without Steve or McStabby at my side.

As we walk into camp, Bower jumps up with wide eyes from where he’s sitting by the firepit. “Tink! Thank god you’re okay!” He takes a fewquick steps, closing the distance between us, then quickly lifts his arms to attack me.

An embarrassing scream leaves me when I drop to all fours, my hand slipping from Kingsley’s as I let Bower’s arms swing through the space I was just standing in. I turn to look up at him as a wave of emotions roll through me. I’m confused by his attack, scared he wants to hurt me, and… hurt that he tried to.

“Shit, Tink. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Bower says regretfully as he takes a step backwards.

I push up to my knees as Kingsley squats down beside me. “Zee, Sweetheart. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, he wanted to hug you.”

My eyebrows slowly rise as I turn to look at Bower as he rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. He doesn’tlooklike he wants to hurt me. He looks upset.

“A hug?” I ask quietly.

“Uh, yeah. Last night you… You fainted. I was worried about you, we all were. When we woke up and you were missing, I was worried you had passed out somewhere again.”

“You… You were worried about me?” I clarify, still feeling confused.

“Of course.”

I swallow the lump in my throat as I frown. I turn back to Kingsley and he gives me a sad smile. “We all were.”

“But you don’t even know me.”

“Why did you save me from the boar?” he asks without skipping a beat.

“I—” His question surprises me. We both stand up as I answer him. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s the same thing. We don't want you getting hurt.”

“It’s different,” I tell him, wanting him to understand.

“How?”

“I’ve been here a long time, I know how to survive on my own.”

“It doesn’t mean you have to. Not anymore,” Kingsley says, staring at me with an intensity I don’t understand.

“Now you’ve got us, Tink!” Bower says with a smile. “And if you don’t want any hugs, I guess I can try to hold back… but I’ll warn you, I’m a hugger, it’s gonna be hard.”

The thought of him never hugging me makes me feel a loss I don't expect. I haven’t been hugged in fifteen years, and suddenly, I want that more than anything. But I have a feeling, as soon as someone does, I’m gonna lose the calm control I’ve been maintaining all this time. And that control is the only thing keeping me alive.

“I’ll grab your bag,” Kingsley says, probably realizing I’m not going to address the whole hug thing.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Bower asks, rocking back on his heels as he shoves his hands in his pockets.