Page 32 of Ghosts of the Dead

Mars rubs his chin. “Whoever this belonged to, they weren’t scavenging. They weren’t some run-of-the-mill dregs, either. This attack? It was organized. Someone’s backing them. Supplying them.”

The knot in my gut tightens. “You think it’s part of something bigger?”

Mars doesn’t answer right away, but his gaze turnsdistant and his expression somber. “Our colony had a leader once. We were under his thumb until he spiraled. He let some things slip in his final moments before he died.”

“That’s crossed my mind, too,” Jace says.

Mars runs a hand down his face and his shoulders sag at the memory. “He said there was a threat out there bigger than him. One of his last loyalists mentioned something about trading. Things like weapons, supplies, and even people.”

“People,” I echo. “You don’t think…”

“Unfortunately, I do, but we won’t give up,” Mars reassures me.

Jace lowers his binoculars. “If those symbols match what’s on this fabric, we have two potential locations to investigate. The train station might be easier to approach unseen, but the checkpoint could have more information if it’s still in use.”

“Then we’ll check out both,” Mars says.

A beat of silence stretches between us until Jace breaks it again. “Whatever this symbol is, whatever this fabric belonged to, we’ll watch out for it. Anyone wearing this stitching, carrying gear like this. Whether it’s a person or a rotter, we’ll find them.”

He pockets his binoculars and wipes his palms on his pants before running a hand through his hair. I catch the flicker when his fingers brush the part of his brow where the old scar cuts through the dark hair of his eyebrow.

He turns his attention to me. “Autumn, I need to check your wrist and redo your bandage.”

“Sure.” I rise and brush dirt from my knees before pulling Mars’s flannel tight around me in the crisp morning air. I’m not sure I’ll ever give this back. It’s far more comfortable than I expected.

I follow Jace to the back of the shelter where the light slants gold. Jace digs through his bag and sets out first aidsupplies. I hold my arm out and let him unravel the bandage. His touch is careful and warm, far different from his rough and sometimes cold demeanor. Nothing about this man is predictable.

“Thank you for everything. For how hard you work to keep us safe. I’ve noticed you don’t seem to sleep at night,” I say, trying to soften his gruff exterior.

He blinks as though the words catch him off guard, then he looks away. “It’s what I do.”

“Right.”

Ignoring the appreciative comment, he returns his focus to my wrist. He turns it over in his hands. “Does it still hurt at all?” He applies gentle pressure to the bruised joint, and I wince.

“Less than before, but yes.”

He nods. “It’s healing. Kind of like how Mars and Caspian are healing with having you around.”

I blink at that. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t look at me at first, only continues wrapping the bandage, but slower this time. “I’ve seen the way they act around you. How they talk. Smile more and fight less. They’ve been different in a way I’ve never seen before. You bring something out in them.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“No,” he admits, then meets my gaze. “But I need you to be honest. Don’t play with their heads. Don’t lead them on. I don’t know what the endgame will be, but they’re already prepared to do whatever it takes to help you as it is.”

I bristle at the implication. “I can’t imagine hurting them. They’re both good men. All three of you are. That’s plain to see. And that’s really saying something, because you’re truly the first decent humans I’ve met since the dead rose.”

“Agreed. They are good men, both of them. That’s rare in this world, and they’re not used to softness anymore.They’re not used to someone seeing them at their most vulnerable and then sticking around.”

“Jace,” I say, my voice tight. “I don’t use people. You came out here for me. I didn’t go searching for any of you. You guys are helping me find my sister. You think I’m taking that lightly?”

Once my wrist is wrapped to his satisfaction, he lets go of my hand and crosses his arms over his chest. “I think people survive by attaching to anything that feels like comfort. I’ve seen it before. That comfort can turn dangerous.”

My pulse spikes. “What kind of guys do you think I go after? Anyone who’s breathing and is kind to me for five whole minutes?”

“All I’m saying is to be careful.” His jaw flexes, and his eyebrow furrows. That scar’s a damn exclamation point. Makes him look a hundred times more lethal.

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