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don’t really know.
    I help Day take off his jacket and cap. His long hair drapes in strings across my
     arms. “Let me see that leg.” I kneel, then pull a knife from my belt. I slice the
     fabric of his pant leg up to the middle of his thigh. His leg muscles are lean and
     tense, and my hands tremble as they brush up along his skin. Gingerly, I pull the
     fabric apart to expose his bandaged wound. We both suck in our breath. The cloth has
     a massive circle of dark, wet blood, and underneath it, the wound is oozing and swelling.
     “That Medic better get here soon,” I say. “Are you sure you can shower on your own?”
    Day jerks his eyes away, and his cheeks turn red. “Of course I can.”
    I raise an eyebrow at him. “You can’t even stand.”
    “Fine.” He hesitates, then blushes. “I guess I could use some help.”
    I swallow. “Well. A bath instead, then. Let’s do what we have to do.”
    I start filling up the bathtub with warm water. Then, I take the knife and slowly
     cut through the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around Day’s wound. We sit there in
     silence, neither of us meeting the other’s eyes. The wound itself is as bad as ever,
     a fist-size mass of pulped flesh that Day avoids looking at.
    “Youdon’t have to do this,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to relax.
    “Right.” I give him a wry smile. “I’ll just wait outside the bathroom door and come
     help after you slip and knock yourself out.”
    “No,” Day replies. “I mean, you don’t have to join the Patriots.”
    My smile dies. “Well, we don’t have much of a choice, do we? Razor wants both of us
     on board, or he’s not going to help us at all.”
    Day’s hand touches my arm for a second, stopping me in the middle of untying his boots.
     “What do you think of their plan?”
    “Assassinating the new Elector?” I turn away, concentrating on unlacing, then loosening
     each of his boots as carefully as I can. It’s a question I haven’t figured out yet,
     so I deflect it. “Well, what do you think? I mean, you go out of your way to avoid
     hurting people. This must be kind of a shock.”
    I’m startled when Day just shrugs. “There’s a time and place for everything.” His
     voice is cold, harsher than usual. “I never saw the point of killing Republic soldiers.
     I mean, I hate them, but they’re not the
source.
They just obey their superiors. The Elector, though? I don’t know. Getting rid of
     the person in charge of this whole goddy system seems like a small price to pay for
     starting a revolution. Don’t you think?”
    I can’t help feeling some admiration for Day’s attitude. What he says makes perfect
     sense. Still, I wonder if he would’ve said the same thing a few weeks ago, before
     everything that had happened to his family. I don’t dare mention the time I’d been
     introduced to Anden at the celebratory ball. It’s harder to reconcile yourself to
     killing someone who you’ve actually met—and admired—in person. “Well, like I said.
     We don’t have a choice.”
    Day’s lips tighten. He knows I’m not telling him what I really think. “It must be
     hard for you to turn your back on your Elector,” he says. His hands stay slack beside
     him.
    I keep my head down and start pulling off his boots.
    While I put his boots aside, Day shrugs out of his jacket and starts unbuttoning his
     vest. It reminds me of when I’d first met him back on the streets of Lake. Back then,
     he would take off his vest every night and give it to Tess to use as a pillow. That
     was the most I’d ever seen Day undress. Now he unbuttons his collar shirt, exposing
     the rest of his throat and a sliver of his chest. I see the pendant looped around
     his neck, the United States quarter dollar covered with smooth metal on both sides.
     In the quiet dark of the railcar, he’d told me about his father’s bringing it back
     from the warfront. He pauses when he finishes undoing the last button,