Releasing her arm, I step back. “You can tell Goldberg to get you the pill and whatever birth control he thinks is best.” My voice sounds unusually cold and distant. “I’ll wash up and get dressed.”

And before she can say anything else, I go into the bathroom and close the door.

I don’t want to see the look of relief on her face.

I don’t want to think about how that would feel.

2

Nora

Stunned, I watch Julian’s naked form disappear into the bathroom. He’s hampered by his injuries, his movements stiffer than usual. Still, there is a certain grace to the way he walks. Even after his hellish ordeal, his muscular body is strong and athletic, the white bandage around his ribs emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the bronzed hue of his skin.

He didn’t object to the morning-after pill.

As that fact sinks in, my knees go weak with relief, the adrenaline-induced tension draining out in a sudden whoosh. I had been almost certain he would deny me this; the expression on his face as we spoke had been shuttered, unreadable… dangerous in its opaqueness. He had seen right through my flimsy excuses about my school and his injuries, his undamaged eye gleaming with a cold blue light that made my stomach knot in dread.

But he didn’t deny me the pill. On the contrary, he suggested I get a new method of birth control from Dr. Goldberg.

I feel almost light-headed with joy. Julian must be on board with the no-kids bit, his strange reaction notwithstanding.

Not wanting to question my good fortune, I hurry out of the room to grab Dr. Goldberg. I want to make sure I get what I need before we leave the clinic.

Birth control implants aren’t easy to come by in our jungle compound.

“I took the pill,” I tell Julian when we’re comfortably ensconced on his private jet—the same plane that took us from Chicago to Colombia after Julian returned for me in December. “And I got this.” I raise my right arm to show him a tiny bandage where the new implant went in. My arm aches dully, but I’m so happy to have the implant that I don’t mind the discomfort.

Julian looks up from his laptop, his expression still closed off. “Good,” he says curtly, and resumes working on the email to one of his engineers. He’s outlining the exact specifications of a new drone he wants designed. I know this because I asked him about it a few minutes ago, and he explained what he’s doing. He’s been much more open with me in the past couple of months—which is why I find it odd that he seems to want to avoid the topic of birth control.

I wonder if he doesn’t want to discuss it because of Dr. Goldberg’s presence. The short man is sitting at the front of the jet, more than a dozen feet from us, but we don’t have total privacy. Either way, I decide to let it go for now and bring it up again at a more opportune moment.