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A lying, smug, gorgeous, innocent man.

By the time we drive back to camp, I’ve mostly managed to look normal.

Mostly.

The second we step out of the truck, Poppy comes running over, bright-eyed and already talking before she reaches me.

“Mom! Joanie let me sleep in her sleeping bag, but she said if I kicked her one more time, she was going to feed my toes to the undead, but she didn’t mean it because then she gave me the better pillow.”

I blink.

Leon’s mouth twitches beside me.

“She also said three new curse words in her sleep,” Poppy adds proudly. “I’m not repeating them because Edith said I’m impressionable.”

“That was very wise of Edith,” I say, fighting a smile.

Poppy shifts her gaze to Leon and gives him a small smile. “Hi, Leon.”

Leon’s whole expression softens as he lifts his hand in greeting.

Poppy rocks back on her heels. “Were you successful last night?”

My soul leaves my body.

Somewhere behind Leon, Lyla makes a strangled sound that is definitely a snort.

Poppy keeps going, oblivious. “You know, did you find anything cool when you went looting?”

I press my lips together so hard they might disappear.

Lyla mutters behind Leon, not quietly enough, “Oh, I think Leon found something good last night.”

My face bursts into flames.

“Lyla,” I snap.

She coughs into her fist, eyes watering. “What? I support successful supply runs.”

Leon, the traitor, just smiles. Then he steps slightly in front of me, waving one hand like he’s shooing us away from Lyla’s terrible face. His other hand brushes my lower back, quick and warm, before he winks at me.

Winks.

Like I am not actively dying.

Poppy grabs my hand and pulls me toward the fire, already chattering again about Joanie’s sleep threats and Edith’s breakfast plans. I let her tug me along, still blushing, still sore, still warm in places I refuse to think about while standing in broad daylight surrounded by people who absolutely know too much.

TWENTY-NINE

BOYS = 0, EDITH = 2

LEON

Across camp, Luis throws a tennis ball for Wesker, who launches after it like fetch is the only thing holding civilization together. Near the hood of Earl’s car, Carlos stands with his arms crossed while Earl taps the map with a pencil and points out street grids, landmarks, and how not to get turned around when half the signs are gone.

“See, right there,” Earl says, tapping a folded corner of the map. “Road bends, but this alley cuts through. Don’t trust the big streets just because they’re big. Big streets get you noticed.”

Carlos grunts. “I know how streets work.”