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Salem taught me that even enemies deserve respect.

This is the first time in six years that I understand the lesson.

And for whatever it’s worth, whether Saren ever fully understands or not, he has earned my respect.

***

“You’re slowing down,” Saren says, no longer limp.

“You’re heavy,” I retort, and he gasps.

“I’m…not that heavy.”

Smirking, I finally concede and let him walk.

We’re close to the lake now. The one just outside Hale Valley. It’ll be a frigid dip, but we both could use a bath. There’s a safe house on the south bank, so I’m sure we’ll find some supplies tucked away. While there’s still urgency to find Salem and the others, I’m bone tired. The toll is just too heavy to ignore.

“What do you think will happen when you find them?” Saren asks.

The answer is automatic. “We head to New Grove.”

Saren stops. I groan and do the same. “You know there is no secret entrance.”

“I’m not in the mood to argue, Saren,” I sigh heavily, pushing my hair away from my face. It snags on my fingers.

“It doesn’t warrant arguing. I’m telling you there isn’t one. Any oil smuggled into the community had to have come through the main gates.”

“Agree to disagree,” I tell him and resume walking.

He huffs and follows suit. “What do you need there anyway? You couldn’t wait to leave when we were kids.”

This time, I hesitate. A nagging sensation still warns me that I cannot trust Saren. “I left something behind, and I want it back,” I mince the truth a bit.

Salem wants me to find my bonded, to curb the pulse's effects and keep me from turning into a monster. He doesn’t want me to share his grim fate. After what he found implanted into my body- some device that severely altered the acceleration of my powers- it made sense to an extent. Finding my bonded would combat it and possibly nullify the effects altogether. I could have the best of both worlds, so to speak.

And I’d be spared from turning into a mindless mass of energy.

We’d have a real shot to turn the tide of this war. With a weapon, a bonded Other, and research for a cure, there might be a fraction of hope.

But I never could remember the secret entrance back into New Grove.

“Your journals?” Saren asks, hopeful.

“My what?” I scowl at him.

“You kept journals. At least six of them. I stashed them in Patryn’s lab before I—”

“Wait.” I stop again and throw up my palm. “Why the fuck would I have journals? I can’t read or write.”

The fact used to embarrass me so deeply I hid it from everyone for years. And when it eventually became too hard to hide, Nina offered to teach me. I pointedly refused, said I lived my whole life without the skill and didn’t need it.

My pride wouldn’t allow me to show any more weakness.

“You absolutely can read and write,” he argues, placing his hands on his hips.

“I’d remember that,” I counter.

“You forgot me,” he snaps, traces of deep hurt present in his tone.