“I don’t have to stay here?” he asked. “Of course I do. I gave my word, and that’s a stronger bond than any chains you could use to lock me down, or any walls you could put up to keep me in.”

Calix bit her lip, thinking, and finally nodded. “I realize that, and I thank you. We all do. But . . . I asked if you were happy here, and you talked about leaving. You told me how wonderful it is here, and then talked about leaving. How do you think it makes us feel that your only conception of happiness involves leaving? You could be happy here, Samm, I know you could. We would do anything we can to make you happy here.”

She stopped talking abruptly, wiping her cheek with her hand so quickly that Samm couldn’t tell if there’d really been a tear on it or not. He instantly felt bad, thinking about how insulting his attitude must be to the humans of the Preserve. They needed him for the pheromones, but they treated him like a person. They’d accepted him as one of their own, just like Samm had shown Gorman. And yet for all their efforts to include him, Samm wasn’t working to include himself. He didn’t know if he could.

Calix looked at the floor, avoiding his eyes, and he realized something else. Calix had wanted him once, back when he’d first arrived. He’d told her he was in love with Kira, but now Kira was gone. What was to stop Samm and Calix from being together now? Had she been waiting this entire time, too polite to exploit Kira’s absence, but counting the days until Samm came to the same realization? He’d promised to stay here forever. What was he waiting for? What was he holding out for? If this was really his home—not just the place where he lived, but a real home, with a new family—why was he still acting like a visitor?

Calix was kind, she was smart, she was funny, and even with a bullet wound in her leg she’d been more than capable of contributing to the Preserve. They’d been spending more and more time together over the last few weeks, until Samm had come to think of her as one of his best friends. And he had to admit she was beautiful. Calix wasn’t Kira, but Kira wasn’t Calix, either.

And Kira wasn’t here.

Calix looked up, as if sensing his gaze. He looked at her, studying her face, her eyes, remembering their kiss. Was it really so wrong? He was staying here anyway—was it really so bad if he stayed here with her?

“Samm.” Her voice was hesitant, probing.

“Calix,” he said.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” he said quickly. “You’ve made me realize something.”

She bit her lip again. “What?”