Theo keeps driving. If they'd been followed, he's fairly sure he'd have seen headlights trailing them into the twilight. Liam's exit strategy, such as it was, called for looping back before leaving the zoo to gather up whatever camping gear they could salvage and heading to the woods make real use of it, to give the hunters a false trail and the impression that they'd found the whole pack and let them slip away. Theo hadn't managed to salvage much. Just a few sleeping bags and pillows. But the rest of the idea seemed sound.

Better than running back to Scott's house, anyway.

He doesn't bother with a signal as he turns off the road onto a trail into the woods. Doesn't bother with the headlights either and lets his eyes go gold as he looses enough of the coyote to see by the stars. Liam doesn't say anything—hasn't said anything in quite some time, but he doesn't sound like he's asleep. The trail peters out into nothing, and Theo puts the truck into park and cuts the engine.

He lets his eyes shift back and relaxes for a moment against the seat, listening to the tick of the motor, the crescendo of cicadas, and the distant calls of owls. He waits for any signs of a following car, acutely aware of Liam having turned to look at him. Even in the darkness, he could tell from the shush of his hair against the vinyl seat and the sound of his breathing.

"C'mon," Theo says, opening his door. "Get the stuff out of the back."

They hadn't prepared a campsite, so he has to gather sticks and bust a thick branch off a tree to snap into useable logs. Liam kicks around through the undergrowth searching for stones to ring a campfire with. It's a nice gesture, not setting the Beacon Hills woods ablaze. Theo looks up from trying to get some leaves to catch on fire, grunting from the darkness having caught his attention. He frowns and catches sight of Liam's glowing eyes weaves in and out of view, shadowed by trees. His heartbeat is rapid, and something drags on the ground.

"Liam!"

"I got it." His voice sounds labored.

Theo scowls and holds a leaf over the flame from the lighter again, shoving it among the others when it flares.

In the new glow of an anemic fire, Liam surges into view dragging a fallen tree. He huffs, trudges another step, and drops the trunk near the fire, dry side up.

"We have wood," Theo tells him, glancing at the thing while he tries to feed small sticks to the hungry flames. Catch, catch . . .

Liam's voice comes back acidic. "It's a seat," he says, and drops down onto it with an exhausted sigh.

"Oh." He concentrates on the fire. "Good idea."

Liam puffs out a breath, not exactly a laugh, not exactly a scoff. Then he folds forward, clasping his arms around his knees, and watches while Theo works.

It's a bit . . . infuriating. Being watched. Feeling like he's being judged while being watched, because he was never a god damned Boy Scout, so what do you expect? Only Liam isn't saying anything. He's just watching, even though Theo can feel his attention like spiders up his arms.

The campfire cooperates eventually, settling in to consume some of the larger logs with a steady, orange yellow glow. It crackles and pops, hissing as the sap evaporates. The woods are alive around them. This is what the end of summer feels like, Theo thinks, though he has no childhood nostalgia to fall back on. His memories of the woods hold different things.

He snaps a piece off a twig and tosses it into the flames.

From the corner of his eye he can see Liam lift his head from where it rested on the arms crossed over his knees.

"Why do you keep helping me?" Liam asks.

Theo glances at him. "Why do you keep asking?"

He expects a sneer, a narrow-eyed look of disdain at his deflection. But instead, Liam's brows pull together, thoughtful, and he looks at the fire. Theo's heart lurches, suddenly afraid that he's spoken too close to the truth, exposed a spot too vulnerable.

Because you keep asking.

After a moment, Liam says, "You're different, since . . ." He hesitates. "Since you got back."

Theo arches an eyebrow at him and can't stop his pulse from quickening. "If you say so."

He's tried not to think about it. Tried not to do much thinking at all, except when strictly necessary. Eat, sleep, see another day. Maybe in that order.

Liam turns to look at him, pensive and searching, and Theo doesn't know what he expects to find. Isn't sure if Liam turning back to stare at the fire means he has or hasn't found it.

They fall into a silence raucous with sound. Things move, birds call, insects chitter and chirp. Even dull human senses know it's a noisy sort of quiet. A new log starts to catch fire, sending up sparks and a new series of snaps.

Liam's voice comes out soft and tentative. "What was it like?"

Theo's fingers pause on the twig he was about to break. "What? Hell?" He looks over, Liam's features sharp and gold-leafed in the firelight, and sees him nod.

By inches, Theo's gaze tracks back to the fire. What was it like? His eyes fall shut. What was it like . . .

He shakes his head in the smallest of gestures. Not a no, but a not again. Because if he opens that door, if he looks, once, behind . . .

He shudders, and he inhales air that smells like solvent, tastes like bleach and metal. His own breath rasps so close in his ears.

His heart thumps. Thumps thumps thumps. Faster. Harder. He knows this place, the taste. Oh God.

