The front door opens, and Danna leaps up so quickly that her packet of beef Bolognese falls to the floor. “They’re back!” she squeals as she races out of the room.

Most of our friends get up to follow her, leaving me to pick up their food packets and prop them up so they won’t spill. We’ve been waiting all day for an update on Mallory and Barrett, since Sylvie, Sebastian, and Warren left to find them, and on a planet with no tech, word of mouth trumps food any day.

“Warren?” Danna says from the hallway. “Where’s everyone else?”

“They’re fine. The good guys prevailed, and they went to the shelter to get Mallory’s things,” he answers as I step into the wide front entry hall. Warren’s focus snags on my face like cloth caught on a thorn, and I find myself staring back at him.

The hallway clears out as most of the women head back into their rooms, disappointed that the rest of the group isn’t back yet, because we’d just been reunited with Mallory when she was kidnapped.

“Do your ribs hurt?” Danna steps close to Warren, staring adoringly up at him. “I wish we had some ice for the swelling. Why don’t you lie down, and I’ll get you something—”

“Lilliana.” Warren’s still staring at me. He’s hardly even looked at Danna, and that’s…odd. As is his use of my full name. “I need you.”

“I knew you’d come to that conclusion eventually,” I tease. I expect Warren to laugh, because though we flirt all the time, we both know it means nothing. But this time, he’s looking at me like he’s…serious.

Danna shoots fire at me through her eyes. “Why do you need Lilli?” she demands, turning back to Warren. “Is Mallory asking for her?”

“Yes,” he says. And finally he tears his gaze away from mine. “I’m supposed to take her to the shelter to…help.”

“What kind of help could Mallory possibly need, with Sebastian, Barrett, and Sylvie all there with her?”

“She’s been through hell today, Danna,” I remind her. “She probably just wants to talk to a friend, and she hardly knows Sylvie.”

Warren nods. “That’s it. So, Lilli? Will you come?”

A crackling bolt of electricity races down my spine at his choice of words, and by the time it settles into the bottom of my stomach, it feels more like an ember, spreading warmth…lower.

What the hell?

I nod, and I can’t help thinking that I’m agreeing to more than I truly understand. But if Mallory is asking for me…

Danna’s still glaring at me, and I realize that I’m staring. At her man.

Well, Warren’s not hers, really, because she keeps chickening out, rather than confessing her interest, but until this very moment, I’d have said he never even looks at any of the other women. He’s always somewhere near Danna, with a hand to lend or a joke to tell. But now…

Now he’s staring at me as if no one else in the building even exists. And he’s not joking. He’s not even grinning. His features look normal, but the way he’s using them doesn’t.

This is weird.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“No.” Finally he smiles, but again, the expression looks odd on him. As if he’s not quite used to moving those muscles, in that way. “Everything’s exactly right.” His quiet smile smolders, and his focus on me seems to intensify. “But we might be out for a little while, if you want to grab your things.”

Danna frowns. “What things? Why would she need things? You’re coming back, right? Tonight?”

“Traveling one way in the dark is dangerous enough. It might be better if we all come back in the morning.” I brush past her with an apologetic look, heading down the hall. “It’s dark out, and I haven’t had dinner yet.” I glance back at Warren. “Just a minute, and I’ll get my stuff.”

Danna follows me into the room I share with Sahra, where she watches while I grab my bag and snatch a full water pouch and a couple of meal envelopes from our small stockpile in one corner. Then I throw my backpack over my shoulder and turn to find her staring at me with huge, sad eyes.

“Danna,” I whisper, because the door’s standing wide open. “I’m not interested in Warren. I’m going for Mallory.”

“Well then, maybe you could say something to him for me? Find out if he likes me?”

“He does. Trust me.” We’re on a prison planet, surrounded by violent criminals, yet somehow Danna and Warren have managed to establish a fourth grade-style courtship defined by light flirtation and lots of longing looks. It would be cute. If it weren’t so exhausting.

He’s not allowed to make the first move, and she’s too insecure to speak up for what she wants. That kind of nebulous, unspoken attraction would drive me insane.

My kingdom for a man who knows what he wants and is willing to break a few rules to get it.

