“Everyone’s human.” I trace my fingers along the rim of his wound. “And we’re supposed to heal on our own.”

“Not always.” He lets out a sigh. “The only reason I ever did before was because of The Colony … they pump us up with a bunch of this medicine crap that accelerates the healing process.”

“I don’t remember this,” I tell him, brushing back his hair from his forehead. His skin’s beading with sweat and I wonder if the pain is making him delusional.

“It was done daily,” he answers, squirming and wincing. “At least to anyone who was a Bellator.”

My daily injection. “I thought that was only done to me—and that I’d die without it.”

“You might have,” he murmurs. “If you’d gotten hurt bad enough.” Then he stills, soft breathing as his heart fails.

I think about my shots. Every day Monarch would give them to me, saying it was saving my life. Which it was, I guess, but then why did he stop? Why did he skip the shot right before The Gathering?

I glance down at my arm, blood pumping strong, skin free of cuts even after the horrific fall. Medicine remains in the bloodstream for a certain amount of time, but is my blood still concentrated enough to save Aiden? Probably not, but I have to try.

I adjust my weight, carefully sliding Aiden’s head off my lap and onto the ground. He winces from the firmness but doesn’t’ wake. I wipe my hands on my torn jeans and start up the rock, my body waking up the higher I climb.

When I reach the top, I grab my jacket and backpack and quickly put them on. Then I scrabble back down to Aiden. He doesn’t stir when I kneel beside his head, but his heart still thrums, so I have some time. Removing a syringe from the bag and crossing my fingers that this will work, I bite the lid of the needle off and stab it into my forearm. Once it’s full of my blood, I pull out the needle and watch as my skin stitches itself up. This boosts my hopes that it’ll work. I move the knife to Aiden’s leg and inject it right above his wound. Then I wait for my blood to pump through his blood, hoping it works, but not expecting—I never expect anything. Slowly, but surely, the bloody hole on his leg starts to shrink as the skin cells and muscles rebuild and reconnect. Once the skin has sewn back together, the rhythm of his heart becomes sturdier—stronger. His eyes open and I know that he’s going to be all right.

I breathe relief, relaxing back and letting him sit up.