“You’d be free to invent and read and make life better for the citizens here. Duty finished.” She kicks a potato, sending it careening across the floor as something blazes to life within me.

I glare at her. “And what duty would that be? The one I swore to the memory of the man I consider my one true friend?” I lean toward her as my voice rises. “The one I swore to myself when I could see how lost you are without him?”

She takes a step back and bumps into the pantry. “I’m not lost.”

“You’re lost. And everyone knows it. Three months till Claiming age. Every available man in the city suddenly looking at you like you’re …” I snap my mouth closed and turn my back before I say what I’m really thinking. What every man who stops to stare at the fiery beauty with the indomitable spirit and glorious red hair is thinking.

She’s yelling now. “Like I’m what? Pathetic? A poor little girl who needs a man every time she leaves the house? I’m not like that. My father saw to that. You should’ve gone after him with me when I first asked you to. You should’ve gone!”

I whirl to face her, and step forward until the distance between us can be measured in breaths. She’s trembling. I am too. She stares at me with wounded eyes, and I want to wipe all the ugliness out of our lives, but I don’t know how.

“Rachel.”

Her hair is drenched. Glistening drops of water slide effortlessly down her pale skin. I raise my hand slowly, but she doesn’t flinch as I press my palm against her cheek, letting the water slide over us both. My fingertips are calloused and ink-stained, rough against the softness of her skin. She looks fragile and fierce, and I long for something more than the animosity between us.

“You’re right.” I say quietly. “I should’ve gone after him. Does it make it better to know that I always planned to go? “

“When?” she whispers.

“When I finish building the tracking device I want to use to find him.”

Her skin warms beneath my hand as her anger fades into something tentative and soft.

“I should’ve told you what I was doing.” My thumb traces a path across her cheekbone, catching another drip of water. “I should’ve trusted you. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. Sorry I misjudged you. Sorry I got us caught tonight.” She sways closer to me.

My gaze wanders to her lips, and I can’t see anything but a thin trail of water gliding over her skin, gathering at the corner of her mouth, and then slowly drifting toward her neck. She raises one shaky hand and presses her fingers against her lips. Her breath catches, a tiny sound that makes me realize how close I’m standing to her.

Warmth rushes through me, and I dip my face toward hers.

“Logan?” Her voice is soft, but the sound of my name slaps some sense into me.

I jerk back a step and swear.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LOGAN

“I’m sorry,” I say and back up another step.

She looks away and crosses her arms over her chest. “For what? Swearing?”

“Yes. No. I mean, yes, but …” The haze of warmth sweeping my system drains away as cold reality sets in.

I almost kissed Rachel.

The realization isn’t nearly as shocking as the fact that despite our differences, our current situation, and the impossibility of it all, I still ache to press her against the wall and taste her.

That thought does dangerous things to my self-control. I need something else to talk about—something else to think about—fast. Glancing around for inspiration, I spy the partially built invention on my table and say, “Do you see that?”

Of course she sees it. She isn’t blind.

“Are we changing the subject?”

“Rachel …” Yes, we’re changing the subject. I don’t know what to say to explain my actions, and it’s either talk about technology, or I’m going to go take a walk in the rain.

“Fine.” She won’t look at me. “What’s so special about that”—she flicks a hand toward the table—“that simply must be discussed right this second?”

“It’s going to lead us to your dad.”

She raises her eyes to mine, her expression cautiously hopeful. “How?”

I’m grateful to be asked for an explanation I can readily give. “Your father’s wristmark has a tracking device embedded in it. All wristmarks do. It’s short range, just like all our tech. Designed to work within the Wall and nowhere else.”

This isn’t news to her. All tech is specific to the city-state where it’s issued. Without a network of wires across the Wasteland, there’s no way to send any kind of long-range signal. A tracking device is useful outside the Wall only if you can get within two hundred yards of someone. Without a fairly exact location for Jared, we could wander for years and never get a ping.

“The invention I’m working on is a tracker designed to pick up traces of your dad’s signal, even if he’s already moved on.”

“How is that possible?” Cautious hope is edging toward enthusiasm in her voice.

“Sound navigation ranging. A courier’s tracking signal uses active sonar, sending out sonic pulses that leave a unique echo in the environment. The guards can find a courier using an Identidisc to receive those echoes as they’re sent.”

“So why can’t we just steal an Identidisc and use that to track Dad?”