We’ll leave tomorrow before sunrise.

I pace in the hallway for a bit, my heart hammering, and my hands cold. The temperatures inside are rapidly dropping with the change of weather, and I should ask Isaiah or Mackenzi to figure out the central heating of this place. Tomorrow. Or the day after, rather.

Tonight, I have other things on my mind.

I pause in front of Casey’s door, raise my hand to knock, then turn back again. I don’t understand why this is so difficult. We’ve kept our distance so carefully, and perhaps that barrier extends to our everyday now.

Three more steps, pause.

Another step or two.

The door opens.

I freeze.

Casey sighs. “You shouldn’t be here, and you’re driving me up a wall. Either come in, or get back to your room, please.”

I push my cold hands into my armpits and let my hair fall in front of my face, suddenly self-conscious. This is who we used to be. It’s not who we are. I’m trying to mesh together the me from several months ago with who I am now, and the pieces won’t fit.

“Grace.”

“I’m trying to be strong for everyone else,” I admit. “Tonight, I don’t want to be. But I don’t think that’s fair to you either.”

I don’t have to see Casey to know he’s shaking his head. “Come in, you.”

“Are you okay with that?” My voice is so much smaller than I hoped it would be, but I’m tired and lonely and scared out of my mind.

“It’s been weeks since the last infection. I don’t think either of us is ill, and if we are, well…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. I turn to him, and he rubs his hands over his face. The circles under his eyes are constant, and his shirts hang loosely around his shoulders. We should steal clothes for all of us at some point.

He pushes his door open farther and beckons me in.

“Fuck it.” I stop resisting, duck under his arm, and enter. Casey’s room is as threadbare as mine in its own way. He’s added a second cover to his bed and an extra pillow, which he probably grabbed from one of the empty rooms in the west wing. The wall facing the door has a large water stain on it from a semifixed ceiling leak, while the paint on the window frame is peeling off. Instead of graffiti, his room has names and lewd messages carved into the door.

He steps in and closes the door behind him then leans against it. “What’s up, Star Kid?”

His voice is so familiar, it undoes me. I plop down onto the bed and put my head in my hands. “I’m scared, Case. I’d like to go back to being angry instead.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t come closer. His dark eyes soften. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I almost laugh. “No.”

“This is it, isn’t it? Our best chance?”

It might be. I won’t admit that out loud. “I want to be here with you. I want to remember what life was like before all of this.”