Hand in hand, we walk out of the city, past the fields, and out to the open fields in the west area of the compound.

"I've never been out this way," Isaac says, taking a seat under a skeletal tree. It's a decently warm day, but the ground is still cold and hard. Thankfully, I remembered to grab a blanket on the way out.

"Really? Why not?" I ask, sitting down on the soft material.

"Never really had the time." He shrugs and holds out his hand. I take it, and with a pained groan, he sits down beside me. Rubbing his leg, he pants. "Between work and chores, I was too tired to explore."

I nod in understanding, crossing my legs in front of me. Isaac leans on my shoulder. His breathing evens out after a few minutes of silence. Sheep wander in the pasture ahead of us, oblivious to our presence. An unbroken blue sky stretches out above, stopped only by The Wall.

"I see you and Mandy aren't getting along much better," Isaac finally says, putting his head on my shoulder.

"I doubt we ever will."

"You two are a lot alike, you know."

I scrunch up my nose. "How?"

"Other than looking alike?" Isaac laughs. "Passionate. Strong. Brave. I mean, you stood up to Hartley without even blinking."

"Hardly! I was terrified."

He sits up and grabs my knees. In one movement, he twists me so that I'm facing him, knees pressing against his leg. "And you stood up to him anyway. As far as I'm concerned, that's true bravery— being scared but doing it anyway. You'd have been stupid not to be scared."

I run a hand through my hair, bracing myself. It's time to have the conversation I've been dreading. "I am so sorry, Isaac," I whisper, letting my chin drop to my chest.

"Sorry? For what?"

"Leaving you in that room with Hartley. I should have pulled you in with me or attacked him or—"

"Jaelyn." His hands cradle my cheek. "Look at me."

I don't move. "Don't tell me it's okay. Don't forgive me that easy. I made a mistake, and I've been regretting it ever since. I was so wrong."

"It's not okay," he whispers, "but it wasn't wrong."

I look up in shock. "How was it not wrong? I nearly got you killed."

"So? Even if I had died, you still saved thousands of people by destroying the second strand. I'm just one person. What happened in that room was unfortunate, but it was so necessary."

"If you had died, I don't know how I would have lived with myself."

"The same way you have been the past two months," he says with a smile. "One day at a time until you inevitably forget me."

"I could never forget you! I—" The words stick in my throat. Isaac's eyebrows furrow.

"You what?"

"Nothing." Heat creeps into my cheeks.

"Oh... kay," he says with a shrug. "Either way, you didn't kill me; you saved tons of lives. Everything worked out. Stop throwing yourself a pity party and get over it."

I gape at him. He's not trying to be rude or mean, but his honesty does sting. Why hasn't anyone else told me to stop whining? Or have they and I've been too caught up in my own complaining to hear them?

"Tell me what you've been doing while I was recovering," he says, laying back with his hands behind his head. I lay down beside him.

"I started working in the fields," I say, smiling.

"Really?" He laughs, and I think I might explode. "I would have never guessed that. You don't seem like a farm girl."

"I'm not, but the work keeps me busy. And Howard works out there with me. So..."

As I keep talking, Isaac pulls me closer to him. Eventually, I'm laying with my head on his chest and our legs knotted together. He never once interrupts, letting me tell him all about the work that I do out in the Agricultural District. I tell him about Ollie's new rules and my worries about her intentions, my night terrors and sleeping in Dad's room, my execution date and Hartley's death. He listens, running his fingers down the ridges in my braid.

The sun eventually starts to set, and Isaac yawns under me.

"Ready to head back?" I ask.

"Only if you are." His eyes droop, though. I can tell he's tired.

"I am. Let's go."

The walk back home is long and silent. Because he's already tired, Isaac has to wrap his arm around my shoulder and walk much slower than we did on the way. I knit my fingers in his to help him keep his balance.

Regardless of his condition, Isaac's back. I'm happier than I've been in weeks.

By the time we get back to the house, night has fallen. The neighborhood sleeps, and street lights flicker as we walk under. We creep up into the living room, stepping over Mandy, Stephen, and the kids. A light drifts down from upstairs.

Dad must be home.

Clutching Isaac's hand, I tiptoe up towards the light. A cracked door greets me. I ease it open with a knock and stick my head in.

"Goodnight, Dad."

He looks up from his chair by the window. A book sits poised on his knee, the pages held back by a thumb. He shoots me a look of sleepy confusion. "Sleeping in your own room tonight?"

I nod. "I'm going to stay with Isaac."

His face changes from shock to concern. It's a face I've never seen before. He glances behind me at Isaac and scowls. "Are you sure that's really smart?"

Oh. That's what he's worried about. My face turns red.

