He stares through the slash in his jeans, at his skin, where the wound has healed, but the stain of blood still remains. “What’d you do to me?” He says it like he’s angry and I don’t understand.

“My blood was still carrying the healing medicine, so I injected some of it into you,” I explain. “But why do you sound upset.”

He shakes his head and touches the tip of his finger to the bottom of his eye, running it down his cheek.

“Where’d it go?” I ask, noticing the white line’s missing—his freedom.

He doesn’t answer, getting to his feet and stretching out his legs and arms. “We should get going. If we hurry, we may still be able to reach the outskirts of the city before nightfall.” And without saying anything else, he starts down the rock.

It’s not that far of a fall, so I opt to jump and wait for him at the bottom. Then we set across the desert, the soft breeze blowing around as neither one of us utters a word. I don’t mind the silence, but the fear lashing off of him eats away at me. He’s afraid of turning into me. I don’t understand.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask. “For saving you?”

He gives me a confounding look. “Why would I be mad at you for saving me?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

He sighs, kicking at the rocks. “You’re misinterpreting my fear, Juniper. I’m not afraid of turning out like you. I’m afraid of turning back into one of them.”

“One of who?”

“A Bellator” he says. “It took forever for all that medicine to clear out of my system, so I could be free and human again.”

“I’m human,” I say. When he doesn’t say anything, I continue, “I’m human, just as much as you are.” I pause. “You should have told me about the healing thing before. Why didn’t you?”

“For the same reason you don’t share everything with me,” he challenges. “Tell me Kayla, what did you see in the memories—what had you so afraid?”

I blink the red away. “Nothing I want to talk about.”

“Why?’ He asks a simple question and yet I can’t answer. “Because you’re afraid of it.”

“No, because I just can’t.” The truth is, I’m not really sure what’s stopping me: my initial reaction to lie and keep things to myself or that the fact that what I saw does scare me.

He scratches at his eye, where the white line used to be.

“What was it?” I reach out, letting my fingers brush his cheek.