“Don’t look down.”

“Correct,” he said, imitating Jax. I laughed.

We reached the top without incident or injury. Nick had been climbing buildings since he could toddle; he found footholds where none seemed to exist. Soon we were back on the rooftops, the streets far below us. My feet fell on artificial grass. On my left was a small fountain—no water—and on my right, a bed of shriveled flowers. “What is this place?”

“Roof garden. I found it a few weeks ago. I’ve never seen it used, so I thought I’d make it my new bolt-hole.” Nick leaned on the railing. “Sorry to snatch you like that, sötnos. Dials can get a little claustrophobic.”

“Just a bit.”

We didn’t talk about what had just happened. Nick got too frustrated by Jaxon’s tactics. He tossed me a cereal bar. We looked out at the dusky pink horizon, almost as if we were watching for ships.

“Paige,” he said, “have you ever been in love?”

My hand shook. The mouthful seemed very difficult to swallow: my throat had closed up.

“I think so.” Little cold chills ran up and down my sides. I rested my back on the railing. “I mean—maybe. Why do you ask?”

“Because I want to ask you what it’s like. To try and work out whether or not I’m in love.”

I nodded, trying to create the impression that I was calm. In reality, something slow and unsettling was happening to my body: I was seeing tiny black dots, my head was featherlight, my palms were clammy and my heart was beating hard. “Tell me,” I said.

His eyes stayed on the sunset. “When you fall in love with someone,” he said, “do you feel protective of them?”

This was strange for two reasons. One, because I was in love with Nick. I had known that for a long time, even if I had never done anything about it. And two, because Nick was twenty-seven and I was eighteen. It was as if our natural roles had been reversed. “Yes.” I looked down. “At least, I think so. I did—I do feel protective of him.”

“Do you ever want to just . . . touch them?”

“All the time,” I admitted, a little shyly. “Or—more like . . . I want him to touch me. Even if it’s just to—”

“––hold you.”

I nodded, not looking at him.

“Because I feel as if I understand this person, and I want them to be happy. But I don’t know how to make them happy. In fact, I know that just by loving them, I will make them terribly unhappy.” His brow creased the way book paper does. “I don’t know whether to risk even telling them, because I know how much unhappiness it will cause. Or I think I know. Is that important, Paige? To be happy?”

“How can you think it’s not important?”