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then closes
     his eyes. I can see the pain slashed across his face, and the sight tears at me. The
     Republic’s most wanted criminal is just a boy, sitting before me, suddenly vulnerable,
     laying all his weaknesses out for me to see.
    I straighten and reach up to his shirt. My hands touch the skin of his shoulders.
     I try to keep my breathing even, my mind sharp and calculated. But as I help him pull
     off the shirt and reveal his bare arms and chest, I can feel the corners of my logic
     growing fuzzy. Day is fit and lean under his clothes, his skin surprisingly smooth
     except for an occasional scar (he has four faint ones on his chest and waist, another
     one that’s a thin diagonal line running from left collarbone to right hip bone, and
     a healing scab on his arm). He holds me with his gaze. It’s hard to describe Day to
     those who have never seen him before—exotic, unique, overwhelming. He’s very close
     now, close enough for me to see the tiny rippled imperfection in the ocean of his
     left eye. His breaths come out hot and shallow. Heat rises on my cheeks, but I don’t
     want to turn away.
    “We’re in this together, right?” he whispers. “You and me? You
want
to be here, yeah?”
    There’s guilt in his questions. “Yes,” I reply. “I
chose
this.”
    Day pulls me close enough for our noses to touch. “I love you.”
    My heart flips in excitement at the desire in his voice—but at the same time, the
     technical part of my brain instantly flares up.
Highly improbable,
it scoffs.
A month ago, he didn’t even know I existed.
So I blurt out, “No, you don’t. Not yet.”
    Day furrows his eyebrows, as if I’d hurt him. “I mean it,” he says against my lips.
    I’m helpless against the ache in his voice. But still.
They’re just the words of a boy in the heat of the moment.
I try to force myself to say the same back to him, but the words freeze on my tongue.
     How can he be so sure of this?
I

certainly don’t understand all these strange new feelings inside me—am I here because
     I love him, or because I
owe
him?
    Day doesn’t wait for my answer. One of his hands trails around my waist and then flattens
     against my back, pulling me closer so that I’m seated on his good leg. A gasp escapes
     me. Then he presses his lips against mine, and my mouth parts. His other hand reaches
     up to touch my face and neck; his fingers are at once coarse and refined. Day slowly
     moves his lips away to kiss the side of my mouth, then my cheek, then the line of
     my jaw. My chest is now solidly against his, and my thigh brushes against the soft
     ridge of his hip bone. I close my eyes. My thoughts feel muffled and distant, hidden
     behind a shimmery haze of warmth. An undercurrent of practical details in my mind
     struggles up to the surface.
    “Kaede’s been gone for eight minutes,” I breathe through Day’s kisses. “They expect
     us back out there in twenty-two.”
    Day twines his hand through my hair and gently pulls my head back, exposing my neck.
     “Let them wait,” he murmurs. I feel his lips work softly along the skin of my throat,
     each kiss rougher than the last, more impatient, more urgent, hungrier. His lips come
     back up to my mouth, and I can feel the remnants of any self-control slipping away
     from him, replaced with something instinctive and savage.
I love you,
his lips are trying to convince me. They’re making me so weak that I’m on the verge
     of collapsing to the floor. I’ve kissed a few boys in the past . . . but Day makes
     me feel like I’ve never been kissed before. Like the world has melted away into something
     unimportant.
    Suddenly he breaks free and groans softly in pain. I see him squeeze his eyes shut,
     then take a deep, shuddering breath. My heart is pounding furiously against my ribs.
     The heat fades between us, and my thoughts snap back into place as I remember with
     a slow, sinking feeling where we are and what we still need to do. I’d forgotten