Clay looks at me and our eyes meet. How are his eyes so blue? “It’s okay, you know,” he says. “Bennett’s a friend. And ’sides, I wouldn’t let them hurt you.”

I’m flustered and nervous and I want him closer to me. And … no. I got to do anything but feel how I’m feeling toward Clay right now. I curl my fingers into my palms until my nails bite into the soft flesh there. “I can take care of myself,” I say a little colder than I intended.

Clay arches back on his chair, the smile dropping from his face. “I know, tough guy.” He looks as though he’ll speak to me again, but a wave of fatigue settles on his face. Rubbing his eyes, he scrapes out of his chair. “I’m going to bed. Don’t wake me when you come in.”

Clay stumbles into the spare room. In his wake, I feel cold and alone. The orange light drains out of the room. Only the hound sits with me in the twilight and he’s snoring under the table. I stare at Clay’s water glass, the dirt smudges from his broad hands around the base. He must have calluses sprouting on his smooth palms, and if I’m aching with chores, what must a townie kid be feeling? Not once did he complain. He acted like there was nothing he’d rather do than help Bennett. Then there’s me, the world’s most awkward girl. It doesn’t matter that I have to keep my gender a secret. Even if I could tell, no one would line up for the job of dealing with my mess for the rest of his life.

I put my head in my hands, but command the tears to stay where they are. No sense in crying. Pushing Clay away is for the best. The less I get attached, the easier it will be to sever ties once we find my mama. After that we’ll have to go our own ways. Naturally.

A stupor falls over me. My eyelids droop and the air thickens. It’s time to stop torturing myself and go to bed. I shuffle to Bennett’s bedroom. Ethan is curled into a ball on the mildewed mattress in the corner. Clay lies on the floor, his mouth open, sawing logs. I slink in, climb on the mattress and wedge myself between Ethan and the wall. His slight wheezing and the fatigue in my limbs knock me out before I can punish myself again.

* * *

Something’s moving in my room.

I try to open my eyes, but my lids feel weighted with sandbags. Fatigue pulls me under, but I fight. Something or someone’s here. I can feel it. I force my eyes open and blink into the dark. At first, there’s nothing. Then a shadow slinks along the wall.