Chapter 6

The sun was burning down on Alexandria's garden plots. Charlotte dragged her rake through the dry soil, sweat sticking blond strands to her forehead. Her movements were mechanical, eyes fixed on the dirt like it might bite back.

Aaron stood a few yards away, arms crossed, keeping an eye on her. Not in a 'she's dangerous' way, though she probably was, but more like a man who didn't trust fate not to mess with her again after all that had happened to her, including the lies.

She stepped back to get a better angle on the squelching soil, heel catching on a loose stone. The next thing she knew, she stumbled hard, the sharp edge of her rake jabbing bluntly into her side.

A short, sharp hiss slipped between her teeth.

Aaron was at her side in a second. "Let me see."

"It's fine," she muttered, hand pressing to her waist. When her fingers came away crimson red, Aaron gave her a look.

"Infirmary. Now."

She didn't argue. Didn't flinch. Just started walking, calm like she'd just tripped in a puddle instead of stabbing herself. She'd been stabbed, shot, and knocked out more times than she could count. This was barely a paper cut in comparison, she had gotten used to it, which is not something a kid should have to do.

Inside the infirmary, the smell of sour antiseptic clung to the air.

Carl was sitting on the exam bed, Denise pulling a splinter out of his hand. He glanced up, and his posture shifted instantly.

"What happened?" he asked, voice level, but his eye darted to the blood on her shirt.

"Farm tried to kill me," she deadpanned.

The woman she had tried to stab the last time she was in this room, Denise? Charlotte wasn't sure if that was her name. She sighed, waving her hand toward the second bed, probably still pissed at this girl. "Sit. Aaron, thanks for bringing her. Carl, put those supplies away, please."

Carl hopped down, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She sat like she was waiting for a bus, unimpressed.

Denise peeled back her shirt carefully to study the wound. Charlotte didn't wince. She didn't even blink.

"Doesn't hurt?" Denise asked.

"Been worse."

Carl huffed quietly at that but didn't comment.

When Denise needed more bandages from the other side of the room, Carl ended up stepping in.

"Don't touch me," Charlotte muttered, rolling her eyes when he reached for the gauze.

"First of all, I'm not, I'm grabbing the gauze." His voice dripped with annoyance as he held up the bottle. "Secondly, I'm helping you," he said flatly. "It's for your own good, so shut up."

She went quiet. Not out of submission, more because she didn't feel like giving him the satisfaction of a retort.

His hands were steady, even if his jaw was tight, paying close attention to everything Denise did. The quiet between them was heavy, full of unspoken things neither of them wanted to deal with.

Denise got called away to deal with someone in the hallway, leaving them alone.

Carl cleaned the cut, taped the bandage, and stepped back just as she started tugging her shirt back down.

He caught himself staring. Just for a second, long enough for the weight of old memories to hit him.

He hated himself for it.

When he was fifteen, she'd been this bright, sweet force in his life. And now, after years apart, she was scarred, sharp-edged, and so fucking angry at him. But something in that moment, her calm over the injury, the stubborn tilt of her chin, hit him in a way he didn't want to think about.

He looked away quickly, busying himself with shoving supplies back into their places.

She didn't notice. Or maybe she did, and she just didn't care to ask about it.