Of course, my kingdom currently consists of a bottle of one-dose antibiotics, a couple of MREs, and a stealthy self-pleasure technique that has thus far kept Sahra from requesting a new roommate on the grounds that my personal needs are interrupting her sleep.

I head for the front door, where Warren’s still standing like a guest waiting to be invited farther into the building, rather than someone who’s lived here for six weeks.

“Are those new clothes?” I ask as he pushes the door open. They’re prison-issue, just like most of our supplies, but they’re newer than I remember his clothing being. Not that I truly noticed what he was wearing this morning.

“New to me,” he confirms. “There were several casualties this evening—all bad guys,” he adds with a glance down the hall at Danna and a couple of the other women, who’re loitering in doorways. “And we scavenged what we could use.”

“We’ll be back,” I call out. Then I edge past Warren and out the door he’s still holding open for me, and the breath I take as I pass by him makes my lady parts clench. Honest-to-god. There’s actual clenching.

He smells so good.

My face flames as the door closes behind us, but if he’s noticed, he’s not mentioning it. Surely he can’t tell there’s a Kegel carnival going on in my pants right now. Out of nowhere.

We walk in silence for a few minutes, headed for a patch of forest, and I stare at the ground, trying to gain control over my completely bizarre physical reaction to his nearness. When I finally look up, I realize he’s practically staring at me. And every breath he takes is a deep inhalation through his nose.

People don’t breathe like that, unless they’re standing over a Thanksgiving turkey or a tray of still-warm pecan pie. He’s sniffing me like I’m a holiday meal, and suddenly, despite the fact that I just did the same thing to him, I’m worried that the second we venture into the forest, he’ll turn into a wolf and devour me.

“You okay?” I struggle to drag my gaze from his face as we step into the woods, wishing the moonlight were brighter, so I could see him more clearly. His eyes look…oddly intense.

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just that…you smell so good. And that’s weird.” He frowns, staring into my eyes like he’s looking for something. “That is weird, right?”

“So weird!” I rub my arms, trying to warm them up and get rid of my chill bumps. “And even weirder, because I was just thinking the same thing about you.” Though I would never have admitted it, if he hadn’t said something first.

Warren’s pretty hot, I guess. I mean, he was a gladiator, so he’s basically muscles growing on top of other muscles, even several years after they released him from the arena into zone three. And his facial features are symmetrical, or whatever. But I’ve never really looked at him like that. Maybe because I know how Danna feels. And the truth is that I’m not really looking at him like that right now. As strange as it seems, this is more about how he smells than how he looks.

Yet my gaze feels drawn to him, as if my body is more attracted to him than my eyes are, and my eyes keep trying to figure out why.

And in case that wasn’t embarrassing enough, my feet keep trying to carry me closer to him, like I’m a piece of metal pulled toward a magnet, and I only realize I’ve drifted into his personal space when we both step on the same twig at the same time.

What the hell is going on?

“So, we’re headed to Barrett’s shelter?” I ask, just to have something to talk about other than how good he smells, and for a moment, Warren looks confused. As if he’s forgotten what we’re doing out here.

“Oh. Yes. To see Mallory.” Her name sounds formal on his tongue, as if he’s not used to saying it. Which is fair, considering he only met her yesterday, but it’s like he hardly knows who I’m talking about.

“Did she say much, this afternoon? About Barrett?”

He gives me a puzzled look.

“When you two went looking for him? I know she’s in love with him and all, but I’m not sure I trust him. And she’s been through so much.”

“Barrett is the quiet man, right?”

The quiet man? As if he doesn’t know Barrett either.

But then he nods before I can answer. “Barrett won’t hurt Mallory. He consistently places his body between hers and any threat. Or any semblance of a threat. Those are not the actions of a man who would hurt his woman.”

“His woman? How Paleolithic of you.”

Warren shrugs. “Mallory is his, in the same way that Barrett is hers. They have each other, even if neither of them ever has another thing, in their entire lives. It’s less about possessing someone than it is about having someone.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” I have to admit, that sounds sweet. I’ve only ever been in one serious relationship, and Dan wasn’t the kind of guy you can count on. Not like that, anyway.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” I ask, and suddenly I realize I can see my own breath. I’ve never been to Barrett’s shelter, but I saw which way Mallory led Warren this afternoon, and this wasn’t that way.

