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“Come on, London,” he says, taking in every cut, bruise, and streak of dried blood. “We both know you will only hurt yourself with that spear.”

I turn my eyes from him, highly annoyed by how utterly sexy I still find him. He removes the spear softly but firmly, displaying his dominance.

“Where’s Maison?” I ask him, as it seems like he is alone.

He ignores my question. “What happened to you?”

A guttural cry escapes me as I recall every kick, punch, and the suffocating hands over my mouth. I push it out of my head so I don’t burst into tears. Never in my life have I experienced such violence. “Your girlfriend happened to me,” I spit. “And Ezra, and Nigel. The people you call your friends.”

Micah swallows, his jaw flexes and eyes flash. “They’re not my friends.”

I slump over now in full defeat, knowing my backpack is full of his precious stolen food. I swat a couple flies away as they buzz around my face. To my surprise, he reaches his hand out. “Come on, we have to go.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Well, you’re not fucking staying here.” Before I can protest, he pulls me in his arms and lifts me up. I’m like a leaf to him, so tiny, wasted away to almost nothing, while he still seems strong and thriving. I have no energy to even fight him. He grabs my backpack and spear, and says nothing as he carries me out of the safety of the plane.

“Where’s Maison?” I finally ask him, keeping my head down and in the crook of his arm. His muscles flex beneath me as he carries me.

“When we realized you were missing, he freaked out. I wouldn’t let him come with me to look for you. He doesn’t think straight when he gets like that. I promised him I would find you and bring you back. He’s pretty fucking mad at me.”

As he should be. “I’m not going back, Micah.”

He takes me away from the airplane, away from the stench and flies that surround it. He carefully steps over each death hole in the earth as we pass them. “Yeah, you are, London. It’s comical you think you will survive even one day out here alone. These cans of beans you stole are cute, but how were you planning on opening them?”

I silently seethe at his point. I have no clue how to open a can of beans without a can opener—although, if I were that desperate, I’m sure I could have figured it out.

Micah continues, ignoring my bristling, “We’re heading back, but I’ll find you a nearby place to rest for the night.”

I scoff as he carries me even farther into the dense brush, not the way I came in. He’s taking me to where James and the others stayed. “Why do you even care?” I finally ask.

His hard muscles still beneath me, just for a moment, but it was a flinch. He stops and looks at me, and I focus on the bob of his throat. “That shouldn’t have happened to you,” he admits. “I shouldn’t have let this happen to you.”

I choke on a cry I can’t control. “No, you shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have done a lot of things to me, Micah.”

He has no smart response for that.

Even when I try to be strong, I’m weak. Eventually, I let my head rest on him and close my eyes. We don’t say another word while he carries me to wherever he is taking me. Dizziness buzzes in my head, and my muscles tremble. I’ve barely eaten, my energy depleted.

Utterly broken.

It feels like we’re walking forever, but I’m not sure how long it is. I think I even fall asleep in the lull of his arms. When we arrive, it looks as though a fire was recently burning, the beginnings of one anyway, with embers burning in ash. He must have come here first to prepare the site—fixed the half-broken shelter to the point where it looks sturdier than the ones we have back at our camp and set up a proper fire.

He places me down, and I can’t help but notice other supplies here as well. Useful items, mainly wire for trapping, lots of spears, and clothes—an abundance of them. Micah’s mark is evident all over this place, almost like he lives here. The rushing sound of water nearby validates my suspicions.

I watch as he moves around the site with familiarity and ease.

“You’ve been staying here. This is where you disappear to every day,” I accuse when he finally makes eye contact with me.

He didn’t take me to the other camp like I thought he would; he took me to his home. He’s clever about not arousing too much suspicion by occasionally sleeping at the other camp. He spends more time away from us, so I assumed he was like a sleepless vampire who prowls the woods at night. Micah’s not merely surviving on this island, he’s thriving out here, while the rest of us are shrivelling away and ripping each other apart.

He looks at me, that pretty face void of emotion. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says in his deep voice. “We’re heading back to the other camp tomorrow. Maison and Thomas will search for us if we don’t go back, and I don’t want anything unguarded there.”

Jade and Thomas—I had all but forgotten about them.

“They got back this morning,” he says, tossing some wood on the fire. “Unfortunately, they didn’t find much. Most of this island is like this. I think you found the best spot.”

A wave of relief hits me that they made it back safely. At least I’ll have one friendly face back there. And I disagree. I think this spot Micah found is perfect. It’s by a small meadow, a speckled escarpment to shelter us from the biting wind, and is next to a clean water source. The surrounding fir trees are among the prettiest I’ve seen here.