I stared in horror at the disintegrated vegetables and charred pieces clinging to the edges of the pan. Briefly, I contemplated how to discard the food without Rekkan noticing. Then footsteps approached, and I cursed under my breath.

“Well, smells like the food’s ready,” Rekkan said. “Or a bit past ready.”

I bit my lip and dragged it out from under my teeth with a wet pop. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t think… but it already… I told you I’m bad at cooking.”

He chuckled. “At least it keeps you away from my books. Think you’ve destroyed enough of them.”

Exasperation beat out the guilt, and I whipped around to glare at Rekkan. “I didn’t destroy them.” I waved the wooden spatula at him, and a little food slopped onto the floor. “I fixed them.”

He tipped his head up and folded his arms over his chest, a smile tugging one side of his lips. “Did you?”

I nodded. “The history book is bad, but the science book is worse. The South launched biological warfare with a virus that prefers heat? First of all, no one is that stupid. Secondly, if the Infected prefer heat, why do they avoid fire?”

With a little steam released, my common sense returned. I exhaled, set the spatula back in the pan behind me, and hunched my shoulders. Rekkan had invited me to stay only three days ago. Why was I pushing my luck so soon? 

He cocked his head and lifted his eyebrows in a facial shrug. “You have a point.”

Encouraged, I drew my shoulder back again. “And the book spews old rumors about Lazora’s ‘League of Looneys,’ like her followers creating secret research bases all over the North.”

“Hmm… how do you know that’s a rumor?” 

“When I first came to the North, I wasted months searching for those bases.”

Crow’s feet creased the skin at the corners of his eyes. “Why? Even if the bases existed, they wouldn’t take refugees. They wouldn’t have helped you.”

“Actually, I hoped to help them.”

He studied for a few silent seconds. Then he shook his head. “I don’t understand how you do it.”

“How I do what?”

“How you still hope.”

I started to laugh, but when I saw the soft sincerity in his gaze, I swallowed and planted one palm on the counter behind me. “Everyone needs hope to survive.”

“Not me. I stopped hoping a long time ago.”

I furrowed my brow. “Then how can you get up each morning?”

He shrugged. “Habit.”

* * *

At the end of my third week in the fortress, I awoke to a thump. 

I sat up fast. Vertigo sloshed over me, and my voice crackled with shattered sleep. “Rekkan?”

No answer.

I threw aside the blanket and slipped off the couch. Then I trotted to the door and cracked it open.

“Rekkan?”

Another thump, and a clink of metal.

I froze, heart jumping into my throat. Had the Overcooked returned? Or had the Cutthroat Crew entered the fortress? Either way, I’d be best off hiding until Rekkan handled it. 

But what if he needed me? 

I recognized the idea as preposterous, but I couldn’t discard it. I darted to the couch to grab my switchblade and then tiptoed down the hallway toward the sound. When metal clinked again, I stopped beside a shut door. 

The Cutthroat Crew gained infamy for mutilating enemies. What if they already overpowered Rekkan? Horrific images skirted my mind — Rekkan tied up and sliced to pieces, red wristbands of the Cutthroat Crew stained mahogany with his blood.

My survivalist instinct screamed at me to consider my options. If I played this right, the Cutthroat Crew might not see me as an enemy. They might even let me stay. But I didn’t want to stay with the Cutthroat Crew. I wanted Rekkan. So I sucked in a breath, gripped the switchblade before me, and turned the doorknob.

My breath fled in a hiss. Amid a pile of heavy weights and metal racks, Rekkan turned to face me, very alive, very sweaty...

And very shirtless.

And fuck, he looked good. All biceps and pecs and — sweet Ether, was that a six-pack? His damp skin gleamed light bronze, and sweaty blonde hair clung to his forehead and neck. Words abandoned my brain, as did the ability to breathe, to move, to do anything but stare. 

Rekkan wiped his forehead and dried the hand on his joggers. “Hey, Southie. What’s that?” He nodded at the switchblade. “You planning to kill me?”

I flicked the blade closed and swallowed. “Sorry, I heard sounds and, uh... I got worried.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You still think I’d hurt you?”

My entire body tensed with the effort to keep my eyes on his face. “No, I… I thought something happened to you.”

His lips twitched and then spread into a broad smile that crinkled his eyes. “So you came to rescue me?”

The amusement in his voice would normally have irritated me, but the effort not to stare at him sapped all indignation. Especially when he stepped toward me, and his chest muscles moved in powerful alignment, joggers riding low on his hips above the mismatched lines of his legs.

Still smiling, he said, “Your hair is sticking up.” And his hand lifted to comb through my curls. 

