“Don’t,” I say, and she tilts her head back to look at me. “Don’t keep me at a distance.”

“Who said anything about keeping you at a distance?” Her smile lingers in her eyes.

But when she leans in to kiss me, I’m the one who pulls back because suddenly just being with her isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

“Logan?”

I close my eyes and reach for the courage to ask her to give me the words I need.

Her lips brush mine, sweet and hesitant, and I open my eyes. She’s all I can see. All I can taste when I breathe in. Her body molds itself to mine like she was made for me, and I want her to feel it too. To acknowledge it.

To hope for it in the middle of so much hopelessness.

“Rachel, I need …” The words won’t come. I don’t know how to say that I need everything she is without making it sound like more than she can give.

Please don’t let it be more than she can give.

“What do you need?” Her face is luminous beneath the golden fingers of the waning sun.

And suddenly the words are there, falling into place like I always knew the way to reach her. “I need to know what you need. What you want. Not from the device, not from the Commander, but from me.”

She stiffens, shoulders lifting toward her jaw as if to protect herself from a blow she has to know I’ll never deliver.

“Please.” I can barely push the word out. “Please, Rachel. Look past the loss, the grief. Look at me.”

She closes her eyes. I feel like I’ve been slashed open inside where no one will ever see me bleed. But then she takes a deep breath, relaxes her shoulders, and looks at me, tears filling her eyes.

“I need you, Logan. Just you.”

I tighten my grip on her tunic. “Why?”

“Because I still love you.” Her voice catches. “I never stopped. I thought I had. I wanted to. But somehow … it’s like part of you lives inside the most important part of me, and I don’t know how to separate the two.” Tears spill over, tracing a glistening path down her cheeks. “I love you, Logan.”

Joy surges through me, brilliant and wild. I cup her face in my hands and wipe away her tears. “I love you too, Rachel. Always.” And then I do my best to use the full hour I’ve been given to kiss her senseless.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

RACHEL

I can’t sleep. My lips are still swollen from Logan’s kisses, and the ache I feel for him wants to spill out of my fragile skin, envelop me, and tempt me to forget everything that lies ahead.

But I can’t. Beneath the ache, the silence lives within me, demanding justice for Dad. For Oliver. For all of us. Willow accused me of wanting nothing but revenge. She was wrong.

I want redemption.

I just don’t think I can get it without exacting revenge first.

After tossing and turning on the soft bed of moss I made for us, I give up trying to sleep. I’m careful not to wake Logan as I get up. He looks peaceful beneath the pale light of the stars. I want to trace the lines of his face and memorize the way his skin feels beneath my fingertips, but I don’t. He needs to rest until it’s time for him to take the night watch shift from Quinn.

I walk a few paces away and sit with my back to a thick, silver-trunked oak. A few yards to my left, Willow sleeps in her tree cradle, her bow in hand. I don’t see Quinn, but it doesn’t matter. I didn’t get up for conversation. Besides, his calm stoicism is unnerving, and I never know what to say to him.

I sit in silence, listening to the distant hooting of an owl and the occasional whisper of a breeze as it tangles itself within the leaves above me. It’s the first time in days that I haven’t had someone talking to me, watching me, or expecting something from me. It doesn’t take long for my thoughts to fill the void with violent images. Oliver’s eyes growing distant as his blood spills onto me. Logan’s mother lying at the Commander’s feet, her back flayed raw, slipping away from her little boy until there’s nothing left. Dad, risking everything to keep the Commander from gaining a weapon he could use to obliterate any opposition, and then giving his life to save Quinn and Willow and trusting Logan and me to finish his mission.

“Want company?” Quinn asks quietly. I have no idea how long he’s been standing in front of me.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no, but I was wrong. I do want conversation. Even with Quinn. Anything to save me from the overwhelming images in my head.

“Sure,” I say, and he sits against the tree across from me, his long legs folded under him, his eyes scanning the area before coming back to rest on me.

“I hate it when people ask me how I’m doing,” he says as if this conversational opener should make sense to me. And strangely, it does. Because the last thing I want to be asked right now is how I’m doing.

“I wasn’t going to ask you that.”

He smiles, a flash of white teeth against his dark skin. “I’ll return the favor.”

We sit in silence for a moment, then he says, “You’re a lot like your dad, you know.”

The words both hurt and heal, and I don’t know how to respond.

“He always seemed so sure of himself, didn’t he?” he asks.

“Because he always knew what to do.”

Quinn smiles again, yet I swear I see sadness on his face. “No one always knows what to do, Rachel. We all just do the best we can with what we’ve got. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it ruins everything.”