The other two times I didn’t know who it was. Kyle again, or maybe Ian, or maybe someone whose name I hadn’t learned. All I knew was that twice more I was woken by Jared jumping to his feet with the gun pointed at the intruder. No more words were spoken. Whoever was just checking didn’t bother to make conversation. When they were gone, Jared went back to sleep quickly. It took me longer to quiet my heart.

The fourth time was something new.

I was not quite asleep when Jared started awake, rolling to his knees in a swift movement. He came up with the gun in his hands and a curse on his lips.

“Easy,” a voice murmured from the distance. “I come in peace.”

“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” Jared growled.

“I just want to talk.” The voice came closer. “You’re buried down here, missing the important discussions.… We miss your take on things.”

“I’m sure,” Jared said sarcastically.

“Oh, put the gun down. If I was planning to fight you, I would have come with four guys this time.”

There was a short silence, and when Jared spoke again, his voice carried a hint of dark humor. “How’s your brother these days?” he asked. Jared seemed to enjoy the question. It relaxed him to tease his visitor. He sat down and slouched against the wall halfway in front of my prison, at ease, but with the gun still ready.

My neck ached, seeming to comprehend that the hands that had crushed and bruised it were very close by.

“He’s still fuming about his nose,” Ian said. “Oh, well—it’s not the first time it’s been broken. I’ll tell him you said you were sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“I know. No one is ever sorry for hitting Kyle.”

They laughed quietly together; there was a sense of camaraderie in their amusement that seemed wildly out of place while Jared held a gun loosely pointed in Ian’s direction. But then, the bonds that were forged in this desperate place must have been very strong. Thicker than blood.

Ian sat down on the mat next to Jared. I could see his profile in silhouette, a black shape against the blue light. I noticed that his nose was perfect—straight, aquiline, the kind of nose that I’d seen in pictures of famous sculptures. Did that mean that others found him more bearable than the brother whose nose was often broken? Or that he was better at ducking?

“So what do you want, Ian? Not just an apology for Kyle, I imagine.”

“Did Jeb tell you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“They’ve given up the search. Even the Seekers.”

Jared didn’t comment, but I could feel the sudden tension in the air around him.