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That should be reassuring. It’s not.

Because figuring things out is what Dylan Mercer does. It’s his specialty. He manipulates and schemes and always has an angle. Always has a plan. Always stays three steps ahead.

But right now he sounds uncertain.

And if he’s uncertain, what hope do I have?

“What if you can‘t?” I say, and my voice comes out smaller than I intended. “What if this time there‘s no way out?”

He’s quiet for a long moment.

“Then we go down fighting. Together.”

I close my eyes and press my face against his chest. His skin is warm, scent familiar. His arms strong and close around me.

I love him.

I actually love him.

That terrifies me.

What if I just gave my heart to him only to have it ripped away? What if I finally found the courage to be New June, to be strong and responsible, only to lose everything the moment I admit I love him?

“June,” Wraith says, and his voice cuts through the spiral. “Look at me.”

I tilt my head back. His eyes are serious but soft.

“We’re going to be okay,” he says. “I promise you. We’re going to figure this out. Together.”

I want to believe him.

I want to trust that promise.

I want to sink back into contentment and let the fear go.

But I can’t quite manage it.

Because he doesn’t know. Neither of us knows.

“Just rest. Get some sleep. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

I keep my mouth shut except to release a sigh as I try to force myself to do what he seems to do without effort — to shut his eyes and fall into slumber.

But I take a long time.

Because there’s one thought that won’t stop racing through my head: what if I fell in love with him again right when we’re about to lose everything?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Wraith

My eyes open reluctantly, and I come back to the sound of June breathing beside me. Not the shallow, anxious breathing from earlier when she couldn’t fall asleep and was trying to mask her fear and thinking she was being sneaky about it, but something deeper. Slower. She’s finally let go, finally stopped running the calculations of survival long enough to rest. The motel room is dark except for the thin line of amber light seeping through the gap in the curtains, painting a stripe across the cheap carpet. My side aches, but I don’t move. I just lie here and watch her sleep.

It’s bliss.

Real fucking bliss.

Her face is turned toward me, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other resting between us on the mattress. Her features are soft in sleep, unguarded in a way they never are when she’s awake. No tension in her jaw. No calculation in the set of her mouth. Just peace.