I shrug. “You just have to make that leap of faith.”

There’s a long moment of stillness. Everyone holds their breath. Molly’s eyes are squeezed tight. Her skin is drained of all color.

Then suddenly, the boy releases her. She flies forward into my arms. I grab her trembling body and hold her tightly, exhaling all the tension I’d been trying to hide from the boy.

Everyone’s relief is palpable.

“I’m Stephan,” the boy says, still looking guarded but showing no guilt or shame at all for having held Molly hostage.

“Nice to meet you, Stephan,” I say, trying to sound cordial rather than angry.

I hold out my hand for him to shake. But as his gaze darts down to my outstretched hand, I turn it into a fist and slam it under his chin. It knocks him out cold.

His gun clatters to the floor. I grab it and stash it in my belt. Everyone stares at me, open-mouthed.

“What?” I say defensively. “He deserved it.”

No one argues with me.

“You’d better tie him up before he comes to,” I tell Zeke.

“I’ll go and raid his food supply,” Ben adds.

“Good idea.”

I loop my arm through Molly’s and begin leading her back to the others. She’s still trembling.

“So you were just lying when you said Stephan could come with us?” she asks.

“Oh no, he can come with us if he wants,” I say with shrug.

“Then why did you punch him?!”

“I just felt the need to put him in his place. No one points a gun at my best friend’s head.”

Molly locks her green eyes on me.

“Thank you, Brooke,” she says under her breath. “And I’m really sorry about our argument.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “Already forgotten.”

Molly and I have never been into mushy displays of affection. It makes me uncomfortable to talk like this. Thankfully, we’ve reached the others and Bree runs up to me.

“Where have you been for so long?” she cries.

“We found a survivor,” I reply.

Bree frowns. “You did? Where?”

“Oh, Zeke’s just tying him up.”

Her frown deepens. But before she gets a chance to fire another question at me, I’m distracted by a noise that comes from behind her. I look over and see that Ryan is stirring. He’s waking up. Molly loosens her grip on my arm and gives me a little shove, as if to say, “Go to him.”

Quietly, I head to where Ryan is starting to bring himself up to a sitting position. He looks disorientated, and his cropped hair is still filled with soot. He manages to prop himself up against the wall, and hunches his knees to his chest.

“Brooke,” he says when he sees me approaching. “What happened?”

I crouch down beside him and put my hand gently on his shoulder. “Nothing happened. You’re safe.”