Blinking, Gil reaches for his glasses sitting on the upside-down crate serving as a coffee table. No longer blind, he zeroes in on me. “Nah, I needed to get up anyway.”

I resist asking why. It’s not as though we have that much to do. Sean monitors the comings and goings at the river below. Gil occasionally joins him or relieves him. Right now we’re just waiting until Sunday, when we’ll make our crossing. Along with a copy of The Hobbit, we discovered a box of checkers on the dusty shelf in the corner of the trailer. We play that a lot, even though Gil always wins. There’s the challenge, the hope that we might beat him, that keeps bringing us back. That and boredom.

I munch noisily as Gil removes a stale bagel from a bag and takes a huge bite. Our food choices are limited. The place was supplied with minimal groceries when we first arrived. Nothing fresh. Mostly items that won’t expire or grow mold anytime soon.

“Didn’t think I could miss anything about Mount Haven,” he mutters, dry crumbs falling from his lips.

I nod, understanding. “The food.”

“I never ate that well before. Unless you count jumbo slushies and bags of Cheetos from the gas station.”

I nod like I agree. Like I didn’t eat well in my old life, too. Except I did. We ate out at the best restaurants. Sushi. Chinese. Italian. And Mom was a good cook, even if she only bothered once, maybe twice, a week. She made a lasagna so deep you could lose a fork in it. Dad would groan at the sight of it. My chest tightens, an uncomfortable ball forming in the center. I wonder if I’ll ever see them again.

Sean and Sabine join us. We all move around in companionable silence, preparing our unappetizing breakfasts.

Sabine isn’t a morning person. You’re lucky to get a word out of her before ten a.m. She rips the foil packaging off a Pop-Tart and sits across from me at the table. Shaking long brown hair back from her face, she manages a smile, biting into the pastry. Crumbs fall to the table, and she brushes them onto the floor.

Sean uses one of the jugs of water to make some coffee, and soon the rich aroma fills the trailer. He offers me a mug and I accept. After the first bitter swallow, I reach for the sugar and add a generous spoonful. Then a second. Maybe someday I’ll enjoy a latte again. Maybe they have those where we’re going. Maybe. My life is full of maybes. Even more than the maybes are the “never happening agains.”

I sigh against the ceramic rim, grateful for the surge of caffeine to my bloodstream.

“Good?” Sean asks.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Sabine’s gaze darts between us. There’s silent inquiry in her eyes. Speculation. I know she’s wondering what’s up with us. Well, with me.

Sean gathers up his well-worn map and binoculars and the spiral pad he’s been using to take notes. The map in his hand crinkles as he says, “I’ll be back later.” His gaze sweeps the room, lingering on me the longest. “I wouldn’t mind some company.”

I nod, and the motion feels jerky, unnatural. “Sure. I’ll be out in a little while.” Like I have something keeping me inside the trailer.

The trailer door shuts quietly after him.

Gil rises. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’m gonna borrow one of the beds and go back to sleep. That couch sucks.”

He heads off, the weak linoleum creaking under his bare feet. I’ve been here almost a week and still can’t stand walking barefoot over the gross floor.

“So what’s up with you and Sean?”

My gaze whips up. Sabine has moved on to the second Pop-Tart. She chews primly.

Despite our less-than-stellar diet of Pop-Tarts and dry cereal, she looks good. Better than she did when I first met her at Mount Haven. There’s color in her cheeks now and her gaze is bright.

“What do you mean?”

She rolls her eyes. “You can barely look at him.”

Is it that obvious? We’re all getting along. Smiling. I put on a good show. At least I thought so. “We’re fine. Nothing’s wrong,” I deny. Because it can’t be. Whatever this is, I’ll fix it. We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.

“Right.” The corner of her mouth lifts. “When we first got here, you two couldn’t keep your hands off each other. It was like being stuck with a couple of honeymooners.”

My face warms. “It’s nothing. I’m just focused on getting across. I’ll relax once this is over and we’ve made it to the other side.”

She shrugs a slim shoulder. “We’ll either make it or we won’t. I’d think you’d want to get in as much quality time with Sean as you can before we leave. Especially since we might be caught or killed. Carpe diem and all that.” She says it so matter-of-factly. Our life has become this. The subject of our potential demise commonplace. Caught or killed. At this point, they’re one and the same.

Her smile slips away and she stares at me evenly, a sharp glint in her eyes. Almost like she’s annoyed with me. How can I explain to her what’s going through my head? That since we settled in here, I’m having a hard time coming to terms with killing that guy. Being close to Sean is . . . difficult.

Rising from the table, I murmur something about making the bed and head to the back of the trailer. One thing about being stuck in an eight-hundred-square-foot space is that there is nowhere to hide. Not from one another. Not from ghosts.

I wake with a jolt again that night. Opening my eyes, I sit up and immediately look for him. The man I killed. He’s not here. A relieved breath pushes past my lips.