“Here,” he says, laying his palm on a sculpted pec. A vein runs diagonally, past his pale brown nipple. It pulses with his heartbeat. “What does it feel like?” I ask quietly. I can’t remember anything but pain. His lips turn down and a crease appears on the bridge of his nose. “Like I have another heart, and I didn’t know I had it, and now I do.” “I don’t feel anything.” He offers me a sad smile. “Yet.” “Ever.” “Come back to camp with me, Una.” “I hate you.” “I’ll buy you more mushrooms.” Tears fill my eyes again, and he stiffens, his blue eyes darkening. “I don’t want your mushrooms. I want
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