"Dad," I whine. "Please. Nothing's going to happen."

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. "Promise."

With a loud groan, I say, "I promise."

"Fine. I'll see you in the morning." He waves me away with his hand. As I shut the door, he says, louder, "I have access to all of Hartley's cameras, Isaac. Consider yourself warned."

Isaac laughs nervously as I turn around, face red and eyes down.

"So embarrassing," I mumble, opening my door across the hall.

"He's just being a good father," Isaac says, sitting on the edge of my bed. He rubs at his calf, wincing a little. "Be thankful that you have one. Some of us aren't so lucky."

A solemn moment of silence passes between us. There's so much I take for granted, and all it takes for me to realize that is Isaac. Yet, he also reminds me how little I know about him. That's okay; we have a long time to get to know one another better.

"I'll sleep on the floor," he says, his voice low.

I furrow my eyebrows, cocking my head to the side. "What? Why?"

"It's a small bed." He's still mumbling. He glances behind him— a single pillow, a thin comforter, not much room behind him at all. It's a teenage girl's bedroom, no matter how bare the walls and floor is.

I plop down beside him on the bed, taking his hand in mine. "Isaac, we slept in the same room before. In a bank entry way, remember? In the Alma, on the side of the road. It's a bed. That's the only thing that's different."

"It's a big difference," he says with a laugh.

"Yeah, but it's only one."

He sighs but nods. It's going to be a long night.

I dig through my chest of drawers and find him a pair of Dad's pajamas, pointing him towards the bathroom. He shuffles off with an adorable, shy smile. I change into my own night outfit and wait on the edge of the bed.

Everything's about to change again. Just when I'm getting back into something of a routine, life jerks my feet out from under me and knocks me to my knees. I enjoy working in the fields, telling jokes to Howard and eating our lunch under the shade of an evergreen. I've grown used to morning conversations with Mandy and Stephen, to Jackson and Belle's footsteps as they run through the ground floor.

Yet, I don't dread what's about to come.

When we first left the compound, my stomach knotted itself together in a bundle of nerves and fear. The unknown terrified me. There were too many unknown variables, and everything culminated in one young, inexperienced, small girl.

That girl's age isn't much different, but everything else about me is. I sit on the edge of tomorrow knowing that I can handle anything it throws at me. Sure, it has a lot to do with what happened in Room 406, in that desolate white room, on the steps of my execution spot, and in the chaos that followed towards normalcy.

But mostly, my confidence stands strong because of a boy who walks out of the bathroom in a shirt two sizes two big and pants pulled in bunches around his waist. He laughs awkwardly and mumbles that the clothes are a little too big.

I could do this alone, sure, but why would I want to?

"Move," Isaac says, waving a hand in my direction.

I blink in confusion. "What?"

"Get out of the way," he repeats.

I stand and step sideways, away from the bed. Isaac takes a few steps back, jogs across the room, and throws himself onto the bed. His body bounces a few times before settling into the mattress.

"Why?" I ask between giggles. Isaac laughs breathlessly from the bed, eyes pinched closed. As I wait for an answer, I sit down beside him.

"Just because I can." He grabs a handful of my shirt and pulls me down to lay beside him. "We're alive. We should at least enjoy it."

I lay in the crook of his arm, my face pressed against his chest. Again, why would I want to do this without him?

"Tell me a joke," he says after a giant yawn.

"Um... Sure." I drape a hand over his stomach. "What do you call a pig that does karate?"

He laughs. "I have no clue. What?"

"A pork chop."

Isaac explodes in laughter. The bed shakes with him. Soon, I'm laughing too. Tears jump to my eyes. The laughter continues until my cheeks hurt. Isaac doesn't ask for another joke. Instead, he falls dead quiet. The clock on my nightstand ticks loudly.

"Did you mean it?" he asks suddenly, pulling me closer to him.

"Did I mean what?"

He takes a deep breath. "What you said at the door, when it shut between us."

It requires no effort on my part to remember the conversation he's talking about.

"I did."

"Do you still?"

I crane my neck to look up at him without sitting up. "Of course I do."

Isaac smiles down at me, his free hand coming to my face. It frames my cheek and pulls our faces closer together. Again, I'm lost in his crater dimples, his rainforest eyes, and his nest of hair.

"Can I finish what we started?" he whispers, breathy and quiet.

"Please do," I reply, just as slow, just as quiet.

Isaac closes the distance between us, his lips crashing into mine. The kiss is as sweet and pure as I imagined it would be. Warmth and love and longing, all in one touch. Isaac's free hand knots itself in my hair, tugging me ever closer to him.

I could tackle tomorrow— next week— next year— forever alone, but why would I want to?