Behind us, the trees creak and rustle. Above us, the stars give off a cold, glittering light that bathes us in silver. And beside me, Rachel is slowly lowering herself to the bedroll, her movements stiff and unsteady. I wrap my hands around her upper arms and support her as she sinks to her knees. She hisses in a breath as she leans forward, stretching the wounds on her back while she crawls toward the top of the bedroll.

“Can I help? Let me help. I want to help,” I say, though what I’m really saying is I wish I could’ve protected you when you needed it.

She laughs as she eases onto her stomach and then rolls to her side. “It’s fine. It’s good for me to move around. Helps it heal faster.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve been there. Or you shouldn’t have been there. None of that should’ve happened. I promised I’d protect you, but I didn’t, and—”

“Logan, it’s fine.”

I crawl onto the bedroll and stretch out beside her on my back, my face to the sky as anger boils through me. “It’s not fine. There is nothing fine about a man abusing his power by whipping a girl. He should be whipped.” I’m talking too loudly, but I can’t seem to stop. “He should beg for mercy, just like my mother. . . .”

She reaches for me and lightly draws her fingers down my cheek as my words linger in the air between us.

“Are we talking about James Rowan? Or the Commander?” she asks, her thumb rubbing light circles across my cheek.

“Both, I guess.” I sigh as her fingers find the tension in the side of my jaw and massage it away. “I can’t keep failing those I love.”

Her fingers still. Her voice is a snap of impatience. “That’s ridiculous.”

I open my mouth to reply, but she beats me to it.

“You didn’t fail me. I chose to go into Rowansmark.”

“You were kidnapped and badly injured.”

“Please. You know me well enough by now to know that I wasn’t cowering in a wagon waiting around for rescue. I spent my time assessing my opponents, gathering information, and looking for my opportunity to escape.”

She shifts closer to me, cradling her head on her arm. A breeze sifts through her hair, lifting the strands to dance in the starlight. The warmth that gathers in my chest has nothing to do with the anger I feel toward those who’ve hurt her and everything to do with the way the silver light glows against her skin.

“And I had opportunities, Logan. Twice.”

“And you didn’t take them?” I stop admiring the curve of her cheekbones and glare at her. “You could’ve been killed. Ian is sick. You know that. He could’ve tortured you. He could’ve killed you. He—”

“He tried.”

“Rachel.” I reach for her, careful not to touch the wounds on her back, and pull her close until her head fits against my shoulder. Then I bury my hand in her hair to hide the way my fingers tremble.

“You’re only upset with me because you were worried about me.” She nuzzles closer to me, and I swear I can feel her heart beating strong and sure against my chest. “But I promise I was planning to escape. I was thinking about exit strategies. I just changed my strategy because I learned something important. You didn’t fail me. I went to Rowansmark because I chose to, even though I knew the risks.”

I hold her against me in silence for a moment while I struggle to find the balance between fear for her safety and pride that she is a fierce, smart, formidable girl who chooses courage every time. Finally, I say, “Okay, two things. One, I’m proud of you. You scare me because I know you’ll choose to face danger instead of running away, but that doesn’t mean I’m not proud of who you are.

“And two . . .” I gently tilt her chin up to face me. “Saying that I feel worry for you when you’re in danger is like saying a starving man feels like having a snack. I don’t worry, Rachel. I’m consumed. You’re in every breath I take, and so I don’t worry. I agonize. I plan. I reassure myself. And then I plan some more, because I’m not going to stand idly by while men who’ve been corrupted by their fear or their greed destroy the only family I have left.”

She smiles, though it looks like there are tears in her eyes. “I love you, too.”

I lean down and kiss her. A long, slow, sure kiss that leaves my pulse racing and my heart pounding. When I pull back, she says, “We need to talk about your family.”

“I’m willfully ignoring the fact that Ian is related to me.”

“I’m talking about your father.”

I listen as she describes the man my father has become. As she tells me his only thought was for the safety of his sons.

For me.

By the time she starts explaining how Ian came to her cell to kill her only to break completely when he realized our father was still alive, my heart is pounding, a painful rhythm that sends jolts of energy through my veins, though I don’t know what to do with it.

“Marcus isn’t . . . stable. Mentally. But he’s sweet, and he loves you, Logan. He really does. He loves Ian, too.”

I move restlessly when she mentions Ian, and she tilts her head back to look in my eyes. “The things Ian did are monstrous. He deserves to be punished. But the boy Ian was before the Commander’s actions caused your mom to commit suicide and your father to ignore everything but his frantic need to ransom you, the boy Ian wanted to be before James Rowan forced him to whip his father and feel responsible for his father’s death—that boy isn’t so different from us.”