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Trish steps closer. “Clair?”

That snaps her back. Mostly.

“Two guys,” Clair says, voice steadier than the rest of her. “They tried to grab us. They’re down.”

Joanie’s brows climb. “Down. Sure. That’s one word.”

I glare at her.

She grins.

Clair still won’t quite look at me.

Not for more than a flash.

Her fingers curl at her sides, then flex open again, like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands now that they aren’t fisted in my jacket.

I know what I want her to do with them.

That thought makes the guilt cut sharper.

Lyla sweeps the room in one glance. “Shots are going to draw attention.”

Right.

The world snaps back into place.

Blood. Noise. Dead men. Cannibals somewhere too close. A plan still waiting. Fuel we don’t have. People depending on us to come back with what we need.

Jacob steps in, gaze cutting over me once, then Clair. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t ask. Not now. “We need to move.”

I nod and step away from Clair.

It costs more than it should.

Her eyes follow the movement.

For one stupid second, hope hits.

Then she looks down, touches two fingers to her bottom lip, and turns toward her pack.

I don’t know what that means.

I hate that I don’t know what that means.

We grab what we can, fast. Bags open. Supplies go in. Hands move. Jacob takes the cart, steering it toward the door while Trish and Lyla strip the shelves of anything worth carrying.

I collect my bow, my hatchet, and the arrows scattered across the floor.

My hands still buzz with the feel of Clair’s mouth on mine.

I don’t let myself look at her again.

Because if I see regret on her face, I’m not sure what the hell I’ll do with it.

TWENTY-FOUR

ABOUT. DAMN. TIME.