But my new plan is to focus on me now. Instead of trying to heal a wound, I’m going to keep doing things that make me feel strong. Spending time with Clara. Protecting my tribe. I can do those. They fill me. And some wounds you can’t fix by sheer will. You just have to let them heal on their own.

Regardless of all that, I am going to kiss Straggler. Not for me, but for him. The contentment inside me is so strong that I have to spread it.

I actually feel like trying to be nice.

“Haven?” I say. “I have a birthday gift for you.” Then I lean over and plant a kiss on his lips.

When I draw away, he is stunned, but I’m not finished yet. I can’t help but smile, knowing how much my next words will mean to him. “You can tell both of your brothers I said you were the best.”

Into the Still Blue

Dedication

DEDICATION

For Michael

1. Aria

1

ARIA

Aria lurched upright, the echo of gunshots ringing in her ears.

Disoriented, she blinked at her surroundings, taking in the canvas walls, the two bed pallets, and the stack of battered storage trunks, finally recognizing Perry’s tent.

Pain pulsed steadily in her right arm. She looked down at the white bandage wrapped from her shoulder to her wrist, dread swirling in her stomach.

A Guardian had shot her in Reverie.

She licked her dry lips, tasting the bitterness of pain medication. Just try it, she told herself. How hard could it be?

Aches stabbed deep in her bicep as she tried to make a fist. Her fingers gave only the slightest twitch. It was like her mind had lost the ability to speak with her hand, the message vanishing somewhere along her arm.

Climbing to her feet, she swayed in place for a moment, waiting for a wave of dizziness to pass. She’d come to this tent soon after she and Perry had arrived, and hadn’t left since. But she couldn’t stay there a second longer. What was the point, if she wasn’t getting better?

Her boots sat on top of one of the trunks. Determined to find Perry, she slipped them on—a challenge, one-handed. “Stupid things,” she muttered. She tugged harder, the ache in her arm becoming a burn.

“Oh, don’t blame the poor boots.”

Molly, the tribe healer, stepped through the tent flaps with a lamp in hand. Soft and gray-haired, she looked nothing like Aria’s mother had, but they had similar demeanors. Steady and dependable.

Aria jammed her feet into her boots—nothing like an audience to motivate—and straightened.

Molly set the lamp down on a trunk and came over. “Are you sure you should be up and about?”