It's breakfast-time when I'm finally allowed out of the infirmary. I play the part of grateful patient, thanking Nurse Barrett profusely. She seems glad to be rid of me. Little does she know, she'll see me again soon.
My friends are delighted to have me back, though Sonny is furious that I'm the one who took the punch, not him. At least Gavin is in Isolation now. I hope he rots there.
The morning seems to drag by, impossibly slow, until I feel like I'm about to buzz out of my skin.
Realistically, I know that Roan isn't the sort of guy who will give up on me after one day, but at the same time I can't help being afraid that he will. I'm terrified that what we have is still too fragile, too breakable, and I don't even know what it is that we have.
As soon as lunch is over, I break away from my friends and hurry down to my little spot by the fence.
My heart feels like a wild bird in a cage, wings crashing against the bars of my ribs.
What if he doesn't come?
What if this doesn't really mean anything to him, after all?
I remind myself of the flower he gave me, but fear and uncertainty are chains around my neck, dragging me down. This territory is so new to me. I feel like I'm walking on ice, and I'm never sure if a misstep will shatter everything.
What if –
My heart soars.
Roan is sitting by the fence, his back a taut line, his profile pulled tight with worry, and he turns as I emerge through the bushes.
"Caia!" he exclaims, leaping to his feet. His eyes widen when he sees my face, then darken like gathering storm-clouds.
I have to admit – it's a hell of a bruise. Shades of red and purple circle my eye, which is swollen enough that I can only half-see out of it.
"Attractive, right?" I say, trying to make light of the situation.
Roan doesn't smile. "What the hell happened? Who did that to you?"
I explain.
Roan's expression gets even angrier and he clenches his fists, glaring in the direction of the CC.
"Bastard," he mutters.
I realise that he's still standing on the other side of the fence, and I'm back on the ice again, unsure if I should remind him he can crawl through the damaged part.
Wordlessly, I crouch down and pull the wire to one side. I can't always be afraid of taking steps.
Roan wriggles through the gap, and then he's touching my face, and it's so unexpected that I gasp. His hands are large enough to cup my face, and his palms are so warm on my skin.
I want him to hold me forever.
Gently, he tilts my head back, examining my eye.
There are still storm-clouds in his eyes, flashing angry lightning now.
"It's okay," I say.
"It really isn't."
His hands are still cupping my face, and I feel like my whole body is made of butterflies. I'm so close to him; all I have to do is lean in and we'll be sharing the same air.
My skin tingles with invisible sparks, like dancing stars.
"I may have a lead on the Trials," I whisper, because if I don't tell him now, I'll forget everything, even my own name.
I've never been in this position before.
The world is tilting upside down.
Roan's hands drop from my face, and the stars die on my skin.
"Really?" His voice is rich with hope.
I tell him about the Records room and my plan to get inside, and I expect him to be pleased, but his expression turns troubled.
"That sounds risky," he says.
I frown up at him. "But I thought this is what you wanted?"
He stares down at me, and his eyes are bright with concern. "I do, but . . . I don't want anything to happen to you."
"But helping you means that I'll always be taking a risk. You know that," I say.
Roan sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. I want to do the same, want to know what it feels like under my hands.
"I do, but it's different now," he says.
"Why?"
His eyes pin me in place. "Because I know you now. It's one thing knowing that whoever helps us on the inside might be putting themselves in danger. It's another thing when I know that it's you putting yourself in danger."
There's a great surge in my body, as if my blood has turned to sunlight.
My stomach is tumbling into the clouds.
My heart has soared to the sun.
I don't know if I can cope with everything that's happening inside me, so I look down and fall back on what I've been taught my whole life, even if it doesn't mean the same to me anymore.
"Seconds are disposable," I mutter.
"No, they are not." Roan's voice is sharp as a blade. "You are not disposable, Caia. And you're not replaceable, either."
"I do know that, but sometimes I forget."
And sometimes he makes me so nervous that I just blurt out whatever's in my mouth at the time, whether I still believe it or not. But I don't want to admit that part to him.
"I want to ask you something," I say, and I'm so nervous I can taste my pulse on my tongue.
Roan waits, sensing that I need time to gather my words.
I don't know why I need to ask this now, but I do. My world is changing so fast, and I'm trying to keep up, but it's not easy. And something is unfolding inside me, delicate and tentative, and I'm not sure it's confidence exactly, but it's closer to that than I've ever felt before.
"You've never asked me about my scars," I say.
"Okay," Roan says slowly, clearly unsure how to react.
"I'm not going to pretend it's not the first thing people notice about me, but you've never even mentioned it."
Roan is silent, and I start to wonder if this was the wrong thing to say, if I've drawn his attention to the thing I hate most about myself. But it's not like he hasn't already seen them – they are literally carved across my face.
"Caia," he says, his voice soft, a breath of wind and sunlight. "I didn't ask because it wasn't my business. I figured that you would tell me if you wanted to, and if you didn't, it was because you didn't want to."
I'm flooded with light.
I am made of stars.
