One, two, three … There’s the small jolt of pain as the knife pierces my skin. Four, five, six … A deeper pain as the tweezers go in. Seven, eight … I feel something detach. Nine … The trickle of blood down my neck. Ten … His hand pressing a cloth to the wound.

“Done,” he says, sounding relieved.

I turn around slowly. His hand’s still on the cloth on my neck. My eyes travel up his outstretched arm to his face. If he weren’t so handsome with his steel blue eyes and easy smile, it might be easier to stay mad.

“Here,” he says holding the tweezers out. He drops the bloody chip into my palm. It’s so small, about the size of a button, yet so complex with its tiny wires. A green light fades in the center, like a firefly winking out. “You can keep it,” he says. “A memento if you want one.”

I place the chip carefully in my pocket. I have to remember the hospital. My mama’s there.

“Come on,” he says, waving me into the house.

The smell of mildew and decay hits me as we walk in the front door. The air’s thick, swirling with dust we churn up with our boots. The foyer opens into what used to be a kitchen and living room. The part of the kitchen ceiling has fallen onto the buckling cabinets. Everything of value has been stripped, so all that remains is warped linoleum, dirty carpet and piles of trash. My hand brushes over a flaking newspaper on the kitchen counter that crumbles to pieces before I can read the headlines. Cobwebs drape from the corners. I spy a trail of brown animal droppings near the splintered sliding glass door. It’ll be an interesting night’s sleep.

The barren backyard doesn’t look much better with the tilted swing set rusting in the dust. Other dilapidated houses dot the landscape as far as the eye can see. I grab Ethan by the hand and pull him toward the yard. I need to get him alone to ask all the questions thudding around in my brain.

Clay looks up from the armload of wood he’s carrying—a broken kitchen chair, piece of a picture frame, what looks like a dusty jewelry box. “Where you two going?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “To pee. Do you mind?”

He frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t think you should wander around alone.” His eyes flick across the yard to where Hatch drags a fallen tree trunk like a twig to the woodpile.

I hold up Ethan’s hand that I’m clutching. “I’ve got Ethan, okay? We’ll be back in a few minutes. Feel free to hold your breath till we return.”