But she was being ridiculous. They’d already lost hours because of her. He needed to get to the gate in time, and she wouldn’t be the reason he didn’t make it.

Especially not because she was dreaming about running her hands across his shoulders.

Lennon climbed up the rubble to the top, just beneath the bridge. He grunted as he pushed aside a big rock, and then braced his hands against his knees as he peered inside. “Yeah, this is the path.”

Maisie used her good hand to hoist herself up the rubble. Lennon extended a hand down when she got close, helping her the rest of the way.

“You go first,” he said.

She nodded, ducked, and stepped into the tunnel. It was cold and dark, and she had to crouch down. Lennon stepped in behind her, then shuffled around to put the rocks back into place to hide the entrance.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” he said.

“If one of us is getting crushed to death, both of us are getting crushed to death.”

He let out a sound between a laugh and a grunt as he pulled the final rock into place. It was dark, light barely filtering in from both sides of the tunnel.

“Stop it, you’re making me blush.”

She blushed too, and was suddenly very glad for the darkness.

His hand was warm on her back suddenly, and she shuffled forward, toward the light.

She squinted in the sun as she stuck her head out of the hole.

She was met with a gun in her face.

LENNON

LENNON HEARD MAISIE’S tiny intake of breath before he saw the gun.

And then, when Maisie climbed out of the hole, the girl behind the gun.

And then, all the other women with her, also holding guns. Lennon counted seven of them—most of them young, and all of them armed to the teeth. He saw guns strapped to hips and legs, sheathed knives, canisters on belts that looked terrifyingly like some kind of explosive.

This must be the Vals.

Lennon climbed out of the hole and down the rubble. He put his hands up. Maisie did not.

The girl in front—a tall brunette about Lennon’s age—jerked her gun at the hole. “Go back.” She had a very cute splash of freckles across her nose, which he decided to focus on instead of the weapon in his face.

“Just give me thirty seconds,” Maisie said calmly.

The girl cocked her gun. “I could give you thirty minutes, but there’s nothing a couple of assholes from East Spencer can say that’s going to change my mind.”

“We’re not from East Spencer,” Maisie said. “I’m from the south.”

The girl waited, expression curious.

“My name is Maisie Rojas.”

“Oh, shit,” one of the women said.

Maisie tilted her head toward Lennon. “And he’s from the other side of the wall.”

The girl lowered her gun, a baffled expression on her face. “He’s from where now?”

“It’s true,” he said, putting his arms down.