He grins and then peers at me, tilting his headlamp down into my face. “Hold on. You’ve got bat shit on your face.” He leans in and wipes his thumb across my cheek. “There.”

“Gone?”

“No, I was just putting a matching streak on the other side.”

I smack his arm. Beside us, Mick gives a soft chuckle before he moves on. Anders keeps grinning down at me, and I look up at him, and I think,Maybe.

Maybe I’m missing an opportunity here. I probably am. I look at him, and that grin, and it’s not because he’s gorgeous or sweet or funny or kind. It’s this feeling that there’s more to him. Something that resonates with me at gut level.

“Are we moving or freezing to death?” Dalton says.

Anders waves for him to lead the way. We squeeze through another tight passage. Then we gather in a cavern. As we start heading out, Anders catches my arm and says, “Hold on.”

“More bat shit on my face?”

He smiles. “Lots. It’s adorable.” Then he calls to the others. “I’m taking Casey into the Dark Cavern. I want to show her something.”

“Uh-huh,” Petra says. “Given it’s the Dark Cavern, I’m pretty sure she’s not going to be able to see whatever it might be.”

He shoots her the finger, and she laughs and says, “Go on, kids. Catch up with us in the Cathedral. There’s something there that I want to show Casey. And don’t worry, I’m sure it’s not the same thing.”

A round of chuckles for that. Dalton doesn’t join in. He’s peering down the dark passage that Anders is tugging me toward.

“We shouldn’t split up,” he says. “If you want to take Casey to the cavern, we should all—”

“It’s too small. I’ve got this, boss. I can’t track for shit, but my sense of direction is impeccable. We’ll meet you in the Cathedral.”

He motions me along before Dalton can argue. We crawl through two passages and end up in a small cavern.

“It’s dark,” I say.

He laughs. “Hence the name. The passages are switchbacks, so any illumination from out there doesn’t get in here. Which is what I want to show you. Something you aren’t likely to ever see outside a cave. Turn off your light.”

I twist the headlamp on my helmet. He does the same, and when the lights go out …

“Wow. That’s …” I begin.

“Dark?” He chuckles. “Absolute darkness. Not a single pinpoint of light. Now, if the others are far enough away, and I stop talking for once …”

He does, and the silence falls, as absolute as the darkness, and suddenly I’m alone. Absolutely alone in the dark. Every outside stimulus vanishes and there’s nothing except me in the darkness and the silence.

I swear I can hear my thoughts. All my thoughts. And it’s horribly uncomfortable, and I want to switch on the light and say something and shove that aside. But the feeling passes in a few panicked heartbeats, and then … and then it’s indescribable.

This is what I’ve been looking for in all those therapy sessions. Not a chance to tell someone my story. A chance to be alone with it. Utterly alone with it, and maybe that makes no sense, but it’s what I feel. Just me and that one defining moment in my past.

Grief and rage and pain and guilt and clarity. Yes, clarity.

After a few minutes, Anders’s leg brushes mine, and he whispers, “You okay?”

I nod, only to realize that’s pointless and say, “I am.”

“I’ll tell you a deep, dark secret,” he says, and then chuckles. “In an appropriately deep, dark location. I come here sometimes. Alone. If Eric found out, he’d skin me. But … It’s just …” He exhales, his breath hissing in the dark. “Sometimes I need a break from being good ol’ cheerful Will Anders. This is where I find it.”

I don’t know what to say.

He continues. “I can be that guy. Most times I am that guy. But … not always. Shit, you know. The past. Mistakes. The stuff that doesn’t let you really be what others expect you to be. What they need you to be.”

“Yes.” I understand perfectly.

He squeezes my knee. Nothing flirtatious. Just a squeeze that says, maybe, he knows that I do understand. I don’t know why Anders is in Rockton. It’s not something most people share, but I say, “The war?”

“Yeah.”

“If you ever want to talk …”

Another squeeze. “Thanks. Maybe. Someday. For now, this works.”

“All right.” I understand that, too.

“If you ever want to come out here with me …” he says.

“I’d like that.”

“Good.”

We sit in silence. Then I peel off my glove and find his hand, and it’s the same as his squeeze on my knee. Comfort and reassurance and a wordless understanding that there is always darkness. In some part of us, there is absolute darkness, as much as we wish otherwise. As much as we pretend otherwise.

Anders shifts closer, his jeans whispering against the rock. He’s still holding my hand, and I feel him there, beside me, hear his breathing, and I think …

I want to be like Diana and throw caution to the wind and embrace this new freedom. But I can’t. I’m still me. Logical Casey. Rational Casey. Cautious Casey. A-little-bit-scared Casey. I cannot turn off my brain, close my eyes, and jump.