"Shouldn't we tell Sloane about this?"

    "No."

    "But she might be able to send back-up—"

    "Damien, no," I say, gripping the loaded gun at my hip. The flashlight I'd needed back in the arena has no point now; the moon is bright enough to light Damien's and my path. I hear his footsteps crunching leaves behind me, steady and cautious. My one good eye tries to look for disturbances—claw marks on trees, paw prints, evidence of rogues—but also for human footsteps that might indicate Gael, who is making me very confused at the moment. I don't know whether to be mad at him for our fight earlier and now for endangering his life, or to be praying that he hasn't been eaten alive. To lose someone else the same way I lost my father wouldn't be fair. "If Sloane knew about this, Gael could get his badge revoked."

    I hear a snort from Dame's direction. "According to you, he didn't deserve it in the first place."

    I want to turn and hit him, but refrain, since I have to be on high alert at all times. Werewolves are stealthy as much as they are ruthless, which is not a good combination. I can't be unprepared, if I plan to escape the forest with my life tonight. "I know I overreacted earlier, and as soon as I find Gael and get him the hell out of here, I'll apologize to him. You don't have to rub it in."

    "You're cute when you're mad, you know," Damien says.

    I stop walking, letting him slam into me, then bring down my heel on his foot. I look over my shoulder just to see him grimace, and smile as I pick up my pace again. "Never call me cute again."

    We continue walking, moonlight guiding us, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up at every noise I hear. It can be the flap of a bird's wings, the chirp of a cricket, or even just a small whoosh of wind; either way, everything makes me cringe. I'm waiting—waiting for something to pounce at me and end my life with one menacing bite.

    Okay, maybe I'm overreacting again—I don't know for sure that there are any rogues at all, so why I am stressing? I keep trying to tell myself to calm down, but no matter how many times I think it, I still feel on edge. It's been half an hour, maybe more, and we haven't found Gael. What if he's already a wolf's dinner?

    No, I need to be positive.

    A hand reaches out and grabs my arm, and for a second I'm ready to kung fu kick someone when I realize it's only Damien. I turn towards him, preparing to scold, but when I notice the apprehensiveness in his expression, I resign from saying anything. His eyes darting around, he pulls me closer to him and says, "Something's coming in this direction."

    "Well, what thing?"

    "I can't be sure," Damien replies, glancing down at me as he frees a knife from his boot. "Sorry, but it's not like I hear 'Hi, my name is Wolfy, and I'm going to eat you.'"

    I step on his foot again, cocking my gun, which is loaded full of silver bullets. I won't let another rogue take anyone else from me; it's not happening. Damien groans, rolling his eyes, but then he goes rigid and points at a bush in front of me. Getting the message, I angle myself at it, and I wait.

    The wind blows by, ruffling the bush's leaves like the feathers of a bird. I feel myself shivering, but am hot underneath my jacket; thus is how I know I'm more afraid than I'm letting on. By now, I don't need Dame's ears to tell me from where the something is approaching—I can easily hear the footfalls, the disturbance of grass as it is pushed aside like something meaningless. It grows nearer and nearer still, and I bite my lip, my finger tightening like a vice on the trigger of my handgun.

    A shadow emerges from the trees, and I tighten my grip, but don't pull the trigger—it doesn't walk on four legs, or so I can tell. The shadow gets closer, materializing and taking shape before me—

    "Gael!" I shout, dropping my gun and throwing myself at him. "Oh my God! Are you okay? You idiot! I thought they might have eaten you—"

    "Gemma, whoa. Calm down," Gael tells me, gingerly removing me from himself. He looks down at me, clearly confused, his eyes as dark as the forest around him. He takes a hesitant step back. "You don't talk to me all day, and now you hug me as if nothing happened?"

    I realize he's still hurt, and because he is, so am I. Keeping my distance but desperately wanting to hold on to him in case something comes at us, I sigh, shaking out my hands. "Gael, I'm so sorry. I totally overreacted today and I...I don't even have words to express how wrong I was. You're not inexperienced, not naïve, and you...uh...look, Gael, I know why you came out here." In the back of my head, I curse myself for being so inarticulate. I have always been horrible at voicing how I feel; apologies are not my forte.

    Gael glances at Damien, behind me, then back at me. His expression has softened but is still skeptical; he has every right to be suspicious of what I'm saying to him. I hurt him. I really hurt him. "You do?"

    "I told you that you weren't good at hunting," I say, dropping my gaze as I form a divot in the earth with the toe of my boot. "It's my fault that you feel less than worthy—but I lied, Gael. Please, can we just go home now? It's dangerous out here...didn't you know it was a full moon?"

    "I did know that, and that's why I came," Gael says, his eyes narrowing. His tone is harsh. "To prove to you that I'm not as much of a freeloader as you think I am. As both of you think I am." His eyes lift to Damien, who looks surprised when I glance back at him.

