It takes a second for her words to register, but when they do, I have to grit my teeth to keep from raising my voice. “Are you saying you deliberately stayed outside the Wall so you could face him? Alone?”

“Not at first. A soldier caught me.” She still sounds like the words she says mean nothing to her, and the fear that slides through me flickers into anger.

“And you got away from him. Didn’t you?”

“Of course.” She sounds insulted.

A gust of wind snatches her hair and flings it in my face. I swat it away, trying to figure out how to get through to her. How to make her care that she nearly sacrificed herself for vengeance and left me with yet another loved one to miss.

A sharp turn takes us north, and I clench my jaw as we walk past the ashes of Oliver’s bakery. I try to remember the way his dark eyes would rest on me, filled with gentle acceptance and later with love, but already his memory blurs around the edges. I know from experience that I can’t hold on to it. Not exactly. The smell of his baking, the warmth of his hand, and the way he would quietly encourage me will keep fading with every day that passes without him. But I can hold on to what he built into me—the strength to do the right thing even when it feels impossible and the belief that if I put my mind to it, I can accomplish anything—I can hold on to that, and a part of him will never leave me.

I can do that for Oliver, but I don’t want to have to do it for Rachel. I don’t want to struggle to remember the exact shade of her eyes or the way she smiles when she thinks she’s bested me. I don’t want to be left with nothing but regrets and the heartbreaking certainty that if I’d only done something differently, I could’ve saved her.

Keeping my voice low, I say, “So you got away from the soldier and had a chance to follow us into the city, but you chose to stay and face the Commander?”

Something in my tone gets through to her, and she frowns at me. “He was right there. The man responsible for all of this.” She gestures at the remains of Oliver’s stall and then at the ruined city itself. “He took everything from us, and he was right there. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

I stop and face her. “I wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

She shakes her head, and this time, I don’t bother trying to speak quietly. “No, Rachel. I wouldn’t have stayed out there to face him alone. Not when an entire army was surrounding me.”

“They weren’t attacking anymore. They were waiting—”

“For him to kill you!”

Sudden fury blazes across her face, and her voice shakes. “I would’ve killed him first, Logan. In case you’ve forgotten, I know how to do it.”

“And then what?” My voice shakes as much as hers. “If you managed to kill him first, what was your exit strategy with the entire army of Carrington surrounding you? Death?”

“If that’s what it takes!” Unshed tears gather on her lashes, but her expression is fierce.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think beyond the terrifying realization that the pain Rachel has endured at the hands of the Commander has led her to this precipice. How can I save her if she doesn’t even want to be saved?

“Rachel—”

“He deserves to die. There won’t be any peace for us until he’s dead.”

I drop the load of supplies I’m carrying and reach for her. She doesn’t pull away as I grip her shoulders and gently tug her toward my chest, but her spine is ramrod straight. I wrap my arms around her and lean my face against her hair as I search for the words I need.

“You’re right,” I say, and she trembles. “He deserves to die. But you don’t. Don’t you see that? You don’t deserve to die, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Please, Rachel, you’re all I have left.”

Her spine slowly curves toward me until she presses her forehead to my shoulder. I hold her, all lean muscle and soft curves, and for the first time in all the years I’ve known her, she feels fragile in my arms.

When she pulls away, I have a hard time letting go. But she starts moving north again, so I pick up the slippery Dragonskin tunics and walk beside her. It takes a while to weave past the splintered wood, scorched brick, and shattered glass on the streets of Lower Market and into the less damaged area of Center Square. The Dragonskin grows heavy in my hands. I look away from the remains of the Claiming stage and the memories of Rachel in her beautiful blue dress trying desperately to stand up to the Commander, who was so sure he had her firmly under his control.

He was wrong, and his mistake destroyed countless lives.

I’m not going to let him destroy anyone else. Including Rachel.

“Quinn was going to fight with me,” she says as we turn a street corner and see the blackened, spindly structures that were once the opulent homes of North Hub.

Forty yards past the Hub, the Commander’s compound, largely undamaged, squats behind its iron fence—all fierce turrets and unblinking panes of glass. Most of the medical and food supplies we’ve managed to recover have come from the compound. Still, every time I see it, part of me wishes it had burned, too. It’s impossible to look at it without seeing the Commander’s merciless eyes as my mother lay dying on the cobblestones for the crime of leaving her home to find food for her starving child. Without feeling the damp of his dungeon and the sole of his boot against the brand he burned into the side of my neck.