Page 9

AUTUMN

E verything is too quiet. The kind of quiet that hums louder than sound.

The fire crackles low, reduced to glowing embers and soft pops as the last kindling burns away. Flames flicker light across broken walls and exposed beams. Smoke curls toward the half-collapsed roof and disappears into the star-freckled night sky.

Rotters are far enough away now that I can almost pretend the world’s still asleep instead of rotting, but my brain refuses to play along. My thoughts won’t shut up, spinning like knives on a tabletop, each one threatening to cut deeper.

I sit with my back against a splintered beam near the rear corner of our shelter with my knees pulled tight to my chest and one arm wrapped around them. My injured wrist rests in my lap, throbbing in slow, insistent pulses that echo up to my elbow.

My head tilts back and I stare up at the hole-punched sky through what’s left of the ceiling.

Charred beams form jagged crosses against the stars.

I should sleep. Hell, I need to sleep. But every time I close my eyes, I see her face and hear her voice.

Summer, my other half, being dragged through the dirt, screaming for help I failed to give.

Sometimes I see nothing at all. No screaming, only silence. Sometimes I see her already gone, and that’s the worst image of all.

I press my good hand to the center of my chest, right over my sternum, like pressure alone can keep me from falling apart. My breath stutters out.

This was supposed to be simple. Find her. Get her back. Move on.

I didn’t plan for…this.

I glance toward the fire where one of the three newest complications in my life leans against the exposed frame of our shelter.

Jace sits with his hand on his pistol attached to his side, and his chin tucked to his chest. His broad shoulders rise and fall in a slow rhythm, but I know he’s not asleep.

He seems to sleep about as much as I do, so probably never.

He listens even when his eyes are closed, always poised to act like his body forgot how to rest.

The thin scar slicing through his left eyebrow is shadowed in firelight.

Everything about him looks carved from something tougher than flesh, but I’ve seen the cracks underneath and how carefully he hides them.

There’s something magnetic about his intensity.

The way he carries himself like he could take on the world single-handedly. I have no doubt he would win if he did.

Mars lies closer to the fire, his face flushed with fever.

Sweat beads along his temple. His shirt is half-twisted, exposing one shoulder and a chest that rises with shallow breaths.

One arm curls over his stomach, his fingers twitching like he’s fighting something in his dreams. He muttered something about cocktails earlier before slipping under again.

Even unconscious and vulnerable, there’s something undeniably attractive about him.

The strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls across his forehead.

The way his soft lips pressed against mine.

Jace has checked Mars’s pulse and examined his eyes multiple times, each time sighing with relief and announcing he still only has a mild concussion.

He’s mentioned Mars has had several before, which didn’t make me feel any better, but I trust Jace’s assessment.

Not that I have much other choice, but I like his confidence.

Caspian huddles in the corner opposite mine, with his knees pulled tight to his chest and his hoodie drawn low over his face.

He hasn’t said a word in hours. He’s barely moved since we first settled in.

Jace told me to leave him be, that he needed time to sort through his own ghosts.

Even broken and haunted, there’s something ethereally beautiful about Caspian.

Those pale, angular features and striking ice-blue eyes that seem to see too much.

I want to go over to him and make sure he’s okay, but if what Jace says is true, it would mean risking whatever progress he’s already made.

I let out a slow exhale and rake my fingers through my hair. It’s tangled, gritty, and falling in limp waves over my shoulders. Everything about me feels used up. My limbs ache. My thoughts drag like they’ve been soaked in mud. Even hope feels tired.

What I hate most is how safe this feels.

Even in ruins, with Mars sick, Jace haunted, and Caspian hanging on by a thread, they’re all still here.

I hate how much that matters. I told Jace to take them home, to leave me and save themselves the moment Mars is safe to transport.

None of them did. Now I’m stuck with three dangerous men I trust more than I should, and that’s the dangerous part.

Three men who saved me from a sniper and ran into a rot zone after me, a stranger, yet refuse to leave me behind as though somehow I mattered to them. Since I won’t leave without Summer, I guess we’re all bound together for the long haul .

I reach for my water bottle and grip it with my good hand while trying to twist off the cap. Pain shoots up my arm when my wrist screams in protest. I grit my teeth and try again. The bottle jerks in my grip and waterdrops spill into the dirt. “Dammit.”

“Here, I’ve got it.” The voice is soft, quiet, and close. I look up.

Caspian stands a few feet away where firelight catches the edge of his jaw and the pale angle of one cheekbone.

Even with his hood still drawn low, I can see how pale he is.

He’s drawn tight around the eyes with his lips pressed in a flat line.

He walks over and kneels beside me without meeting my gaze.

He’s graceful, even in his obvious pain.

He takes the bottle, unscrews the cap with a quick twist, and hands it back without a word.

“Thanks,” I say, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. I take a drink of the cool water.

He shrugs and settles down beside me, close enough that our shoulders brush. The contact sends an unexpected flutter through my chest, something the proximity of these guys has awakened. His presence is soothing in a way I don’t expect. It’s nice.

“I thought you were asleep,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Sometimes it’s worse when I sleep.”

The way he says it, that flatness like truth doesn’t need explanation, settles like lead in my chest. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Yeah. I don’t enjoy talking about my issues, either.”

He shifts, and the edge of his hoodie falls back enough to reveal one pale blue eye and a messy lock of platinum hair. When he glances at me, there’s something vulnerable in that gaze that makes my heart skip. “You should probably stay away from me. ”

The words take a moment for me to process. I blink back my surprise. “Oh. Okay…I didn’t mean to bother you.”

I start to shift away, but before I can move far, his fingers wrap around my arm in a gentle grasp just above the elbow.

The contact is light but electric, enough to stop me in my tracks.

The motion causes his hoodie to slip farther down, revealing how haunted his expression is, and how heartbreakingly beautiful he looks in the firelight.

“Wait. That’s not—” he exhales. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, I pointed a gun at your head.”

“The magazine was empty.”

“Even so.” His voice turns hollow. “If it wasn’t empty…if Jace hadn’t stepped in…”

“If the virus never broke out, if I’d been born with four eyes,” I finish. “There are a lot of what-ifs and we can play this game all night.”

His eyes close for a moment before opening again, somehow looking even more haunted than before. “Still…” he says.

“You were going through something, Caspian. We all are. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, and have pasts and shit we still have to work through.

The fact that you care about it now? That’s what matters.

That’s what makes you different from those who do worse and no longer have a conscience.

We all do stupid shit sometimes. It’s how we react afterward that shows our true character, and don’t you ever let anyone convince you otherwise.

” I rest my hand over his that’s still gripping my arm, noting how his fingers are long and elegant even when trembling. “I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

He flinches like my words hurt more than they should. “You’re unbelievable. Most people wouldn’t want me around.”

I offer him a small, tired smile. “Well,” I say, “lucky for you, I’m not most people. ”

He chuckles. “I’m beginning to see that.”

Then, I lower my voice and look him right in his pale blue eyes. “And for what it’s worth, Caspian, I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t speak, but his hand drops from my arm with obvious reluctance.

When his shoulder brushes mine again as he settles back into place, the contact feels intentional, like he’s seeking comfort he’s afraid to ask for.

I nudge him back with a playful bump, and his lips twitch before curving into the faintest half-smile.

It’s faint, but it’s real and it transforms his entire face.

And damn, it’s a beautiful smile.