There was no discussion between them; it was as if the bugs had worked out this whole scenario long ago. Temp put on a burst of speed for the end of the bridge, and Tick turned to face down the army of rats alone.

I just...I just miss him. And I hate being so alone.

The pain over my heart returns, and from it I imagine tiny fissures spreading out into my body. Through my torso, down my arms and legs, over my face, leaving it crisscrossed with cracks. One good jolt...and I could shatter into strange razor-sharp shards.

I don't want to cry. Everyone will make note of my tears and I'll be marked as an easy target. A weakling. I will give no one that satisfaction.

Sometimes when I'm alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena.

How much energy they put into harming each other. How little into saving.

Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us.