Page 24

Every thought in my head goes quiet.

My hand lifts before I can stop it, fingers hovering near her chin.

Almost.

Not enough to touch.

Enough to make her breath catch.

Enough to make me remember exactly why I shouldn’t.

Not like this. Not while grief still shakes in her hands. Not when she came here to learn how to stand, not be pulled into me because I’m too weak to keep my hands to myself.

I lower my hand and step back.

Confusion flashes across her face, followed by something worse.

Embarrassment.

Shit.

That is not what I wanted her to think.

I reach for my notebook, but before I can write a damn thing, a low moan drifts through the broken storefront.

Then another.

Close.

Perfect fucking timing.

Clair’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t run. Her gaze cuts to the crowbar on the floor, and she picks it up, fingers wrapping tight around the metal.

Glass crunches beneath my boots as I move toward the front windows. Wind cuts through the cracked panes, rattling what’s left of the display sign above us. Outside, the street isn’t empty anymore. Three infected drag themselves from the mouth of an alley. Another stumbles from behind an abandoned car, its shoulder hanging wrong, saliva dripping down its chin.

Enough to scare her.

Not enough to overwhelm her.

I can work with that.

Another groan rolls through the broken doorway.

Closer now.

Clair’s head turns toward it, panic flickering across her face.

I pull the notebook from my pocket and write fast, the pencil biting into the page.

I tear the page free and press it into her hand.

She looks down.

Get ready.

The infected outside stumble closer, their shadows crossing the broken window in jerky pieces. One shoulder bumps the door, rattling the frame. Another groan spills into the shop, wet and hungry.

I step back before she can argue and lift my bow, nodding toward the street.