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He pulls me aside, away from Thomas and Jade, and wraps both hands over my arms, gripping me and snapping me back into focus. He leans forward, his breath tickling my ear. “We have to do this, London. Thomas will die if we don’t get those supplies. Do you understand?”

I close my eyes, my heart twinging at the enormity of it. So much death already, I can’t deal with anymore. “Yes, I understand.”

“Try to get some sleep. We’ll leave in a couple of hours when we can see better.”

My mouth gapes open. “We aren’t leaving immediately? He needs our help now, Micah.”

He arches a brow. “And if you or I get hurt in the forest, or lost? We can’t help him if we’re both wandering around the woods.”

“You wander these woods all the time,” I counter.

“Not toting you with me. I’m not willing to risk it. Plus, we still need to come up with a plan for when we get there. So get some rest; Thomas will be okay for now. Jade is with him. She won’t leave his side.”

Despite my yawn, I sit by the fire instead of lying down, hating how right he always is. “Fine, but I can’t sleep.”

I’ve not slept since I left Maison—not really. Just a few hours in Micah’s arms, but even then, I prefer warmth from the fire to the cold of the shelter, so I sit just outside it. I know Micah won’t sleep now, either, since he’s doing his pacing thing.

The cool air wraps around me, but I quickly warm up as the fire crackles. Micah circles the meadow, grabbing pieces of wood, doing anything he can not to relax. Finally, he comes and sits with me, stretching his legs out, pulling me inside them. My body vibrates. The way he’s positioned reminds me of how Maison would hold me. He knows this—he watched us for weeks. I close my eyes for one second, leaning into him, pretending he’s Maison before snapping myself out of it.

It’s Micah.

As if reading my thoughts, he rests his head on my shoulder. “I know you miss him. I miss him, too, but we’re not going back for him this time. Do you understand?”

I don’t know how to talk about Maison with Micah. Even bringing his name up feels like a betrayal, but I caused their rift, and I can’t even imagine the pain Micah feels about this situation.

He moves my hair out of the way and kisses my neck. “I can pretend to be him if that makes it easier for you.”

I whip my head up and narrow my eyes. “Stop it, Micah.”

A lopsided grin forms on his lips. “Are you sure? I’m good at it, baby.”

I dig my nails into his muscled legs. “Stop it right now.”

A pulse hits my lower belly, and his erection thickens beneath me.

Fuck.

Fully aware of how messed up I am for being turned-on, I grind my hips into him. If he’s into it, then so am I. Leaning up to his ear, I nibble on it and whisper, “On second thought, let's go lie down.”

We departed at the first sign of morning, just as we said we would. We left Jade with clear instructions to keep the wound clean, the shirt we are using for a bandage fresh, and to do her best to keep Thomas’s fever down by keeping him cool. We promised her we’d be back as soon as we could. By morning, his condition had worsened to the point it rendered him unconscious. He was barely coherent as his body shut down on him.

A scratch… a scratch did this to him. Out of all the things that could hurt him on this island, we did this to him. Our lies and desperation.

Part of me wishes we could just explain the situation to Ezra. He was, after all, the one who cut him. We should give him a chance to redeem himself. I can’t see how he would want him to die. Would he want that kind of blood on his hands?

Micah refused. He said Ezra wouldn’t believe him, and it would only hurt our chances of getting what we need to save him. And maybe he’s right. Our situation on this island is deteriorating as fast as Thomas. Everyone is desperate, hungry, and not thinking straight.

Especially Maison.

Somehow, Micah and I have become the villains. That’s the story they will tell, should they have the chance.

We make it as close to the camp before taking a break. Micah moved quickly on the way here, and I kept pace without a single breath of complaint. We walked for nearly a long while in dense trees and brush, my legs and body aching the whole time. I didn’t dare suggest at any point we were lost, even though I think we were.

Finally, we found the camp and now crouch in the nearby woods.

Of course, on the one day we need to hide among the shadows, the sun is raging over both the lake and sky, shining down on us.

“We may have to split up,” Micah says, hovering beside me, “to get a good look at what we’re working with.” The vapor of his breath lingers in the air. It may be sunny, but it’s bloody cold, as every day is, now that we are pushing November.