I bite it back, but his eyes darken anyway. He was always too good at reading me, and it seems unspoken words can still hurt. He rocks to his feet.

“Does it matter, Grace? Maybe I shot someone. Does that mean I don’t matter anymore? If I did what your foster brother did and assaulted a girl, would I deserve this? Maybe it was armed robbery or murder that got me sent here. Would that be enough to let me die in an outbreak? Where do you draw the line?”

I narrow my eyes. “None of us are that bad. Remember? We’re here because the state and Better Futures believed we could be rehabilitated and turned into productive members of society.”

“God, yes, productive. Because that’s all we should care about.” He grimaces. “Is bad the opposite of human, Grace?”

I hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“The twins were convicted for arson and attempted manslaughter. Are they bad?” He breathes out hard. “Besides, if we are left to our own devices, do you think it’s any better in detention facilities? This is supposed to be a good place.”

“I guess not,” I admit. I hadn’t thought about it or about anything else beyond these walls and this community. I couldn’t. I can’t.

Casey does the unthinkable. He grabs me by my shoulders and pulls me to my feet. He wraps his arms around me and holds me so closely, I might suffocate. He holds me close enough that I can smell the citrusy shampoo we stole and the scent of musk and detergent. He holds me until I stop resisting, stop shaking, stop tearing up.

He holds me until I cling to him in return and everything is right and the world may stop turning around us.

“We can’t forget, Grace. Promise me you won’t. We are the only ones who can save ourselves.”

My voice is muffled. “I promise.”

I won’t.

I’ll save them all if I have to.

I’ll carry his words with me when we go into town tomorrow, like a shield, an anchor, a guiding light.

Like a memory of who we were and who we will someday be.

Thirty

Logan

Five of us leave Hope. Almost half of everyone who’s left. The others, minus Leah and Xavier, come to see us out. Over the past few days, the importance of this trip has grown, and it makes me nervous. I don’t want us to fail. I don’t want us to be disappointed.

We walk to town together but split off before we get there. Nia and I in our cleanest and best, with surgical masks that Grace stole from one of the houses. I try not to think too hard about who wore them before us. Emerson wears their Sam’s Throne disguise uncomfortably. Their shirt is a little too small, the jeans a little too wide, and they keep rolling their shoulders. When they put on the woolen jacket that Sofia found, they complained that it itched. But they don’t look like they come from Hope, and that’s what matters.