The past five days have flown by, thankfully without any more deaths and with limited nightmares. Now, I only get bits and pieces of the same dream. A gun here, a Prowler there, but Dad and Nate are always present in some way. I miss my dad like crazy, but Nate? It's amazing how conflicted that boy has always made me feel about him.

Our plans for escape sprung into motion quickly after Ava and Eleanor got out. Joe and the girls finished the medicine, the Comforters are training, and Celia's box of armor overflows with spikes and leather and chains. Not only that, but while Celia's been spying on Mitchell's work, she painted me a new painting for the bedroom: an exploding tiger lily. Her first painting is still there, I told her to leave it up, and now it hangs beside the new one. As a reminder of how far she's come, she pointed out.

O'Neil agreed to help and met us in the drain a few times. When he first saw it, he nearly collapsed in laughter. "This has been down here the whole time? What a bunch of bloody idiots we are upstairs," he cackled.

Since then, he's actually been able to steal more equipment for us: free weights for training, and Kevlar vests so Celia can reinforce our armor. He even offered to install solar powered heating units in the Caregivers' cells since it's getting colder, and hide the medicine in the power cells so that he can deliver new pills each day. I asked him why he was helping us so much, and he told me it was because he hates Cooper, but I see how he looks at Nina. They treat each other like friends, but his eyes linger on her face a little longer than a friend's would. He cares about her. Maybe he's trying to impress her or prove he's a good guy, but I think that he truly just wants her to be safe and happy, and he knows this is how to do it.

The Caregivers are already getting better. The color has returned to their skin and they're able to do much more between breaks, Jane especially. Their hope is back, and that's half the battle. I just hope that Eleanor and Ava made it to the camp. If they did, everything should be on track, and in five days, we'll tear this place down with the Deathless. But Ian and the other soldiers sent out to find them haven't returned yet, and that worries me. If anything were to happen to Eleanor, Ava, or even Ian, I wouldn't be able to push it out of my mind like I have with bits of my nightmares.

Daniel and I are the last ones in the physics lab tonight. After an afternoon of working on our amplifier, which we disguised as a device for his detectors, we are almost finished constructing it. Tomorrow, it will be complete.

I can't lie to myself: Despite overhearing Daniel with Winston last week, working with him on the amplifier has helped to put me back together. Little by little, the scientist in me is coming back to life. I feel my mom in me, except that if she were here, this amplifier would have been completed by now. And expertly.

"This is nice, right? Working together?" I ask.

He peers at me in confusion as he wraps up the amplifier for the night. "Yes?"

"Science can be fun, right?"

He ties the sheet over the amplifier, his brows furrowed, and then the veil of confusion lifts. "Ah," he says, "you spoke with Winston?"

My forced smile fades. "I was in the drain."

"Spying on me?"

"I was with Celia, but then yeah, I guess," I say. "Look, you probably don't like science anymore, because you're here. I think you'll like it again once we are back with the Deathless, and then we can work together all the time. As scientists. You won't have to fight."

"But I want to fight. I don't want to be a scientist. I don't want to create anything that can be manipulated into something terrible."

"That's not the fault of science. Once you come to the camp and meet Declan, you'll see."

"I guess," he says. He wipes one of the desk tops with his palm, and streaks of sweat catch in the light.

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to be a soldier?"

"Really? Isla Blume, the adamant pacifist and Deathless scientist who co-created the knock out serum?"

"What does the serum have anything to do with it?"

He scoffs. "The knock out serum is one of the inventions I'm thinking of when I say that science has been corrupted." He must see the shock in my face, because he says, "Sorry, but it's true. It was used to keep all those people in the bunker. If it weren't for you—"

"—They all would have died. It's not my fault if the President and Gunther use my invention for evil."

"But when do we take responsibility for what we've created? At least when you're fighting, you're in control of your actions. No one is manipulating what you do. If you kill someone, that's on you."

It feels like I swallowed hot coals, and I have to take a deep breath to calm the burning in my chest. "My serum can be used in place of killing people."

"Remember what happened with the atomic bomb? It was created by a group of well-meaning people, and then, nearly a hundred years later, it's used to bring the end of the world. I'm not saying that your serum could bring the end of the world, I'm just saying that science corrupts. It makes people feel like gods, and then people like Cooper and Gunther get into power."

"Well, Gunther and Cooper are special cases, and I'm not ashamed of what Declan and I created. I don't get why you would be."