“Yes,” Warren says. “When I put it like that, what?”

I frown up at him and shake my head, confused.

“You said, ‘When you put it like that…’ What did you mean by that?”

“I just meant that it sounds nice—Mallory and Barrett having each other. Forever. Even if they never have anything else. And that’s pretty apt, for this place, considering how little we actually have.”

“So then, you want that for yourself?”

“I… Do I want someone like Barrett?” I shrug. “I mean, I certainly wouldn’t turn it down. Someone willing to kill for me, when it’s necessary.” And that’s only a matter of time, on a prison planet. “To track me across zone three and take a beating to get to me. And that letter he wrote her? For a man who can’t speak, he’s pretty damn good with words.”

“So, you would like someone willing to fight for you. And follow you across the zone. And write you love letters?”

I stop walking and frown at him. “This conversation has taken a turn from hypothetical toward creepy. I wasn’t making a wish list.”

“But if you were to make a wish list…?”

“Warren. What’s going on? You’re acting super weird.”

“I’m sorry,” he says as he leads me through the tree line and out of the forest. And though I wait for an explanation, none comes.

It’s even colder out in the open than it was in the woods, and my teeth want to chatter. “Where are we?” Mallory said the shelter she’s been sharing with Barrett was in the middle of an empty field, but this field isn’t empty. It isn’t even really a field. It’s a patch of overgrown grass with a crumbling road running through it, leading to a single building made of standard sheet metal walls and…

The back half of the building is crushed, like a toy someone drove a fist into.

“This is where Varian lives. Where you said Mallory and Barrett were being held.” I heard Warren describe this place this afternoon, when he came back to the Sorority for volunteers to help rescue them. “Are the others still here? I though they went to the shelter.”

“They did. But I’m not going to make you trek across the zone on an empty stomach. We have time to stop for food, and this is as good a place as any to get out of the cold.”

I am cold. And hungry. But… “Are you sure we have time for this? Doesn’t Mallory need me?” I follow him through the warped front door, and though there’s no heat in this building, or in any building I’ve seen in zone three, there’s no wind here either, and that’s an immediate improvement. The entry hall ends abruptly in a crimped pile of metal, where the back half of the building was crushed. “I mean, if she’s waiting… Is she okay?”

“She seemed fine when they left here. Don’t go in there.” Warren tries to shut a door on the left of the hallway, but it’s too warped to close all the way. As we pass it, I see a pale arm lying limp on the floor, broken bone peeking through torn flesh.

“Shit. Are those the guys who took Mallory and Barrett? Are they…dead?”

“Yes, but there were no casualties on your side.” Warren clears his throat. “On our side, I mean.”

With one hand at my lower back, he leads me across the hall into a room containing only a narrow bed with a bare, stained mattress and a dresser with only one drawer. Through the door across from the dresser, I see what’s left of a bathroom, but the toilet and tub have been crushed in whatever event smashed the rest of the building.

Warren sinks onto the edge of the mattress—there’s nowhere else to sit—and swings his pack onto the ground. He pulls a flashlight from the bag and turns it on, then he sets it on the floor to illuminate the room, and for just an instant, as the light hits him, his eyes seem to…flash. But then we’re both in the shadows again, and I can’t tell what I just saw.

“I… Lilliana, I have to tell you something. I have to show you something, actually.” He takes my hand to tug me closer, and while I know I should pull away from his touch…I don’t want to. It feels strange that we’re now holding hands, but it doesn’t feel wrong. Even though I know how Danna feels about him.

I’m a terrible friend.

“But first, I really need to eat something substantial,” Warren continues. “I’d love it if you’d have dinner with me.” As if we’re on a date, someplace normal that is totally not an isolated, half-crushed building on prison planet. “Then, I promise I’ll explain everything.”

“I…” This sounds like a bad idea. Yet—as little sense as it makes—I’m in no hurry to get going. That inner voice that is supposed to warn me away from serial killers and fairytale witches disguised as helpful old women isn’t scared of Warren at all. In fact, she wants me to sit on the bed next to him and cuddle up. For warmth.

Yeah. For warmth. That’s why.

