Page 25

JACE

S he’s too quiet.

I mean, she’s always a little quiet. Thoughtful and sharp when she needs to be, and silent when she doesn’t, but this is something else. This is hollow.

Mars crouches in front of her, dabbing at the raw skin on her knees. She scraped them up pretty bad while tearing her way through the docks. There’s an even deeper cut on her shin above the bootline. It probably needs stitches, but we need to find the supplies for that first.

Luna hasn’t left her side since the bunker. The German Shepherd who’d run away from human touch, now lies pressed against Autumn’s leg with her dark eyes alert and watchful. Now and then, the dog shifts even closer, as if sensing Autumn’s need for comfort.

Mars doesn’t merely patch her up. Not like I would have. He turns it into a damn production.

He gives her medical care with a flourish. He tells some dumb story while he tends to her wounds. Something about a rotter slipping in a puddle and face-planting in the mud. He even adds sound effects. It’s ridiculous. He’s never had this sense of humor before meeting her .

Now he’s telling her about the time he saw a bird’s nest inside the visible ribcage of a rotter. How does he come up with this shit?

Autumn doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t smile, either. She keeps staring ahead like she’s looking right through him.

Caspian sits by the fire, stacking the wood he’s been collecting into piles.

He looks odd without the black hoodie he’s worn every day since I met him six months ago while ambushed by dregs.

He’d cowered to their demands and gave them all his food and supplies to get them to go away, and I’d taken him under my wing after that.

He used to jump at his own shadow, but something’s been changing in him.

I don’t know if he realizes it, but I see it.

Now he’s tending to the fire in silence, keeping Autumn safe in another way I’ll never be able to.

I should be over there. I should be with her, making sure she’s okay. Patching up her fresh wounds like I’ve been taking care of her wrist.

Then I remember I’ve never been able to protect anyone I’ve ever cared about. So instead, I’m by the car, elbows deep in an engine that doesn’t need fixing.

We already know what’s wrong with the car. We’ve known for two days, but I can’t sit still. Can’t look at her sitting there with her shoulders curled forward and her whole body dimmed like someone turned her brightness down from the inside.

I slam my palm against the hood and move to the trunk of the car. Maybe there’s something in here that can distract me.

Mars glances over at the noise. There’s something in his eyes I don’t want to read. Something that looks too much like the guilt I already carry. I reach up and touch the scar running through my brow. Another reminder.

I look away and turn back to the trunk. Back to the large piece of metal filled with bolts and rust and wires I keep pretending to understand. My fingers curl around the wrench I grab, then I drop it.

Shit.

My hand clenches around the edge of the trunk, and something in my chest snaps. The sound I make isn’t even human. I grab the crowbar and swing.

The back window of the car shatters with a sharp, glittering scream. Glass rains down onto the dirt around my boots.

I swing again. Driver’s side mirror. Gone.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Plastic, metal, and glass shower my body and the dirt. I don’t even feel a thing.

I don’t stop until I’m panting. Until my grip on the crowbar aches. Until the edges of the world go sharp and red. My pulse roars like thunder in my ears, and I raise the crowbar one more time. Then…I see her.

She’s there, right in front of me.

Autumn.

Fire demon.

Her eyes are wide as they take in the scene.

She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t move, either.

She plants herself between me and the car.

If she thinks I’d go straight through her to get it, then she’s wrong, and she knows it.

Luna flanks her, ready to sink her teeth into me if I even dare try.

My arm drops. The crowbar falls to the dirt with a heavy thud. Autumn’s hands rise and she presses her palms flat to my chest, right over my pounding heart that’s wearing a hole in my chest. I can feel the warmth of her skin radiating through my shirt, and it grounds me more than it should.

“Jace?” Her voice comes out soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the storm inside of me. “Are you okay? Because we’ll need to create a rotating breakdown schedule if you’re not. We can’t survive if both of us lose it.”

I glance down at her wrist. The bandage hangs loose from her arm. She must’ve been in the middle of letting Mars rewrap it when I caught her attention instead. She shouldn’t have stopped for me.

My gaze drifts over her, and I really look at her for the first time today.

Her tank top has gotten even shorter from all the fabric she’s torn off for bandages and a makeshift torch. If she keeps this up, she won’t have a shirt left at all.

The thought sends an unexpected heat through me that’s immediately followed by concern about her being protected from the elements.

“Does it still bother you?”

She blinks in surprise. “What?”

“Your wrist. Is it still hurting?”

She hesitates, and that tells me all I need to know. “No…not really. It’s healing.”

That’s not good enough for me. “Let me check.”

I take her wrist and undo the wrap the rest of the way.

The bruising is yellowing now, fading but still tender.

Her skin is impossibly soft under my calloused fingers.

Softer than anything has a right to be in this harsh world.

I rest her hand in mine, marveling at how small and delicate it feels despite everything she’s capable of.

She still watches me like I’ve grown two heads. “Jace, you don’t have to.”

“I do,” I whisper. Because it’s the only thing I can do.

I can’t find her sister, can’t stop her from hurting, and I can’t even fix the damn car that could speed up the search and rescue.

But I can do this. Patch up the wounds of others while my own bleed freely.

I can take care of her wrist, so that’s what I’m going to do.

She remains still while I rewrap her wrist. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, despite the chill in the air.

I wonder if she’s warm enough in that tank top that barely covers her.

I suppose I’m next in line to give her a piece of my clothing.

She probably wouldn’t want anything of mine, though.

But hell, I’m too much of an asshole to show I care.

Can’t sully that reputation I’ve worked so hard to maintain.

I let my thumbs trace over her knuckles while I secure the bandage, savoring the contact more than I should.

Her hands are smaller than mine, feminine and graceful, but I’ve seen what they’re capable of.

Throwing molotovs, fighting rotters, and rigging explosions whenever she damn well pleases.

She can cause destruction from nothing. Her hands should be torn up by now.

“Thank you,” she says.

I don’t answer. When I finish the wrap, I let my hands linger on hers for a second too long, reluctant to break the connection.

Then, so soft it nearly blends into the wind, she says, “I don’t care if you break the whole damn car. Just don’t break yourself.”

The words hit me like a sucker punch to the ribs. I almost laugh, then I almost look away to avoid the emotion building in my chest, but I smile instead. Because of course it’s her. Of course, she’d be the one to say something like that, at the worst possible moment, and somehow the best.

She sees the smile, and for the first time since her world shattered, she smiles back.

I’m so fucked. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.