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Evander seemed bulletproof to me. He’s solid and unyielding. A rock.

Now he’s coming apart, though, and all I can do is watch. I swipe my thumbs beneath my eyes, clearing away my tears.

“Amira.”

Evander mumbles my name so faintly I can hardly make it out. My heart leaps with hope and I take his hand in mine.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

He opens his eyelids, then furrows his brow, mumbling. “No ... I’m not. She’s right.”

“It’s okay.” I run my hand over his fevered forehead, trying to soothe him. “Just rest.”

I’ve been sitting with my back to a concrete block wall, his head in my lap because I didn’t have anything soft to use as a pillow.

“Go,” he says, his lips barely moving. “Not enough ... I’ll hurt you.”

The fever is making him talk nonsense. I try to think of something that will bring him back to the present.

“You like Butterfingers and Alien. The movie. Remember?”

“I like you.”

I smile. “You sure about that? It’s Amira. You find me difficult and abstract.”

He shifts his head a fraction, looking at my face. “Beautiful. Strong.”

My heart cracks in two. Could he really believe that, deep down? In a place he doesn’t want me to see when he’s in control of himself?

“I think you’re beautiful, too,” I whisper, tears burning my eyes. “Please don’t die on me.”

“I’ll kiss you.” He tries to lift his hand but only gets it about an inch off the floor. “When I’m dead.”

“That’s ... not something I’m into, actually. Could you maybe do it while you’re alive?”

“He didn’t deserve you.”

My heart pounds, his eyes locked on mine. I shouldn’t let it upset me. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Still, I can’t help asking.

“Who?”

“Him.”

He cringes. I look at my watch, wondering which of the medications from his bag I’m supposed to give him for pain. None of it was labeled.

“I think you have a fever. What should I give you?”

His lips quirk and he mumbles, “Sunflower.”

I sigh softly, frustrated. “I don’t think that’ll help, and your kit is fresh out of sunflowers.”

“Your eyes,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on them. “Gold. Brown. Green. Sunflower.”

My tears spill over, because my hazel eyes do have all those colors. He closes his eyes, and I cup his cheek. Those can’t be his final words.

His chest is still rising and falling, but his skin is too hot.

“I feel like Briar is in trouble. I can’t tell you that when you’re not recovering from a bullet wound because you’ll think I’m crazy. But I swear I can feel her.”