“Okay. I guess I could eat.” And finally, I make myself pull my hand from his grasp, so I can dig food from my bag. But really, it’s to prove I can let go of him, because the urge to scoot closer—to climb into his lap, god help me—is so strong that though my head is telling me I’m insane, my body insists I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Though ideally, according to my hormones, I’d be wearing a smidge less clothing.

I don’t understand what’s happening.

To keep my hands from pulling my clothes off—or pulling his clothes off—I tear into my meal envelope without even noticing what the label says. I don’t realize I’m eating stroganoff until I bite into a chunk of beef and my lips curl into a grimace.

“What’s wrong?” Warren studies my frown as if it’s a giant red F scrawled at the top of his homework. As if he’s flunked this date by failing to keep me happy.

This is not a date.

“It’s nothing. I just…I was a vegetarian in my old life. Pre-prison. I’m over that—here, you eat what you have or you starve—but that first bite into a chunk of beef always seems to catch me off-guard.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” Warren holds out a packet of vegetable stew. “I seem to have only vegetarian options left, if you’d like to trade.”

“Thanks. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“I’d actually prefer the beef,” he insists. “I’m pretty sure I could go the rest of my life without eating soy as a significant source of protein.”

“So you’re a carnivore?”

“Almost entirely,” he says. I’m pretty sure he’s just trying to be nice, because the other day he traded his meatloaf to Bryony for her vegetarian lasagna because he thought the beef “felt smooshy.” But I hand him my stroganoff, and I swear he’s halfway through the packet before I even get my stew open.

“I guess you were hungry.”

“Am,” he corrects as he neatly folds up the empty envelope. “Today, I could eat an entire cow, while it’s still upright and mooing.”

I assume that’s hyperbole, but I can’t tell for sure, based on the enthusiasm with which he tears into his granola bar. Then a packet of raisins. Then a little tube of peanut butter. He even dumps the creamer packet straight into his mouth, without bothering to make coffee in his water pouch. Not that I can blame him. The only thing worse than instant coffee is cold instant coffee.

“Feeling better?” I ask around a bite of carrot and potato.

“Almost.” And to my complete shock, he pulls another meal packet from his bag and tears into it. “I promise I’m not just wasting rations,” he says as he crunches through an orange-powder-coated cheese-flavored cracker. “I’ll explain all this in a few minutes. I just…I need to eat first, and I’m pretty sure you’d rather see me demolish a couple of MREs than the alternative.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“Rabbit.”

I flinch. “But they’re so cute.”

“And delicious. They’re the most adorable thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“That’s…horrific.”

Warren nods solemnly. “I’d much rather have eaten an ugly cow. But sometimes life forces us to do things we’d rather not, in order to get things we need.”

“Like food?”

“Among other things.” His gaze seems to see right through my eyes, into my soul.

He finishes his entire second meal before I’m done with my first, and when I see him eyeing a packet of graham crackers I have no intention of eating, I offer them to him. “But you have to tell me why you’re acting so weird. And why you’re eating two days’ worth of food in a single sitting.”

“That’s fair.” He shoves the second graham cracker into his mouth and chomps through it, and I can only laugh when he licks crumbs from his lips, rather than letting them fall—wasted—to the concrete floor. “But Lilliana, I need you to promise not to freak out on me. Or to try not to, anyway.”

“It’s just Lilli. And FYI, that lead-in doesn’t do much to inspire calm.” In fact, I’m starting to wonder what the hell I’m doing here.

“I know. But it seems only fair to warn you.” Warren takes a drink from his water pouch to wash down the crackers, then he turns to me with one knee propped on the mattress between us. And for a minute, he only watches me.

Just when I’m about to demand he start speaking, he kind of…flinches. Which is when I realize that he’s not so much watching me as staring at a specific spot on my face—my nose, I think—as a focal point while he concentrates on…something else.

Then, suddenly, his face begins to change. It’s subtle in the beginning. His skin tone starts to deepen, and I’m so busy gaping at that that at first I don’t realize his nose is also changing. And his hair. No longer longish and brown, it’s now short enough to stand up in artful spikes, and it’s…white. Or silver. I can’t tell for sure, in just the light from the upturned flashlight, but his hair is pale now.

Only that’s not possible.

My pulse spikes painfully.

None of this is possible. Right?

Right?