    "Daylights, Gael. If we stay here, we'll be eaten alive. Gemma's sorry; she never meant to hurt you. You don't have to prove anything to us. Let's just go—"

    "No. I have to do this."

    I reach out to him, but he flinches back. "Gael, you're going to get yourself killed!"

    "Then let me die! Will that prove enough to you?"

    Damien looks as if he's on the verge of annoyance, his eyebrows drawing in as he steps closer. I can feel him against my back. "You're being stupid."

    "See! You guys really don't trust me. You don't think I'm one of you, do you? I'm human. I'll never be a hunter—"

    "Gael, you already are," I plead with him, and this time when I reach for his hand, he lets me take it, and I step closer to him, feeling the blades of grass brush the small rectangle of skin above my boots. I look up into his eyes, which blaze down at me, and not with their usual sincerity. I wonder if it's really us he needs to prove something to. "I trained you because I saw potential, and I still do. Please don't let some silly words I said—me, I'm the stupid one—get in the way of...of everything that you've learned. I don't care if you're human, Gael, you're still important to me."

    For a second, his face just goes blank, and I wonder if anything I said was useful at all, or if it was all just gibberish. Then his hand comes up, brushing my cheek with a softness like silk. His smile meek and his eyes genuine, he opens his mouth to say what looks like my name, but it never escapes his mouth.

    A whizz of motion tears us apart, and I feel fur brush against me as I stagger back, surprised at the suddenness of it all. Before I can register it, I'm screaming; a wolf closer to the size of a bear has tackled Gael to the ground, its coat silver and black, and it's already tearing into his flesh. Damien tosses me my gun, and I catch it, aiming at the head and poising my finger on the trigger—

    I stop, hesitating. Both of us suffered losses. I'm stricken at the thought of Frederick, fighting tears in that interrogation room—I had taken his family from him, and nothing would ever bring them back. This wolf could be someone's father, someone's son, someone's anything. Who am I to take him from this world?

    "Gemma! Shoot!" Damien sounds terrified.

    Gael's screams have lessened to whimpers, and with my heart speeding in my chest, I aim for the leg and pull.

    The wolf rears, rolling off of Gael with a whine. I see Damien rush to Gael's side, and start to do the same, until I see that the wolf has recovered. It rises from a heap on the ground, staggering towards me with a limp, eyes lit like candles. All I have done is angered it.

    Damien is screaming at me to shoot again, and to aim between the eyes, but I ignore him, slipping my gun back into its holster and grabbing another one from around my back. For a second I stare down at it; at first glance it looks like any other lethal hunting rifle, but it's not. My father had first showed me how to load and shoot it in the living room a year before he died: We try not to kill anyone when we don't have to, Gem. Sparing them gives them a second chance.

    The people Frederick loved hadn't gotten a second chance, because of me. I'm not about to take that opportunity from anyone else.

    The wolf lunges, and I fire. With another whimper, it blinks its sleepy yellow eyes at me, then crumples down to the ground again, an unmoving—but thankfully breathing—lump of fur.

    I set my gun down and rush over to Damien, covering my mouth in horror when I lay eyes on the scene before me. Gael lies unconscious amongst the underbrush, Damien leaning over him. A gash in his shoulder leaks blood out onto the grass, lacerations and bite marks on his abdomen turning his dark shirt darker. Blood smears his immobile face, and each breath he takes is unsteady.

    Tears falling down my cheeks, I crouch down, tracing my trembling hands over his wounds. I see my father lying dead underneath the trees, his unblinking eyes staring up at the stars above him, his ears oblivious to my screams for him to come back to me. I was hopeless back then.

    I'm not right now.

    I grip his shoulder with my hands, expecting him to cringe in pain, but there's nothing. I try to calm my pulse, the tears impairing my vision more than the night is. Taking a deep breath, I focus in on him, just like I did outside city hall, and just like I did at headquarters. I pull more and more from myself, feeling my hands warm as I grip his wound tighter. Blood leaks over my fingers, but begins to draw in like water through a straw, the skin closing. All of me begins to feel heavy, but I keep going, moving to his chest.

    Damien, by now, has realized what I'm up to, and he catches at my arm. "Gemma, stop! You're going to hurt yourself!"

    "I have to...I have to heal him," I say, my eyelids drooping, but I blink to keep them open, gritting my teeth and forcing more energy out of myself. I can do this. I can save him. I won't lose him, not like I lost my father. If it means giving some of myself up, I'll do it—

    Gael's eyes fly open, and he looks up at me in confusion and surprise, trying to reach up for me. I sit back from him, exhaling; Damien has appeared behind me, and he catches me in his arms before I can fall over.

    "You guys are both stupid," he breathes in my ear as Gael sits up, marveling at himself in pure awe. As soon as I've assured him I'm fine, just a little tired, Damien lets me go, and I fold myself into Gael's arms, the blood previously on his shirt long gone by now.

    Amidst our tangle of pulse, breath, and relief, I hear his words in my ear: "Thank you, Gem. Oh, God, thank you."