I spent the next morning—and a good part of the afternoon—on the couch. Initially, a splitting headache confined me to a horizontal position. But by afternoon, nervousness returned. Rekkan must have entered the room at some point when I was sleeping because a giant jug of water and a packet of crackers appeared on the freshly-cleaned table beside the couch, but I had not seen him since we shared the whiskey.

Today marked two weeks. Had Rekkan really intended to ask me to stay the night before? And did he regret that offer now?

The sunlight through the window had already faded to an orange glow by the time a knock came on the door.

I stared at the door. When it failed to produce any more noise, I sat up and cleared my throat. "Uh... come in, I guess?"

The door slid open, and Rekkan shuffled into the room, eyes fastened to the plate of food in his hands. His posture was stiff and expression stiffer.

My gut squeezed. Was he so embarrassed by his accidental offer that he couldn't even look at me?

"You don't have to knock," I said, forcing a light tone. "This is your living room."

"Yeah, but it's also your bedroom. Or... couch-room." His grip on the plate tightened, and his eyes dropped even lower. "I should put a bed in here, if you... if you actually..."

I waited for him to finish his sentence. Instead, he strode forward and set the plate of food down on the table. He still didn't look at me, instead squinting at the darkening window.

"You must be hungry by now," he said.

The hint of disapproval in his tone made me inch back a little and curl in on myself. Was that the 'I can't afford to feed you' warning?

"I'm fine." I gestured to the crumbs left on the plate. "You brought me enough food already."

"You mean that packet of stale crackers? I bet you ate better than that before you came to my fortress."

I huffed a disparaging laugh. "Oh yes, when I was sleeping in my five-star tree, I ate a three-course breakfast every morning."

He rolled his eyes. "But would you survive a whole day on a dozen crackers?"

"When I was lucky."

His eyes finally met mine, and he furrowed his brows. "No wonder you're too skinny."

"Hey," I said, a bit defensively, "I'll have you know, some guys like the way I look."

When the crease between his eyebrows grew deeper, I remembered that I had told him about what I did with those men who liked the way I looked. Shame heated my face. Strangely, I felt more exposed under his perplexed gaze than I had with the cold wind biting my naked ass. My tongue twisted around a change of topic, but my brain failed to produce one.

Rekkan drew a breath. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about last night."

I winced. "You mean when I tried to kiss you? I promise that won't happen again." Stupid promise, Zaf. Why would you promise that? "I mean, unless you... but I know I'm too skinny, so..." Worse. Abort the mission.

He stared at me for five unnerving seconds before finding his voice. "I wasn't talking about... that part. I meant the part about liking plants. Because I know you were a little drunk, so if you said something you didn't mean to say... well, I'm happy to live alone."

My eyes fell to my fingers, which dug into my too-skinny thighs. "Are you saying you want me to leave?"

"No, I just don't want you to stay." When my face pinched, he clucked his tongue and tugged a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I'm not saying this right. I just mean, don't pretend you want to stay with me when you don't, because I'd rather not go through that again."

The vulnerability in his voice puzzled me. He had the fortress, the food, and the gun, while I had nothing. What did he have to fear?

"Again?" I said. "I thought I was your first guest."

"You are."

I raised my eyebrows to encourage an explanation, but his mouth was now firmly shut. "Alright," I said finally. "Well, I'm not pretending, Rekkan. I want to stay with you."

He studied me for a long moment. Then his shoulders relaxed a little, and he nodded. "Then you better eat. And come to the kitchen again any time you feel hungry."

I eyed the steaming plate of veggies, meat, and beans, and my stomach rumbled. "Fine. If you want to fatten me up, I suppose I'll allow it."

His lips twitched. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head and turned toward the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back toward me.

"For the record, I didn't mean..." He rubbed the back of his neck, and pink spotted his cheeks. "I don't dislike the way you look."

Before I could respond, he stepped out of the room.

My stomach fluttered, and I fought a grin. Coming from anyone else, those words would sound more insulting than flattering. But coming from Rekkan, that begrudging admission was sweeter than any compliment I'd received before. He didn't hate me, and he didn't dislike how I looked? That had to put me at the very top of his list.

I dug into the food. The meat was a bit chewy—I tried not to wonder which animal it came from—and the veggies were clearly rehydrated, but everything was well cooked and perfectly seasoned.

I wondered how much time he spent hunting and cooking. While I had no skill in either of those areas, maybe he would appreciate it if I tried to make dinner one night. He had an electric stove, not one with fire, so I gave myself at least a seventy-eight percent chance of not burning down his kitchen.

When my belly was full, I curled up with a blanket in an armchair and cracked open one of the books again. I skimmed words I had already read five times, barely processing. With the electric glow from the space heater and a book in my hands, sleepiness settled heavy over my mind. And knowing Rekkan was somewhere down the hall not hating me, I felt a little less lonely than I had before. I could get used to this indulgence.

I could get used to living with Rekkan.

Then my eyes caught on words I had barely noticed before, and I straightened in my chair. Seven Sentries. I had never heard that name before, but I could picture it written in slanted, hurried letters.

I reread the section, which spewed a slew of wild conspiracy theories. The book questioned whether the rest of the Seven Sentries knew what Looney Lazora was planning. According to this author, the others must have suspected something, since they were already building a refuge.

The only refuge I had heard of was Etherland, the city furthest north where the Noble Forces were based, which survivors spoke of like some paradise. But Seven Sentries... maybe they were important. And while their leader, the so-called Looney Lazora, had died years ago, maybe some others had survived.

I read on, searching for more clues. If I saw a mention of a research base, was I willing to leave the comfort and safety of the fortress once more?

Unfortunately, the next section was far less useful, rehashing old promises that the Infected didn't like the cold and would therefore never cross the mountains into the North. I wondered if the author lived long enough to realize exactly how wrong they were.

If only I could read my mother's journal instead of this Northerner garbage. Her theories had always proven far more accurate than anyone else's. In the year before the Infection started, she had been too busy to talk to me, scribbling away in that journal.

What had she written? Did she know what was coming?

I set down the book and eyed the empty plate. The food swelled in my stomach, making me feel uncomfortably full. One thing was sure: if my mother were still alive, she would still be trying to save the world. She wouldn't be sitting in a fortress with her feet up, enjoying a decadent meal. How many people were starving right now? Freezing? Becoming Infected?

A spark reignited in my chest—not the burning determination I once felt, but at least a flickering ember. I had failed to find any hint of a research base before, and I had nothing now that I didn't have then. I would be stumbling through an unknown land without even a map, alone and defenseless.

Unless...

I turned my gaze to the empty fireplace, now covered in dust. According to what Rekkan told me earlier, he had once cared about someone. And if he was capable of caring about anyone, maybe I could fan those embers back to life, too.

If he didn't hate me, he might one day not hate the world. And if he didn't hate the world, maybe he would help me save it.