I was livid as I stalked down the stairs back into the living area. My hands were shaking with unspent rage, and I could feel red hot tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

My foot barely touched the carpet before I was running. Down stairs and through the levels, until I reached the common area. Only there could I let out my cry of frustration.

I kicked a sofa, and then snatched a throw pillow off it, screaming into it before I sent it hurtling across the room. I wanted to destroy something—to take my rage out on an inanimate piece of furniture—so that I could just get whatever it was inside of me out.

I felt like I was coming apart at the seams. I tried to sit, to calm my breathing, but it didn’t help. The sensation, the urge to fight, was crawling up from a pit in my belly and threatening to force its way out through my mouth.

I had expected… something different from Ms. Dale. At the very least, I had expected her to be honest. The way she had reacted to Viggo after he had called her a liar though… was there anyone in this world I could trust?

My heart told me I could trust Viggo, but even that was uncertain. Almost as uncertain as my feelings toward him, and his toward me.

My eyes darted around the common room. I needed something, anything, to vent my wrath on. My gaze came to rest on a punching bag off in one corner of the room. This corner was clearly designated for fitness, given the weights and machines scattered around. However, I only had eyes for that punching bag.

Without thinking about it, I sprung myself at it, my body tense as a coil ready to be released. I planted a kick against it so hard that it started to swing on the chain that supported it. I landed, and caught it, throwing my arms around it in a bear hug to pull it to a stop.

Once it had settled, I began to punch, kick, and elbow it with a vengeance. My hands were unprotected, but if there was any pain in my knuckles hitting the rough fabric, I didn’t notice.

I kept hitting it over and over and over again. There was something satisfying about each thudding strike against the bag. I could feel it resonating through my limbs as I struck it. Each hit was a visceral feeling of release, a promise of freedom, a wealth of control that I had been sorely lacking.

I knew why I was upset—I didn’t need to psychoanalyze myself. I was doomed. A dead girl who didn’t have enough sense to lie down and accept it. I had fought and struggled and pushed and survived in The Green, only to have the people of this world find me guilty—just so they could have a face to vilify.

And those very same people had sent two out of the three most important people in my life to capture me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to hurt the world like it had hurt me. I had believed, foolishly, that if I just told the truth, I would be believed, but nobody cared about the story of a criminal.

Except for maybe Viggo. Maybe. A nauseating pit in my stomach opened, threatening to swallow me up. If there was just one person in the world who I wanted to believe me the most, it was Viggo. I just wished he would tell me that he did.

I wished for a lot of things. Wishing was pointless, and so were tears, anger, regret, and shame. I needed to move past that.

But I couldn’t catch a break either. I had hoped that Ms. Dale would have some knowledge about the mines, but she clearly didn’t. Not that I didn’t put it past her to lie to me, but then why would she lie about something so small?

I continued to hit, shifting my stance into a purely boxing one. I threw jab after jab at the bag, mixing in hooks and uppercuts when I felt the need to see the bag move from the force of my blows.

How was I going to accomplish anything? Where was my stupid old woman who was going to guide me on this merry old adventure? Why didn’t anything ever work like the stories did?

I stopped mid punch, my fist coming to rest on the bag. I took a deep breath, and felt the rage leaving me almost as suddenly as it had appeared. I looked down at my hands—the skin over the knuckles raw and torn, blood welling up from the bigger wounds.

I shook my head, and took a few steps back. There were small blood marks all over the bag, from where I had been punching. I flexed my hands and rotated my shoulders—all habits I had developed from when I was in defense class—and sat down heavily on a couch, pressing my head into my hands and sucking in a deep breath.

This wasn’t like the stories—I wasn’t some plucky heroine on a great adventure—I was Violet Bates. A simple nobody who had broken the law, murdered two girls, and then got sent on this mission that had gotten messed up beyond recognition.

I needed to own my part in everything, and realize that my decisions had consequences from here on out. I knew what I wanted—to be free from all this, and to have my brother returned to me. I had a bartering chip—the egg. And more than that—I had a place to hide—this facility.

The first step to moving forward was to finish clearing the facility. From there, I would interrogate Ms. Dale again, and find out if she was interested in making an exchange—my brother and safe passage for the egg.

I wondered how Viggo would react to my plan. I debated not telling him, but the first step to earning back his trust was to be honest in every way that I could. If he didn’t go for it… well, too bad. It wasn’t his decision to make.

I would have to find a time to tell him. After we finished clearing the facility.

Breathing in, I stood up and began stretching. The nap I had earlier was barely putting a dent in the exhaustion I was feeling. Not to mention, I was still covered in sweat and grime and whatever else had been building up on my skin and in my hair for the past few days.

