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Every look stolen across the yard.

Every brush of his fingers against mine when no one was watching.

Every time I stepped away because loving him would have only hurt him.

Every moment we buried because wanting was dangerous in Purgatory.

Now he is here, and all the years I spent denying this are rising between us at once, too strong to swallow, too hard to break us apart.

For a moment, I let myself have him.

The warmth of him.

The roughness of his hands.

The boy who made life on the farm feel survivable.

The man I thought I would never get to love openly.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against the bars, his breath uneven, his fingers still gripping my shoulders as though letting go of me might kill him.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he says, and the rawness in his voice nearly unravels me.

My throat tightens.

“You’re here,” I whisper, lifting one hand through the bars to touch his face, careful of the bruises, careful of every injury that he has suffered because of me. “You’re alive.”

His eyes close at the feel of my hand, and something inside me breaks. I love him, I do, I love him in a way that has roots in every hard year we survived together.

Then the bond stirs.

Just enough to remind me that there is another part of me now, another pull beneath my ribs, another man whose absence I feel even standing here with Arlo’s breath against my lips.

Guilt overwhelms me; it strikes through my chest sharply, almost stealing my breath.

I let my hand fall slowly from his cheek, though I do not step away yet.

Arlo opens his eyes.

“What?” he asks, and there is fear in the question because he knows me too well.

I shake my head, forcing myself to hold his gaze, forcing myself not to ruin this moment.

“Nothing,” I whisper, though it is not nothing, because the truth is too tangled to give him while he is bleeding, trapped and looking at me like I am the one safe thing left in the world.

His fingers tighten once more on my shoulders, and I let him hold me there a moment longer, because he is alive, because I wanted this kiss for so long that I refuse to let guilt steal it from us like it has stolen everything else.

Arlo doesn’t seem to notice my hesitation, and I can’t explain it either. I’ve longed for freedom away from the farm, for this closeness between us, for being with him to be less complicated and dangerous.

But things are more complicated now. More dangerous for him.

His hands grasp my face. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he murmurs, though the words come out shaky.

“You have to stop fighting the guards,” I say urgently, knowing I don’t have much time.

“Alessia?”

“Look at you.” I grip one of the bars between us. “Your back looks infected. This isn’t Purgatory. Things are different here, Arlo. You need treatment. They won’t treat you if you keep fighting them.”