“What do you have to do to get her out?” I ask quietly, because here is the crux of the issue. If he tells me the truth, perhaps we can work our way toward trusting each other. But if he lies … if I even think he’s lying, then I’ll have to think like Logan and start planning for worst-case scenarios.

He scrubs a hand over his face, breaking eye contact with me and looking at the fire again. “I have to deliver the package. Whether you agree or not.” He looks at me. “I can’t allow any obstacles to stand in my way.”

And there it is. If I plan treachery against the Commander, he’s the one tasked to stand in my way. No matter what it takes. And he will. Because his wife and unborn child are at stake.

I can’t blame him for doing exactly what I would do myself.

And I can’t help feeling empathy for his position. I know what it’s like to have the Commander hold my loved ones over my head at the point of a sword. The difference is that I no longer believe the Commander’s promises.

I don’t share my conviction with Melkin, though. It wouldn’t change the danger his wife is in. It would only wound him further. Or turn him against me.

Instead, I slide a little closer to him and say softly, “I have to deliver the package too. Or I lose someone I care for.”

“And your chance at revenge?” he asks, and captures my gaze with his as if the fate of the world hinges on my answer.

Maybe it does. Maybe he needs to know someone is willing to take a stand against the Commander, and his current suffering won’t be swept under a rug.

“Yes. I need to deliver the package so I can rescue Logan. And so I can get my revenge.” The words sting the air between us.

Melkin nods once as though he’s gained the answer he sought, and turns back to the fire to take first watch. I curl up on my still-drying cloak, my back to the fire, my face toward Melkin.

We might have reached a new accord between us. We might be working toward the same goal. But my knife is a comforting weight in my hand as I quietly pull it from its sheath and hold it, blade out, where I can strike anything that comes for me.

Just in case I’m wrong.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

LOGAN

She didn’t kill me. Whatever the lavender-scented girl put in my water, it soothed my feverish thinking and kept the pain somewhat at bay. I’m able to wrap myself in my cloak, lean against the wall, and sleep until the next guard makes his rounds.

By the time he reaches my cell, I’ve slumped to the floor and I huddle there, shivering. It isn’t hard to do. The stones beneath me radiate cold. He studies me for a moment, then makes the trek back to the main door, locks it behind him, and leaves the dungeon in silence again.

I wait a few moments longer to make sure he’s truly gone, and then slowly sit up, making it look like it’s a struggle to do so. That isn’t hard either. My muscles protest the slightest movement, the scorched skin on the side of my neck throbs, and my broken rib aches fiercely.

But my fever is gone, and I can think clearly again.

Along with the return of reason comes the knowledge that I’ve wasted precious time succumbing to my injuries. I don’t know what day it is, or how long Rachel’s been gone. My body is weak from lack of food and lack of movement. And the Commander is probably due to arrive at any moment to toy with me.

I can’t fix it all at once. I have to prioritize and determine an appropriate course of action. Whatever I choose, it has to be something I can do without raising suspicion if I’m being watched by more than just the occasional guard.

Food is the first order of business. I double over as if in excruciating pain and feel within my cloak pockets until I find the wrapped lump the girl left for me. Inside the cloth is a chunk of oat bread with cheese and dried apples inside. I take small bites, rocking back and forth to simulate pain so I can hide what I’m doing. My stomach has been without food for hours, maybe days. I need to take it easy.

One third of the way through the food, I stop eating. It’s enough to get my system working again, and I need to conserve what I have left. I don’t know when I’ll be getting more.

I settle against the wall again as exhaustion overtakes me. I’d hoped to get up and walk a bit, but my head is already spinning, and I can’t risk another fall. Instead, I slowly stretch each limb and tighten my muscles for the length of time it takes to recite the Periodic Table. By the time I’m done, I’m shaking and slightly nauseous.

Water would be nice, but that’s one problem I’m helpless to address.

Through it all, the knowledge that Oliver is gone aches within me, a constant source of pain I rub against with every thought. For just a moment, the image of my mother’s smile, the feel of Oliver’s arm around my shoulders, and the warmth of Rachel’s trust in me bleed together into one gaping pit of loss. I’m hollowed out. Empty of everything that once gave me reasons to live.

Grief is a deep pool of darkness, and I huddle against the damp, cold wall as it sucks me under. I had something worth losing, and now that’s it’s gone, now that they’re gone, I’m realizing the life of solitude I always thought I wanted isn’t good enough anymore.

I don’t want to be alone.

I don’t want to have only the cold comfort of my inventions to keep me company.

I want my family.

I want Rachel.

Not because she’s beautiful. Not because she’s my responsibility. I want her because she makes me laugh. Makes me think. Inspires me to be the kind of man I always hoped I’d be.