Her gaze had lifted. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she looked lighter—brighter, somehow. Like there’d been some light inside her switched off for too long, and he was only seeing it glow now for the first time. God, he wanted to do anything it took to keep it burning bright.

But then it came crashing back down.

“You’re kind to think that,” she said, too carefully. “But I know better.”

“Rebeka . . .” He shook his head. “Whatever you’re feeling about this connection you have—I promise you, it’s not your fault.”

“You have no idea.” She grimaced. “You don’t even know me.”

The words stung when they landed because he knew she was right. They hovered in an uneasy silence, so unlike the comfortable one they’d shared before. This new silence was too much, a hunger he couldn’t sate. And as much as he wanted to know her, more than that, he wanted to help. No. He needed to.

And suddenly, he felt that tingle under his skin, like when he saw past the mess of a schematic or circuit diagram to the system it could create. He felt like just the right switch being slotted into place. He might not be able to build bonds like his parents did, or tear through enemy lines like Uncle Al. But he could solve a problem.

“What if—what if I could close it?” Phillip asked. “Maybe even keep you from sensing it anymore.” The question felt too fragile, like a tissue-paper flower he’d made his mother once at school. She’d frowned at it, clucked her tongue. Don’t ever settle for something so false, she’d told him then. But now he would pin his hopes on something flimsy if he had to. He’d pin his hopes on whatever he possibly could.

“You really think you can do that?” Rebeka asked.

“I’d like to try.”

Rebeka looked at him thoughtfully, then nodded once, careful. “But only after I find my brother.”

Phillip knew how it felt to bear a gift that looked more like a curse. To be celebrated for something that made you feel sick inside. It was why he’d let himself be thrown from an airplane into a war-ravaged forest, wasn’t it? To desperately prove that maybe his talents didn’t have to be used for harm. But everywhere he looked, while others saw the shining light his gift cast, he only saw the gruesome, chilly shadows it left behind.

Simone stood then, and retreated to another room of the cabin to rest. But Rebeka was still looking at him, with more uncertainty now than before.

“Why are you really here?” she asked, and when he opened his mouth—“The truth. Not because of the army. Why are you.”

Phillip tangled his hands together to keep them from fluttering around. “I’m afraid it’s not so heroic as you may think.”