Charlie slipped along in the shadows of the tent, waiting for the midnight patrol to walk by, before ducking low and running over to the fence. In a matter of seconds, she'd rolled underneath the hastily built barrier and dashed across the length of open space surrounding the camp. As she made it to the brush, she slowed her pace and blew out a long breath. A quick glance back toward the quarantine camp revealed nothing out of the ordinary — her little excursion had gone unnoticed, as it had the previous two nights. Really, if the Patriots wanted to stop people from entering or leaving the restricted area, they shouldn't have made their security patrols run like clockwork.

The full moon was high in the sky, and on a night like this in Texas, it was easy to see in the bright blue-white light. She ambled along, keeping her hand resting lightly on the handle of her sheathed knife, not really having a destination in mind, just needing to be away from the cloying smell of death, the spreading desperation, the sounds of people crying or moaning in sickness, and the constant, weighted watch of the Patriots.

When she'd left the camp the previous two nights, she'd been careful not to walk anywhere she might come across other people. She'd somewhat come to terms with the fact that she'd been exposed to typhus, and hadn't wanted to risk infecting anyone else. But today, her mom had turned up, back from her trip with Miles and Monroe to find the prodigal son.

When she'd first walked into the camp, Charlie had been pissed that her mom had exposed herself to the deadly disease. But it hadn't taken Rachel long to work out what was going on behind the scenes.

And how did I not suspect the truth? She'd asked herself that question a hundred times already, but never got an answer.

A twig snapped just behind her, and off to her left, but she didn't stop walking or even hesitate, pretending like she hadn't heard the noise. Next came the light crunch of footsteps on dry grass, and then a swish as someone brushed by a bush. Whoever was following her was doing a pretty pathetic job at it. Couldn't have been a Patriot, the tread didn't sound like the heavy combat boots they all wore, and stomping through the brush like they were, the moron obviously didn't know the first thing about stealth, so couldn't have been much of a threat.

She slowed and then turned toward the source of the noise. "You know, following me isn't going to end well for you."

Silence greeted her words — absolute silence, as though the person had frozen on the spot.

"You might as well come out. I'm not really in a social mood tonight, and if I have to come in there after you, I can't guarantee you won't find yourself with a broken bone or two."

A slight rustling sounded, and then a figure moved out from behind the low bushes. "Well, aren't you all kinds of hostile."

The guy moved out into the moonlight, and she subtly tightened her hold on the handle of her knife, still sheathed. He looked to be only a few years older than her, and had wavy dark hair and dark eyes. His clothes might have once been good quality — obviously from money — but they looked liked they'd been rode hard for a few days. She eased into a defensive stance. These days, she didn't trust anyone she didn't know, especially the handsome ones.

"Why were you following me?"

He shrugged one shoulder, his expression edged in what could only be described as amusement.

"Why were you walking alone out here?" He countered

She glared at him. "If it's all the same, I'll ask the questions."

He held out his hands. "I didn't mean any harm. I was just curious. It's not safe for a girl to be wandering alone out here by herself."

A thread of apprehension slithered through her, and she took a step back. But the unease was backed up by a whole lot of pissed off… she hated it when people assumed she couldn't handle herself just because she was a girl.

"Original. Like I haven't heard that line before. Quit following me, or I'll make you."

He laughed outright at that, and stepped closer. "You'll make me? I was just trying doing a good deed—"

"By making sure the poor defenseless, idiotic girl wandering around by herself was okay? Thanks, but I really don't need your help."

"Wow, you're rocking some serious hostility issues. Can't a guy just do the right thing?"

"In my experience, no one does anything because it's just the right thing. Usually they're looking to get something out of it. And I gotta tell you, in this case, you really did pick the wrong target."

He shook his head. "Wow. Before I was just curious, but now I'm really intrigued. You actually think I'm going to what, drag you down and have my way with you? I'm flattered, but we just met."