The feel of her fingers ripping flesh, cracking bone.

Thrashing. Convulsing.

Thumpthumpthumpthump.

"Theo!"

Liam grips his arm, and Theo's eyes flash open. He jerks away on instinct, panting as cold sweat slides down his spine. His stomach quavers, and for a moment he can't even feel the heat from the fire anymore, just the pressure of his heart thudding hard beneath his ribs. Liam holds his hands up, frowning with worry, and Theo sucks in a breath slowly, counting. Slowly, out.

If he turns toward the heat of the fire, it won't feel like shame across his face.

"I, uh—" His voice breaks a little, and he presses his eyes shut, willing himself under control. "I woke up," he manages, voice low and steady, "in the morgue. In one of the drawers. I didn't know where I was, couldn't see. I'd break out, and the place was empty. Abandoned. Except . . . for her. My sister." His gaze drops to his hands. "I could hear her. Calling me. Taunting me. She—she would hunt me down and rip out my—" He pauses, guilt and bile building in his throat, tightening to an ache. "Her heart. With knives. Or—or fingers. Slow, so I could feel every fiber as it tore. And as soon as I was gone, I'd wake up again, just as terrified." He pauses, unable to stop the flood toward his eyes and the thickening saliva across his tongue. "And then I'd remember what was coming. How much it would hurt. That no matter where I hid I couldn't stop her, nothing would stop her. And that it would start all over again." He blinks, and the flames blur in his vision. His lungs ache and throat burns. "If I did really well, I could get a few more minutes between the terror and the dying."

And then he falls silent, staring into the campfire, too full of memory.

Liam gazes at him, frowning. "You deserved to be punished," he says, and Theo closes his eyes.

"I know," he replies, whispering the words. "I think that made it worse somehow." He shakes his head, and the fire must be burning low because chill creeps through his clothes and cross his skin. "But you can only take so much torture before you need it to stop. You'll give anything to make it stop," he breathes. "But there was nothing to give. No bargain, no sacrifice. It was just . . . endless." He glances up at the dancing flames and smiles as a tear trickles out. "I couldn't even get numb to the fear. It was just as bad, every time." He exhales heavily, and in the smallest voice. "And I remember every time."

Theo looks over at Liam, meeting his eyes. "That's what you saved me from."

Liam swallows and turns away with a scowl. "I didn't do it to for you."

"I know." But Theo cannot help the gratitude grafted to his bones any more than he can change the need for air. "I don't care if—" He shakes his head, casting the words aside. "It doesn't matter if you hate me. You'll always be the one who pulled me out."

An unfamiliar sensation surges through his chest and up his throat. His eyes cloud with tears again, and he picks up a twig to roll between his fingers. "Who made it stop."

His hand shakes as he tosses the stick at the fire and lowers his head.

Liam is silent for a long, long time.

Steady heartbeat. Steady breathing. And silence.

It is, Theo thinks, all he deserves.

And then there's the scrape of denim against bark. And Liam's leg is pressed up next to his, his hip, his arm.

A breath shudders into Theo's lungs and he realizes he's spent the silence crying.

A hand presses to his back, between his shoulder blades. He shivers and fights an instinctive flinch, then focuses on the feeling of warmth, gentle and soothing. It's the only touch Theo can remember that didn't come with pain. He had parents once, but the memories are too far, too obscured by scars. Something shivers and crumbles inside at that realization, and he leans into Liam with desperation clawing at his stomach.

He should feel shame at the way he seeks him out. Pressing his nose against Liam's cheek and pausing to breathe, nuzzling against him, an exposed wire of need. Theo pants, might still be crying, feels the soft fabric of Liam's shirt beneath his hands. He stills, heart hammering, when Liam runs his fingers into his hair, holding him steady. He doesn't shove him away. Doesn't draw him closer, either. And for a few moments Theo just breaths into the crook of Liam'sneck. A sense of safety filtering into his senses.

Eventually, trembling a little from the cavernous absence of emotion, Theo pulls back, hiding his face as it blazes with shame.

"Sorry," he mutters, feeling stupid. Childish. Like he should disappear.

Liam frowns at him with a look of confusion, and shifts over to make space. "I . . . I didn't mind," he says, as looks as shocked to say the words as Theo feels hearing them.

He smiles weakly. Liam looks away to stare at the fire.

"We're not friends," Liam says after a time. Theo's shoulders tighten. "But . . . I won't threaten to put you back there anymore."

"Thank you."

Liam nods once. "You deserve three broken noses," he says, tone lighter.

"Yeah."

"Ten!"

"I know."

"A hundred!"

"I know, Liam. Thank you."

Liam grunts and folds his arms over his knees again, resting his chin. "Good. Cause I'm counting."

Theo casts a sidelong glance at him, unsure what that means—what happens at the end of a hundred. He watches the light play across Liam's face. "Let's just try to live that long."