I don't get to meet many people in my life, but Taffy and Priya aren't the only new kids who've arrived in the CC, after something awful has happened to their families. In the sixteen years that I've been here, Handlers have come and gone, as well as other members of staff in the kitchen and laundry room. Nurse Barrett isn't the only nurse that has worked here.
And everyone, even my friends, has felt that they have the right to comment on my scars, to ask what happened to me. They haven't necessarily done it to be cruel, and I do understand that, but I don't like that people always feel that it's their business, that they have a right to ask.
But not Roan.
He's noticed them, of course he has, but before even speaking to me for the first time, he knew that it wasn't his place to ask.
"Do you want to tell me?" Roan asks.
I nod. My throat is too full to speak right away, and so we sit on the grass together, our knees just touching. The sky watches us, as everywhere and ever-knowing as always.
It's a while before I can find words. I've told people this story before, and it's always hard, but it feels harder this time, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because this is the first time I'm telling it entirely on my terms.
"I was five when it happened," I start, and my heart climbs into my throat, frantically beating. "We were in the mess hall, having breakfast and . . ." I break off. For a moment all I can see is the flash of metal coming down.
Roan takes my hand, and the reassuring warmth of him brings me back to the present.
"A boy attacked me. He was older than me, probably about the age I am now, and he'd managed to get a knife from somewhere; I don't know how." I swallow.
Roan must have known where this story is going, but his jaw tightens anyway.
"He managed to slice my face twice before the Handlers pulled him off."
I resist the urge to touch my face. I know they are scars now, and the wounds are long since healed, but when I tell this story, when I relive the attack, I still feel like I'm going to feel the blood pouring down my face, feel the awful canyons in my flesh, the gaping wounds opened by that blade.
"I didn't feel the pain at first," I continue, knotting my hands together. "I guess I was in shock or something. And then suddenly it hit, and it was like nothing I can describe."
"Why did he do it?" Roan asks.
"I never knew. He was screaming while he carved me up, something about proving himself, but it was all gibberish. He was crazy, and I was just unlucky enough to be the nearest person to him when he snapped."
"What happened to him?" Roan asks.
"I don't know. I was too busy getting stitched up to know what was going on. I never saw him again, so hopefully they kicked him out of the CC and he's still in prison somewhere on the outside. Isolation's not enough to deal with someone like that."
"I'm sorry," Roan says quietly.
"I don't know what I looked like before. I was too young to really remember." I raise a hand to my face, but stop before it makes contact. "I can't decide if it's easier to not know. My friend Taffy says that on the outside, people can get reconstructive surgery to fix injuries like mine, but that's not an option for Seconds."
A wave of resentment ripples through me, and I try to push it down.
"Still, I suppose I should consider myself lucky. He could have blinded me. He could have killed me."
"Just because it could have been worse doesn't mean you're not allowed to be angry about it," Roan tells me.
"You're the first person who's ever told me that. Everyone else says I should be grateful that I got off as lightly as I did."
Easy words coming from people who didn't have to see the damage every day in the mirror.
"Well, that's bullshit. You're allowed to be angry, and no one has any right to tell you otherwise," Roan insists.
"Does it sound shallow if I say that I just want to know what it feels like to be beautiful?"
Roan opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
"Never mind, don't answer that."
"You don't think you're beautiful?" Roan says.
"You've seen my face, right?"
"Yes."
"Of course I don't think I'm beautiful," I say, feeling a flash of frustration. "No one does."
"I do," Roan says.
I hear the words, but I can't comprehend them.
Have I fallen asleep?
Am I dreaming again?
"Caia," Roan says, and I love the way my name sounds in his mouth. "Say something."
"I don't know what to say," I whisper. "I don't believe you."
"What? Why?"
Tears prick my eyes. "Because you are beautiful. I don't believe that someone who looks like you can possibly think that I'm . . . I'm . . ."
Roan touches my cheek, his fingers trailing along my skin, cloud-soft. "You are beautiful, Caia. You're beautiful because you're brave and passionate and strong. You are everything that I'm fighting for, and I don't give a damn about your scars."
I'm fragile and fluttering and I'm going to explode into a million glittering shards of light.
The world is trembling around me.
Roan touches my face again, and it's hard to breathe. His fingers trace the line of my jaw and then slowly move upwards, towards the first of my scars. His eyes are locked on mine the whole time, shining bright as stars, and I know that he'll stop the second I give any sign of feeling uncomfortable.
But I don't want to him to stop.
No one has ever touched me like this.
Still, when his fingertips brush scar tissue, I close my eyes, biting back a dry sob. He traces the line of the scars with a fingertip, impossibly gentle, and my heart beats as deep as the ocean. I am growing wings and flying into the sun.
"Caia," he breathes, and I feel like I'm transforming under his hands, like I'm no longer muscle and bone and blood; instead I am light and steel and stars and heat.
I open my eyes and gaze up at Roan.
There's a sky in his eyes and I want to fly into it.
"You're beautiful," he softly tells me. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."
He lowers his head and kisses me.