The brisk but gentle touch spilled shivers over my scalp and down my body, pooling warmth in my core. Salty sweat mingled with the spicy musk of his cologne, and a few hairs curled over his pecs and trailed a line down toward his...

I stumbled back a step. 

Rekkan’s smile vanished, and he slid a heel back and hitched his thumbs in his pockets, a self-conscious gesture that showed off his muscles even better. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s just...” I shook my head and choked out the words. “Rekkan, you’re not wearing a shirt.”

“Ah,” he said, though he sounded confused. “And that bothers you?”

I swallowed a shaky laugh. If he looked in the right place, he would see exactly how much it bothered me. Struggling against a tongue made of stone, I attempted an explanation. 

“Remember when you tied me to that chair — after you shot me but before you used me as bait?”

His muscles flexed in a mini-flinch, and a frown furrowed his brow. “I remember.”

“Then you brought me food, and even though I wanted it so bad, I didn’t think you’d actually feed me, so I couldn’t stand to look at it.”

His frown deepened. “But I did feed you.”

“Then, yes. What about now?”

His gaze darkened, and he went very still. For a few seconds, neither of us breathed. Then he strode to the side and snapped up his discarded shirt. His back muscles shifted as he tugged it over his head. 

He pivoted back toward me. “I’m going shopping.”

My eyes dipped to his feet. “So… so that’s a no.”

“Zaf...” He exhaled heavily. “It’s just… it’s complicated.”

“Complicated. Alright.”

Another exhale, and then a forced smile strained his voice. “I’ll look for another book while I’m out, alright? And a few more pens, just in case.”

The unexpected sweetness brought a smile to my lips but a sting to my chest. Of course this would happen. Of course the first man to treat me with kindness would reject me.

“Alright,” I said again.

Rekkan opened his mouth once more, but then he shook his head and strode past me out the door. When I meandered to the kitchen, his motorcycle engine already hummed outside the door. Tires crunched snow, and the gate clinked. 

I began preparing porridge, attempting to focus on the simmering milk instead of the rough bass and half-naked body in my mind. 

When the gate clinked again, I froze mid-stir. Could Rekkan be back already? I switched off the electric griddle to listen.

Khh heh, khh heh, khh heh. 

Horror washed over me. No key, no motorcycle, and no Rekkan. 

Khh heh, khh heh... 

A saw?

I snatched my switchblade from the counter, threw on my coat and boots, and darted out through the door. Cold wind bit my face as I followed the track of tires through snow. 

The front gate appeared, and I jerked to a halt.

A man dragged a saw over the lock as a semi-circle of ten or twelve others watched from behind. Against dark coats and white snow, their wristbands shone bright red. 

The Cutthroat Crew.

The man with the saw paused and locked eyes on me. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Obviously not Recluse,” hissed the woman beside him. “Keep going!”

“That’s a Southie,” said another man, striding toward the fence to look at me. Hair as red as his wristband curled over his ears. “I recognize him. Actually, I think I fucked him.” He laughed. “Never thought Recluse was the type to keep a pet, but guess I was wrong. And looks like he pays well. You look healthy, Southie. But hey, I don’t hold it against you. Help us out by unlocking this gate, and we might even let you stay... if you earn your keep.”

I shook my head. “You’re making a mistake. Get out of here now, or Rekkan will kill you.”

He lifted bushy red eyebrows. “Rekkan? Who the fuck is Rekkan?”

I peeled my tongue from the roof of my mouth and swallowed. “That’s… that’s his name.”

“Ah, so you think he’s human or something?” He clucked. “He’s Infected, Southie. I’m surprised he hasn’t Infected you.”

My fingers curled into my palms as cold swamped my gut. The dusty fireplace mantle, the electric space heaters around the fortress, the strange statements he refused to explain...

The Infected don’t bother me.

“He’s not Infected,” I said, shaky voice betraying my uncertainty. 

The woman nearest the gate snorted and drew a silver pistol from her puffy coat. “Enough conversation.” She clicked off the safety and aimed at my forehead. “Open the fucking gate, Southie.”

I stared at the muzzle of the pistol, breath frozen in my lungs. Greaseball claimed no one had ammunition anymore, but my wounded calf cautioned against that gamble. Still, allowing them to enter would be equally reckless. Even if they allowed me to stay, what would happen when Rekkan returned? Either they would kill Rekkan, or Rekkan would kill us all.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think I will.”

She cackled a disbelieving laugh. “Open that gate right now, or I’ll put a bullet through your head.”

Though I shook from fear and cold, false bravado carried my voice. “Fine. Go ahead.”

The men closest to the woman glanced between her and me, lips moving with silent attempts at speech. The woman swallowed and gripped the gun tighter. 

I closed my eyes and breathed a chant. “Please have no bullets, please have no bullets, please have no —”

Bang.