My skin crawled with the thought of all the dirt on me. A shower would make everything right again.

I turned the hatch and headed upstairs, toward the living quarters.

I reached it in ten minutes—after taking an apple break in the greenhouse—and immediately began inspecting the rooms. I had found a few things that I was reasonably sure I could fit in, and I laid them out on the bed. I had chosen a different room than the one I had slept in—if only because the fact that I had slept dirty in the bed was gross—and stepped in the shower.

It was amazing how a simple thing like a shower went unappreciated. I had missed showers. The water was instantly hot as I turned the dial over, and without a second thought, I stepped under the spray of water, letting the scalding hot water pepper my skin. I was mesmerized by the streams of water—more mud—that came off of me and collected at my feet.

Soaping myself, I exhaled in relief as the water coursed over me, cleansing me of everything. It felt like a weight was being lifted off of me as I scrubbed my skin, turning it red.

Washing my greasy hair—hair that had not been washed in what felt like eternity—was probably one of the best things that had happened to me in that same eternity.

There was a certain amount of civility that came from having a shower for the first time in a long time. It was like I ceased being an animal locked in a constant battle over fight and flight reflexes, and started being a higher functioning human.

As I stepped out of the stall, steam billowing behind me and fogging up the mirror, I felt more whole, like a small part of my dignity had been restored.

As I entered the bedroom, Viggo was sitting on the bed waiting for me. I almost screamed, I was so surprised to see him there. I clutched my towel closer to me, and gaped at him.

He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced into a fist that he used to support his chin.

A flash of irritation flowed over me—I just needed a moment of peace!

“Get out,” I ordered, stepping around him over to the door. I rested my back against it, and used my free hand to point out the door, further emphasizing my need for him to leave.

He didn’t react, save to adjust his seat so that he was facing me. His green eyes twinkled in amusement, and I felt the spark of rage from earlier flare up again.

“Fine,” I spat, reaching over to grab the clothes I had collected from the bed. “I’ll go.”

His hand moved with the speed of a snake, but he was gentle as he caught my arm. I tugged at him, but he pulled me to him, his strength overcoming my own. Although, to be honest, I didn’t struggle that hard.

He pulled me into his lap, and I flushed, very aware of how vulnerable I was in this position, wearing nothing but a towel. I pressed my hands against his chest, trying to push away from him, but he held me fast.

Before I could stop him, he had sunk his hands into the wet tendrils of my hair, holding my head in place.

I gave a little gasp, and then his lips were pressing against mine urgently. Something snapped in me, and I pressed against him, my free hand wrapping around the back of his neck. I kissed him back hungrily.

Viggo was careful as he kissed me, holding me only by my hair. Even his kiss was controlled. It was slow and domineering, flooding my senses with electricity that ran from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. I moaned involuntarily.

We broke the kiss after a long moment.

“What was that for?” I breathed.

His eyes seemed to pierce me. “I wanted your full attention,” he replied, the corner of his mouth turning up.

I swallowed, clutching the towel tightly, keenly conscious of its meager protection. “You have it,” I replied carefully.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, before opening them. “I believe you,” he said, his voice somber and sincere.

I studied his face for a long second—both eager and reluctant to trust him—searching for a clue to his true intention.

After a pause, he repeated himself. “I believe you,” he breathed across my face, pressing his forehead to mine. He hugged me closer, crushing me into his chest.

“Really?” I whispered. I hated how hopeful I sounded. It felt like a weakness to want and need Viggo’s trust.

He nodded, his eyes closed and his face solemn. “Really,” he replied, pressing his lips to mine once more.

I hesitated again. “Why?”

Viggo peered down at me, and sighed. “After you stormed out… Ms. Dale said something that was in line with my own suspicions about you.” My stomach clenched in uncertainty as I watched him. “But the more I thought about it, the more I felt like it was turning a blind eye to the truth. Ignoring evidence to make the narrative work. That’s not who I am or who I want to be. You made mistakes, Violet, but I want to believe that you were in over your head, in an impossible situation. I’m choosing to believe that.”

Tears began pouring down my cheeks. I hadn’t even been aware that they had been forming. The relief I felt in that moment was palpable, like another stone I could stop carrying.

“Thank you,” I sniffled, scrubbing my cheeks with one hand.

Viggo smiled a small smile, and disentangled his hands from my hair in order to wipe my tears away. “You’re welcome.” He pressed his lips to my forehead.

We held each other for a long moment, just taking comfort in the other’s arms. It was exactly what I needed, what I had been searching for. I felt stronger, like I finally didn’t have to shoulder everything on my own. I was afraid of the future, but now it felt like I didn’t have to face it alone.