Rachel feels it too. I can tell by the battle light in her eyes as she double-checks our weapons while I make sure the list of last-minute provisions I want to purchase at Market today is in my inner cloak pocket.

We’ve avoided touching each other since our sparring match. I don’t know her reasons, but mine are clear: I’m attracted to her. I’ve always found her beautiful, but now I see beneath that to the courageous, passionate girl who would go against any foe to fight for those she loves. She’s … admirable.

But I’m not sure the craving I feel to run my hands through her hair and pull her to me can be accurately labeled admiration. Until I can get it under control, I keep my distance. I have to. I’m standing in Jared’s place. He trusts me. She trusts me, a fragile development at once terrifying and immensely gratifying.

I’m not ready to discuss my irrational inner thoughts, but still I want to reach out to her with something more than battle plans and Worst Case Scenarios. With that in mind, I look up from my Market list and say quietly, “We leave day after tomorrow, and we won’t be spending a lot of time together before then, so—”

“Why not?” She looks up from the weapons she’s packing.

“I have some last-minute supplies and information to gather, and this is your last chance to see Sylph. I thought you’d like to spend the day with her.”

Pain flashes across her face and she resumes packing the weapons.

“Anyway, I wanted to give you a compliment.”

Her eyes widen, flash to mine, and then look down again. “Why?”

“Because I realize, even though it doesn’t make logical sense given what I know of you, that you need softer words from me sometimes.”

Now she’s looking at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted two heads, and I feel like an idiot.

“You’re telling me you’re going to give me a compliment even though I shouldn’t logically need one?” Her voice doesn’t sound pleased.

I pick back through my words, but don’t see anything that could cause offense, so I nod. “Common sense would dictate a woman like you shouldn’t be dependent upon—”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She throws the bow and arrow set she’s holding onto the floor and stands, pink spots of color in her cheeks. “Why shouldn’t I need a few compliments?”

I have no idea how this conversation went awry so quickly. I just want to tell her something nice. Does it have to be a ten-minute discussion about motives and semantics?

Maybe if I enunciate clearly, she’ll understand. I lean toward her and say with exquisite clarity, “Because of the kind of woman you are.”

Speaking slowly solved absolutely nothing. She looks like she might pick up one of the weapons and throw it at my head. I feel more than a little irritated myself.

She speaks around gritted teeth. “And what kind of woman do you think I am, Logan McEntire?”

I snap right back at her. “Confident. Strong. Capable. Stunning. An equal partner in this endeavor in every sense of the word.”

The pink in her cheeks darkens, but instead of sparks, her eyes look soft and warm. I have no idea how a compliment delivered in anger can work that kind of magic with her, but I’m grateful.

“You think I’m stunning?” she asks, and suddenly I feel like the tunic laced at my throat is choking me.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” she says softly, a tiny smile on her lips even as she refuses to meet my gaze.

Did I? I scroll back through the words I threw at her and realize she’s right. I did say stunning. Which, incidentally, isn’t a crime. Anyone looking at her would think the same.

I shrug and make sure I sound casual when I say, “I guess I did. Ready?” I pull my cloak over my shoulders and wait for her to call me on my words. To demand an explanation I’m not ready to give.

Instead, she says, “Let’s go.” Her voice sounds stilted and unnatural, but I let it go. I have no idea what else to say.

The tension between us lingers as we walk the dusty road into town with nothing but the early-morning sounds of farm animals and birds to keep us company in our silence.

The torch boys have already extinguished the streetlights in Center Square, and we pass the stage as workers scrub the wood and set up booths in preparation for tomorrow’s Claiming ceremony.

I’m grateful we’ll be leaving Baalboden before Rachel reaches Claiming age. The thought of standing behind her on the stage while a group of eager townsmen try to convince me to give her over to them forever makes me want to knock their heads together. Not because I can’t give Rachel to the right man for her. But I know every available bachelor in Baalboden, and while I’ve never really considered it before this moment, I’m quite confident none of them measure up to her.

We enter North Hub and arrive at Sylph’s house. Rachel barely says good-bye before heading inside. I plant myself on the road and wait until I see her enter the house before continuing on toward Lower Market.

Halfway there, I duck down a side street, take a short cut through an alley, and slide into the back entrance of the butcher’s, where the first of my black-market contacts waits to give me the most current information on Rowansmark and the search for Jared.

I’m going into the Wasteland armed to the teeth with knowledge, technology, and the kind of fierce tenacity the Commander always assumes no one owns but him.

I can’t wait to prove him wrong.