“Then we have to be thankful for the days we’ve had,” I hesitate and smile, trying to make her think I believe my own words. “And then we run,” I add, grinning wider.

She laughs then, and it’s like a bright spark of joy spiraling around us. She’s still laughing when the door opens and Catcher strides in. He glances between us, his steps uncertain.

“I was worried when you ran off and didn’t come back.” I can’t tell which one of us he’s talking to. I tug on the ragged ends of my hair, pulling it over my face like a curtain.

He seems rattled at seeing the two of us standing next to each other. My sister strides forward and places her hand on his arm. The light barely extends that far and I wonder if I imagine him flinching at her touch.

“You okay, Catch?” She sounds so familiar that it’s easy to tell they’ve been friends for a long time.

Catcher glances over her shoulder at me and then steps away, gripping the back of his neck with his hand. She bats at his elbow. “You remind me of Elias when you do that,” she says playfully, and his face seems to blanch a bit as he drops his arm to his side.

“He’s looking for you,” Catcher says.

Even though I can’t see her face, I know it lights up. I can tell by the sway of her body and tilt of her head. “Where?” she asks.

“Back in the commander’s office in the main building,” he says. “They’re finalizing details about where you’ll be living.”

My sister takes a step toward the door and then turns back to me as if remembering I’m still here. She parts her lips to say something but I cut her off. “Go on,” I tell her, and she smiles, pushing out into the snowy afternoon and leaving Catcher and me alone.

I’m awkward around him. The last time we were alone together I had my legs wrapped around his waist, my face pressed between his shoulder blades. I blush, remembering the warmth of those moments. The way his muscles slid under my hands as he carried me through the flooded tunnel.

I clear my throat, trying not to shiver at the memory.

“I can try to get you another coat when I’m back in the City,” Catcher says. He’s standing at the edge of the darkness, the Unconsecrated man still walking in his wheel and the lights still flickering with a constant buzz.

“This is the only one I own,” I tell him, picking at the worn fabric.