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“Sure. Once you tell me what I need to know.”

There was a heavy silence. I waited, and when he didn’t say anything else, I went back to the fire and started heating my knife again.

“They’ll come for me, you know,” March rasped. “They can track me.”

“Good,” I shot back, pulling my knife away from the flame. “Maybe one of them will be a little more cooperative.”

He barked a laugh. “Not fucking likely—oh God!”

I’d pressed the blazing hot blade to the underside of his foot again, and the late afternoon air erupted with his screams.

A light summer breeze blew through the leaves of the tree I’d climbed. Sitting on a high branch, I was hidden from everything…including the deer I was watching. It stopped at a pond below to drink, probably because the July sun was hot as fuck.

I moved positions, sweating like a pig, trying to get a better angle on the deer. My t-shirt stuck to my body in a way that felt gross, and my mouth was dry as sawdust. I’d been sitting there for over an hour, pretending to hunt until the deer strolled under my tree.

If I was being honest with myself, I was avoiding Kimmy. Going back to wilderness living meant hunting more often again, so I had an excuse.

My stomach rolled over as I nocked an arrow into my longbow and took aim at the doe. I was far from squeamish, but the heat was doing a number on my body. My stress levels probably weren’t helping, either.

A dull ache thudded behind my temples, and I released the arrow.

It found its mark, burying deep just behind the deer’s shoulder, and with a brief groan, the animal dropped. A near-instant kill. Shooting was one of the things I’d always been best at.

It should’ve been a moment of satisfaction, but somehow it only darkened my already shitty mood. I could survive—hell, even thrive—out in the woods. I could forage, hunt, and build shelter. I knew how to find water, and how to grow food. I was a good shot, especially at long distances, and I could more than hold my own in a fight.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing I knew was helping me get where I needed to be, and I was no closer to figuring out what would. I was out of my depth, and I hated it. Claire would say it was because I wasn’t used to it, because I was ‘superhuman’ or good at everything.

She was wrong, though. I wasn’t superhuman. When they’d stolen her away from me on that beach, practically out of my arms, I’d failed at my most basic job. Now, I was useless, stuck on the outside. Every second, I was aware of what could be happening to Claire, what horrible shit they might be doing to her. Every second I couldn’t get to her was a second she might be suffering. I failed to protect her, and now, I was failing even harder by not finding a way into this fucking fortress.

And if they decided she’d outlived whatever purpose she had…

I took a deep, steadying breath as I started to climb down the tree. My vision blurred slightly, and I stumbled for a second before grabbing onto a new branch to stop myself from falling.

I can’t fall apart. I can’t. No fucking time for that.

I reached the deer and hauled the carcass over my shoulder to carry it back to camp. As I stood, a wave of dizziness shook me. I shrugged it off and started walking, the sun beating down on me.

It took nearly an hour to make it back to our campsite, and by then, I was clammy with cold sweat that gave me goosebumps. Our horses, Ghost and Bella, hovered near the edge of the camp, grazing. I didn’t like bringing Ghost to my little torture sessions with the Delta’s soldiers. I told myself it was for her safety, but some of it was probably shame, even if horses didn’t exactly judge.

I tossed the deer down by the fire, unsheathed my hunting knife, and knelt to start dressing the carcass.

And that was the last thing I remembered.

“John!”

Kimmy’s worried voice reached me, but it sounded muffled, like I was hearing it underwater. I couldn’t open my eyes. All I could feel was the hot, humid air and the hard ground under my cheek.

Someone threw cool water on my face, scaring the crap out of me, and I bolted upright. Kimmy pressed her hands against my chest, preventing me from getting up. My knife lay in the dirt next to me; luckily, I hadn’t fallen on it.

“You fucking idiot,” she scolded, and I lay back on the grass, too tired to argue with her. “You’re going to give yourself heatstroke. When’s the last time you took a break? Had a drink?”

My dry-ass throat protested when I swallowed, which was enough of an answer.

“Drink,” Kimmy ordered, thrusting a flask of water into my hands. “All of it. Now.”

“I have to—” I waved at the deer carcass beside me.

“You have to nothing,” she replied sharply. “Your only job is to sit, shut up, and drink while I take care of this. Understood?”