"This is why I didn't want to talk to you about this. You know I've always been fascinated with military strategy. This stuff," he says, gesturing to the lab, "I'm good at this sort of thing, but it's not my passion. The inventions I made back home were for necessity. I was always happiest playing soldiers and hunting. You're happiest being a scientist, and I love watching how you light up in the lab. That's why I didn't want to argue, because I don't respect you any less, I just can't be a scientist anymore. It's killing me."

I calm myself down with a few deep breaths, until I let myself look at him. Really look. In the moonlight streaming from the windows, I can see the worry lines around his eyes. What has made me come alive is dragging him down, making him older.

I sigh. "If you want to fight, even if I don't like it, I'll support you."

He smiles. "Really? Just like that? What happened to stubborn, angry Isla?" he laughs.

"Hey," I nudge his shoulder, "I'm not always stubborn and angry. I can be quite charming. Besides, I just... I want you to be happy." I hear my dad's voice in mine. "I want us to be happy. If you want to be a commander or whatever, then I'll support you."

"You don't sound very convincing," he says.

"Well, I'm trying to, give me a minute. You're my best friend, and I love you. So... do what you have to do... nutcase. I'll get over it. Just, be safe. I can't lose you again."

He smiles, and puts his hands on my shoulders. "Sorry to break it to you, Blume, but you're going to be stuck with me for a long time. We are connected, or haven't you noticed the string between our souls?"

"Oh, man," I joke. "I guess we can never be apart again or we will cease to exist."

"That's the basic idea, yeah."

"Kind of codependent, don't you think?"

He rolls his eyes. "It's figurative, not literal, Isla."

"Okay, okay, whatever clingy." We smile at one another. "Let's go upstairs. I'm tired," I say as I take his hands, and I lead him out of lab.

The hallway is dark and empty. The only stirring is from hovering drones, but a light shines from beneath the Biology lab door.

Daniel turns to the buzzing drone beside him: "Who is in the lab right now?"

The drone beeps before the automated voice answers, "Dr. Gunther Quail."

"What's he doing in there?" Daniel mumbles to me.

The drone beeps again. "Purpose unknown."

"Okay," he says, opening the drones front panel, and dismissing it.

We walk to the door, and Daniel puts his ear to it. "Hold up," he whispers, "there's someone in there with him."

I point to the ground, and mouth the words "Get down."

We lay our bodies flat against the floor, and we peer beneath the door. All I can see is that Gunther's private room is open, but I can't see inside. I can barely hear anything, but as long as we breathe silently, the voices are audible. And I recognize them: Gunther and Joe Wilkes.

"They look ready to me," Joe says.

"How soon can you implant them in Hugh?" He must be talking about the lungs.

"I could do it tomorrow if you'd like. I'd be happy to do it."

"Good. The sooner, the better."

"Understandable, but what's the rush?"

"There's no rush, I'd just like to give my brother a second chance at life."

"Okay... I'm sorry to have asked. I'll schedule the surgery for tomorrow morning. Anything else, Dr. Quail?"

"No, that will be all. Thank you Dr. Wilkes."

"Good night."

Daniel and I scramble to stand and press our backs to the wall. As Joe shuts the door behind him, he sees us, and holds his chest in surprise.

"You startled me," he whispers. "What are you doing? It's late."

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Gunther called me down. The lungs are ready for me to implant in his brother, so we were just making plans for the surgery. Were you eavesdropping?" he asks, pulling us away from the lab. We follow him down the hall, until we're a safe distance away. "The whole exchange felt... strange. I felt uncomfortable. I understand the urgency to be reunited with a healthy loved one, but I felt... pressured."

"How do you mean?" Daniel asks.

Joe continues to walk, and gestures for us to follow him up the stairs. "When I first told him the lungs might be too young still, he raised his voice to me. He told me they would have to work, like he didn't have any more time to wait."

"That's... disconcerting," Daniel mumbles.

"Could he know...?" I ask.

"How? There's no way," Joe asserts, "but he may have different plans. Which concerns me."

We reach our room. "I'll see if I can figure out anything tomorrow," Daniel says.

"Are you going to...?" I ask, nodding toward the girls bathroom.

"Not tonight, I need to rest for the surgery tomorrow. Good night," he says, and pats us on the shoulders.

Daniel opens the door, and I follow him into the room. We change into our pajamas, and crawl into the bed together. "Does this mean we're becoming fancy bed people?" I ask, pulling the covers over my chest.

"I guess so," he sighs.

"What has become of us?"

"Either we're growing up," he says, rolling onto his side, "or we're getting too comfortable here."

He meant for it to be a joke, I know, but the thought makes me sick. It's dangerous to feel too comfortable here. When you do, people get hurt, and I can't lose anyone else.