I start to fall back, to shift away but he puts his hand behind my neck, his fingertips grazing my pulse.

“I can’t lose you, Annah.” His face hovers in front of me. “I won’t lose you.”

And then his lips are on mine.

It’s the warmth I feel first. The pure heat of him when he opens his mouth as if to devour me. There’s such urgency—such a hunger between us—born of a need to be something to someone.

His other hand scorches down my back, pressing between my shoulder blades to pull me to him until there’s nothing between us, no air or breath to separate us.

I taste who he is and was and together we fall back onto the bed. I shove my hands into his hair, pulling him tighter—always tighter. We breathe each other. We are the other person in that moment—nothing distinct about us except the same desire.

He pulls back and we both gasp for air as he rolls to his side, still pressed against me. With the pad of his thumb he follows the curve of my cheek, the angle of my jaw.

Not my scars, but everything else. Everything whole.

I realize he’s shaking. I cover his hand with mine. “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

He looks at me, really looks at me. “I’m terrified,” he whispers. “Of us. Of hurting you.”

I lick my lips. “I’m terrified of being hurt,” I admit.

Before I can stop him he pushes away and walks to the window, grabbing the back of his neck as he always does when he’s worried and afraid. I perch on the edge of the bed, looking at him. At his reflection in the night sky.

“My sister Cira was infected.”

Surprised, I suck in a deep breath. “I didn’t know,” I whisper.

“She was beautiful and I thought she was strong, but then she lost hope and that was it. The end.” I can hear the pain in his memory. “Getting infected was just the way she killed herself.”

“I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

“And you.” He turns to face me. “You’re alive. Uninfected. I can’t watch the same thing happen to you. I can’t go through that again.”

“Catcher—” I jump up from the bed but the stiffness in his back stops me from touching him.

“You don’t understand,” he says. “I exist in this in-between place. In between you and Cira. In between life and death. I don’t even know who I am anymore. What I am.” He turns and leans against the window so that he’s facing me.