Jode scratches the pale stubble on his jaw. He clears his throat, and I realize it's the first sound I've heard in a while, aside from the crackle of the fire.
"I'll keep first watch again," he offers. "I'm overtired. I haven't got much chance of sleeping anyhow."
No one argues. It wouldn't work anyway.
After a few minutes of willfully pressing my eyelids closed, I accept that sleep isn't in my near future either, and give up trying.
Sitting up, I pull my journal from my backpack. Marcus has disappeared into his blankets. Across the fire, Jode winks at me, then goes back to panning the woods. Gideon is asleep eighteen inches away from me. But who's counting?
I turn to a blank page and write Sebastian's name a few times in all its variations.
Sebastian. Bastian. Bas.
Seb, which he once told us was what his brothers in Nicaragua called him.
Then I write Famine. And then hunger, and I don't even look Gideon's way, but my heart starts racing anyway.
I page to "Reasons." It's become a habit to add to this list. Going to sleep without reflecting on the day's Reasons would feel incomplete. I reread the last few lines. I add to it.
19. Humor, in the face of the frightening and bizarre
20. Conviction, in times when hope is scarce
21. "This is going to be good, Daryn. I promise."-I promise, too. I won't let fear stop me.
I close my notebook and stash it in my backpack, double-checking to make sure the orb is safely tucked at the bottom. Then I twist my hair up, piling it on top of my head.
"For the record," Jode says from across the fire, "I think the recent developments I've observed are excellent."
I smile. "Thanks. I do, too. And who knows? Maybe he'll lighten up on the Anna thing now."
"One can hope," Jode says, in a wry voice, devoid of all hope.
In the interest of newly added entry number twenty-one, and of the bravery it'll require from me to keep my promise, I move to Gideon, lift the edge of his blanket, and burrow right against his back.
His armor isn't bulky-it's much tougher than leather, though just as thin and flexible-but it still makes him feel distant. I can't feel the life in him at all, but that's not the point.
The point is I'm here.
Gideon stirs, his body flexing with awareness. Cool metal slides over my hip, and he relaxes again.
For a while all I notice is his prosthetic on my hip. All I feel is surprise at how much I like it-this adopted part of him that makes him so unique. Then tiredness washes over me in waves. As I drift off, a blurry, brilliant happiness fills me.
He told me this would be good, and it will be. I won't run, like I usually do. Even if he hurts and I can't make it right, or even if I hurt and he can't make it right, I'll stay.
This will be good.
CHAPTER 20
GIDEON
"Did I miss something? Did you ask them to leave?" Daryn asks, tipping her chin at Jode and Marcus.
"No. I didn't say anything." Instead of sitting with us by the fire this morning, they've wandered off about thirty yards to eat. I think they're giving Daryn and me some time alone before we get going again. There's no other logical explanation. "But, pretty cool of them, right? This is practically our first date."
She laughs. "It's certainly memorable."
"What do you want for breakfast?" I reach into one of our supply bags. "Trail mix, trail mix, or a granola bar-trail mix that's glued together? Keep in mind that we should probably get going in about five minutes."
"Hmm. Tough one." She squints at the sky in thought. "I'm going to have to go with my favorite. Trail mix."
"Good choice." As soon as I try to open the packet, I realize my mistake. The plastic is thin and slippery, but thick enough to be hard to tear. Level-ten challenge with only one working hand, and I'm not going to rip into it with my teeth.
I try to pin it with Robohand and tear with my right. I drop the packet a few times. Tug at air a few times.
Nothing's working and embarrassment's hitting hard. I feel the heat on my face and the rush of my heartbeat. I'm starting to sweat. And I'm hyperconscious of Daryn watching my hands, not saying anything.
Please don't say anything. Don't ask if I need help.
Just when I'm about to smash the entire thing, the plastic tears.
I hand her the open packet.
"Thank you." She leans over and kisses my cheek, then pours the contents out onto her palm.
Just accepting how things are.
How I am now. In here. In general.
It's the best thing. The best thing she could've done. A surge of gratitude and wonder sweeps over me. Too much to hold inside. I suddenly want to tackle her, kiss every bit of her, but she's hard at work picking out M&M's and sorting them by color. I can't make myself interrupt her.