I walk out into the hallway and hear Quentin’s snoring coming from one of the rooms. My throat is raw and dry, aching just like my bruises.

I start for the kitchen to get a glass of water, when I hear a muffled moan. I turn toward the rooms and see that Jackson’s light is still on. I walk over and knock quietly.

“Yeah?” he calls in a tight voice. I’m debating leaving when he repeats himself louder.

I poke my head in the doorway. “Never mind,” I say, and start to back out.

“No, wait.” Jackson sits up in bed before wincing. “Come in, Mena.”

I glance behind me at the eerie stillness of the house, the grays and blacks, and decide to ease my way inside Jackson’s room instead. I close the door. The lamp next to Jackson’s bed gives enough light for me to really see the state of him. But being alone with him in his room feels suddenly intimate now that everyone else is asleep.

His lips curve with a smile as he looks me over. “You look cute,” he says. I glance down at my outfit and laugh at myself. The shorts cover most of my legs, well past the knees, and the shirt is oversized to the point of being ridiculous.

“It’s nice that they’re not bloody, right?” I ask, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

“That is definitely nice,” Jackson agrees. “And I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without makeup. You look different. Still perfect, but … different,” he adds more softly, examining me.

At the mention, I touch my cheek and find my tanned skin is smooth and unblemished, but there’s a bit of swelling in the places where Guardian Bose hit me. My dark hair is still wet, soaking into the collar of my T-shirt, and I shiver for moment from the chill.

For his part, Jackson is wearing his jeans and sneakers in bed, his foot elevated on a pillow. He tightens his jaw when he tries to adjust his position to give me room to sit down.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

I shake my head and walk over to sit on the edge of his mattress. His cheeks are flushed, and I have a spike of worry for him. Whenever we got hurt at the academy, an on-site doctor “fixed” us. I have no idea how healing works in the outside world.

“Your leg?” I ask, motioning toward it.

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Busted. It fucking hurts, I’ll tell you that. Q was right—I probably should go to the hospital.”

“Imogene has a medical kit here,” I say. “Maybe there’s something in there that can help with—”

“No,” he says, shaking his head gently. “I … can’t.”

I pull my brows together, but I eventually get it. He doesn’t want our technology. He doesn’t want to be associated with it. I’m reminded of how Jackson went back to his car after interacting with Imogene. I don’t blame him, I guess.

I saw the way Leandra looked at him in the basement of the academy. She thought he was a complication that needed to be eradicated—just like the doctor and the Guardian. She lumped all the men together, with the exception of Winston Weeks.

Jackson’s right to be afraid of her. I lower my eyes, wondering if he should be afraid of me, too.

We sit quietly for a moment before I look over at him again. “When are you going to tell Quentin about us?” I ask.

Jackson licks his lips, taking his time before answering. “Soon,” he says. “I’ll pull him aside and tell him privately.”

“Do you have to wait?” I ask. “He’s your best friend. You can’t just—”

“I’ll handle it,” he says. “I have to tell him, just … not yet. Quentin’s a good guy, but this is too much. It’s a lot. And we have to be careful. He might … He might just leave and never come back.”

He sounds worried. I think Jackson is struggling with his decision to stay with us; he imagines Quentin will have even less of a reason to stick around.

I’m also not as naive as I used to be. I understand our situation better now. Each time someone finds out what we are, it will put us in danger. We are truly on our own. Allowing Quentin in on our secret might not be the best move for us anyway.

“Hey,” Jackson says softly. “Do you want to stay with me tonight? I can watch out, you know? Make sure nothing happens to you.”

I laugh. Obviously, Jackson and his broken leg can’t protect either of us. And knowing it, he smiles. But I don’t want to wake Sydney by climbing into bed with her either.

“Mena,” he adds, the vulnerability returning to his voice. “I’d really like it if you stayed with me.”

“Would you mind keeping the light on?” I ask.

“I don’t mind,” he says. He exhales with relief when I nod that I’ll stay.

I slide my legs under the sheets. Startled, Jackson quickly tries to move over, groaning in pain when he does.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He looks confused. “I was giving you room so we don’t, like … accidentally touch. I’m sure your school had rules about that kind of thing.”

“Actually,” I say, “this sort of situation never came up. I don’t think they ever expected I’d be in bed with a boy while on the run from the academy. Besides,” I add, “we’re friends. And when I sleep with the girls, we snuggle together. That’s the point. We comfort each other.”

Jackson looks over with the softest smile. “That’s really sweet.”

I agree that it is. He watches me, still seeming hesitant, but then he nods me over. I curl up against him, careful not to jostle his leg.

His body is hot against my skin. I close my eyes, and after a few moments, I feel Jackson begin to relax. He leans his cheek on the top of my head as I rest against his shoulder.

“You’re right,” he whispers. “This is the point, huh?”

I smile and place my hand over his heart. It beats strongly, steadily. His presence lulls me into a feeling of safety, despite the actual lack of it. Maybe I just need to feel normal for a few minutes. Although lying with a boy is pretty far from the normal I’m used to.

Maybe I want to feel human.

“Mena,” Jackson whispers. My lips twitch with a smile.

“Yeah?”

Before Jackson can say another word, there is a high-pitched scream. The sound of it reverberates over my skin, shattering me. I sit up, wide-eyed, as one of the girls cries for help.

3

I don’t wait for Jackson. I shoot out of bed and rush into the hall, immediately meeting Marcella, who moves past me down the stairs. I look behind to see Sydney run from her room, grabbing my arm before we hurry toward the sound. Quentin stumbles out into the hall, rubbing his eyes in confusion.

“That was Brynn,” Marcella says breathlessly.

My heart is beating out of my chest as we pause to look around the living room. Just then, we notice Imogene’s bedroom door is ajar. Marcella darts in that direction, and we quickly follow behind her.

There is a quiet crying coupled with a hushed voice as we enter the main part of the room. We’re immediately hit with a distinct smell, and I cover my nose, trying to find the source of it. The light is on in the bathroom.

“Brynn?” Marcella calls. There’s no immediate answer and we slowly approach, unsure of what we’re going to find. Marcella places her palm on the bathroom door, pushing it the rest of the way open. She gasps.