And I would never have met him.

I try to imagine this. I don’t think I could have gotten through my time at Keller, once I was expelled from Everton, without him. Those weeks stuck in the Cage were awful. It was bad enough that we carriers were quarantined from the rest of the school in an old sports equipment room, complete with a lockable grate, but then to have that pervy sleazebag Brockman guarding the six of us . . . My nape prickles at the thought of what Brockman could have done to me. He’d already made life hell for Coco, the only other female carrier there. He would have tried to do the same to me. And again, at Mount Haven, Sean was always there to defend me, whether I wanted it or not.

“We’re just doing our best to live in this world, Davy.” Sean’s voice stretches into the fading dark. “We’re not perfect, but we’re not monsters, either. We’re just human.”

“I know,” I murmur. “I’m trying to get there.” And I am. I really am.

I ease down beside him and join him in gazing at the stars. Eventually their light starts to diminish as day takes over.

Gradually I slide my hand away from his, still needing that distance, that space.

“So time is the answer?” I try not to sound so skeptical. Especially after everything he just revealed to me.

“You’ll get there, Davy.”

He sounds so certain. I wish I could be. After a while I prop myself up on my elbows and look out at the river again. That’s all I need. Time and freedom. A life that isn’t crippled with regret. Where brown eyes and bullet holes don’t follow me everywhere. Then I’ll be me again. Or at least some new version of me that isn’t always looking behind her.

Our last night in the trailer I can’t sleep. I don’t let myself. Maybe it’s because we’ll be up in a few hours anyway, heading across the border. Once we cross, we’ll meet with our contacts on the other side, sympathizers who help relocate carriers like us to refugee camps in Mexico. The driver who brought us here had given us the instructions. It could just be nerves, my anxiousness for the upcoming journey. That might be what keeps me awake. I know I should rest, store my energy for the trip ahead, but it’s pointless. I can’t sleep.

Sean shifts beside me, his arm draping over my waist, and I tense.

Lifting his arm from my waist, I slip silently from the bed and ease from the bedroom. I take two steps down the hall before coming face-to-face with Sabine. I swallow back a gasp.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“Hey,” I return. “What are you doing up?”

She lifts a glass. “Water. What are you doing up?”

I glance back to the shut door behind me, unsure how to reply, unwilling to lay it all out there. Especially since I’m fighting the truth within myself, determined to change it.

Instead I go with: “Couldn’t sleep.”

She nods as though understanding. “Nervous about tomorrow?”

I shake my head. “Not really. I’m ready.” Ready and anxious.

She cocks her head, studying me, her gaze dark in the lightless hallway. She motions to her room. “Wanna talk for a while so we don’t wake Gil?”

“Sure.” I follow her into the smaller bedroom and sit on her mattress with my back propped against the wall.

She follows suit, sitting cross-legged and holding her glass in her lap, lightly tracing the rim. “What do you think it will be like when we get over there?”

I shrug. “Better than this, I’m sure. We won’t be paranoid over the Agency showing up.” At least I don’t think they’re following carriers into Mexico. And from what we’ve managed to hear on the radio, the Mexican government is too busy focusing their efforts on protecting the border. They’re not chasing down fugitives inside their country.

We knew when we ran that there would be no going back to Mount Haven. No second chances. If they catch us, we’re dead. I rest my head against the wall and slide her a long glance. Forward is the only way to go. “At least over there we have a shot.”

“You ever wonder if it’s like Mount Haven over there, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. A bunch of carriers cooped up together . . . we know how dangerous that can be.”

“There won’t be anyone forcing us to hurt each other. We won’t be at anyone’s mercy.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. I can’t help it. It’s always there. The fact that I’m just what they said I am—what my DNA proclaims me to be. A killer. “We’ll be free to go or stay. That makes all the difference in the world. It’s not a prison.”

She takes a long drink from her glass. “But we’ll still be trapped—”

“Not trapped,” I quickly insert. “I’ll never be trapped again. We can come and go—”

“And go where?” At my silence, she snorts, and the sound irks me, seeming to say, I thought so.

She shakes her head. “I’m just keeping things in perspective . . . and hoping you are, too.”

“Me?” I blink. “Why wouldn’t I be keeping things in perspective?” Whatever that means.

“I just don’t think things will necessarily be better over there.”

They have to be. I simply stare at her.

She continues, “We’re different . . . all of us. You know that, right? I mean this—” She waves in the direction of my neck and the imprint there. I resist the urge to touch it—like I can feel the brand on my skin. “Some of us are killers. It’s in our blood . . . that ability. It doesn’t mean we walk around killing without conscience, but we’re just . . . better equipped to do it. Some people don’t have it in them, but we do. You’ll feel a lot better once you accept that.”