Oh, so he thought it was funny? Anger smoldered through her chest. "I'm assuming you haven't been living under a rock, you know what this world is like. Although, judging by those rich boy clothes you've got on, maybe you have been existing in pampered ignorance. But can you blame me for thinking the worst of a guy following a girl he doesn't know out in the middle of nowhere?"

He gave another laugh, though this one was shorter and had a harder edge to it. "Fine, you want to think the worst of me? Like I care. I'll go on my merry way. But just so you know, you might want to keep an eye out for the Patriot camp set up just over the next rise. A camp full of soldiers probably won't leave you be if they find you."

Charlie whipped her knife out and had it at his throat before he could take another breath. She grabbed a handful of his shirt at the shoulder to keep him steady.

"What do you know about the Patriot camp?"

His dark eyes burned with banked anger as he stared back at her. "Just that. Its some kind of quarantine camp for sick people. If I'd have known you'd try to slit my throat over it, I wouldn't have said anything."

Something moved in her peripheral vision, and Charlie shifted her attention, tightening her grip on the guy. Had he been a distraction to catch her off guard? Were there more of them? How would she get away? Her heart started pounding, memories of the time she'd been drugged and nearly gang raped trying to push to the surface. But she forced the obstructive recollections away as she shifted to put the guy she held between her and the other man.

Except then he stepped out of the shadows, and the moonlight highlighted the familiar face and blond-brown curls.

"Charlotte, what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be in quarantine?"

Relief flowed through her, followed by the newly familiar buzz she'd started getting around Sebastian Monroe in the past few weeks.

"Charlotte? As in Charlie?" The guy in front of her muttered.

Bass nodded. "Yeah, Connor, that's Charlie."

She tore her gaze from Bass to take another look at the guy she still held with a knife to his throat. "This is Connor?"

Bass shrugged. "Why is it that I don't find it surprising the two of you managed to get weapons on each other not even five minutes after meeting?"

"What do you mean, weapons? I'm the one with the knife—" She shifted, and felt the muzzle of a gun pressing into her side.

She let go of Connor with a hard shove, sending him stumbling a step. "You were going to shoot me?"

Connor tucked the gun away again and sent her a faintly offended look. "Well, you were going to slice my throat, so fair's fair, sweetheart."

"Oh, I wouldn't—" Bass started, but before he could finish the sentence, Charlie stepped forward and clocked Connor one, right in the jaw.

"That's the last time you call me sweetheart, got it?"

"Charming," Connor muttered darkly. He shot her a glare as he rubbed his jaw. He went to step back, but Charlie took another swing, catching him in the exact same spot. This time he stumbled before straightening. "Jesus. What the hell was that for?"

"That one was for what you did to Monroe. He might be a son of a bitch, but no one deserves to be strung up and whipped for entertainment."

"So, you heard about that, huh?" Connor worked his jaw back and forth, shifting back from her.

"Yeah, my mom told me everything. And for the record, I already don't trust you. What kind of person beats on their own family?"

Connor shot a glare at Monroe, before turning an angry gaze back on her. "I didn't have a choice. I don't know him from Adam; he might be my blood, but he's not my family. I lost everything because of this bastard, so don't go giving me any lectures."

"Then why are you here?"

Connor and Monroe shared a weighted glance and something passed between them, something that left her with a cold shiver passing under her skin. Monroe had obviously said something to convince Connor to come back with him, despite everything that had happened, and she didn't really know if she wanted to hear the gory details. Most likely, it would be something she wouldn't like, and she'd only recently gotten over her hating-Monroe-phase. Considering everything going on with the Patriots, she just didn't have the energy to expend over worrying about what the former general of the Monroe Republic was up to.

"Come on." Bass stepped forward, putting himself between her and Connor. "Our camp is this way. Miles just got back from meeting with your mom."

She nodded, and cut one more suspicious glance at Connor, before falling into step behind Monroe as he led them back to their camp.