I reach forward and touch Levi’s knee. The heat of him soothes me, and he relaxes beneath my hand. “They trust you,” I assure him. “They’ve always listened to you.”
This is his other constant worry, the paranoia tunneling through him: He fears the others don’t trust him like they trusted Cooper, that someday they’ll mutiny and decide he isn’t fit to lead. Cooper was loved, he was the one they followed into these woods all those years ago with promises of a different life. He built this community, kept them safe, and they all loved him for it. When Levi took over, it was not because he had won their loyalty or trust, it was because Cooper chose him to lead the group once he was gone. And for many of them, Cooper’s belief in Levi has been enough.
Yet, Levi still feels the burden of the role he’s been given, a battle with his own self-doubt. And I’ve often wondered if power does this to a man: unravels him slowly over time, doubt itching beneath his flesh until it’s all that’s left.
He reaches forward finally, stroking his cool fingers across my skin, tracing a line from my earlobe to my lips. In the dark of my mind, I see him. I know the curve of his mouth, the lazy shape of his eyes, as if he were always squinting away from the sun. When we were younger, when my eyesight was starting to fade, I tried to memorize his face—brand it into my mind. I would place my lips to his and hold on to those moments for as long as I could. I was terrified I would forget him someday, that he would become only a gray, indefinite outline in my mind.
“You’re the only thing that makes sense,” he whispers. I coil my fingers through his hair and he turns, drawing me to him like an old familiar ritual we know by heart. I peel away his shirt, one button at a time. I let his fingers slide beneath the thin cotton of my dress, finding curves and sharp angles, hips and elbows.
He kisses my neck, and in the heated breath of his exhale, I hear him say, “I love you.”
He pulls apart the threads of my mind that keep me tied together. My bones become heavy like river stones. My eyes flutter closed, and I hear a change in the air, like the ice splintering along the edge of the pond in winter, thin and delicate. I am the ice: sharp, deadly. I will break if Levi isn’t careful. I will slice him open if my edges are exposed.
Our heartbeats rattle against one another. And with his hands braced against me, I wonder if we will tear each other apart someday.
If love like this—deep and painful and reckless—can last.
* * *
The gathering begins.
Calla and Theo are seated near the back of the circle—I can hear their raised heartbeats, Calla’s fidgeting hands in her lap. My sister is easy to find in a crowd, she smells like yellow, like sunlight, and sometimes I imagine there is a chestnut-size glow burning out from inside her, always shimmering, even on winter-dark days.
But I don’t go sit beside them. I stand near the corner of the dining hall, listening as Levi takes the stage and the community falls silent.
I feel Levi’s eyes survey the group as though he’s taking a tally or attendance. “Good evening,” he begins, his voice deep and steady, well beyond his thirty-two years. “I know many of you have seen the trees opening up in recent days, and many of you are afraid, but we need to be cautious right now, and stay clear of our borders. If we respect the forest as we always have, then we have nothing to fear.” He moves across the stage, slow and practiced—he feels comfortable up there; it’s where he belongs—and he stops at the far side, taking a moment before he continues. “We have lived by three rules in Pastoral”—he begins the gathering as he always has, with the three pillars—the basis of everything—“the first rule is privacy. Not just from the outside world, but within this compound. We should each be afforded to live our own lives, singular among the whole of the group.” He breathes, letting this first rule settle in our minds, giving us time to nod our heads. “The second rule is community—we value it more than anything. It’s what keeps us together, keeps us safe. We are stronger as a whole than if we were separate.” There are murmurs among the group, an agreement we have all made in living here together, and even after all these years, it’s still what binds us. “The third rule is trust.” His voice dips lower, reminding me of his breath against my ears, telling me he loves me. “Without trust,” he adds. “We are fractured.”
A sickening wave of betrayal worms its way along my gut—I have lied to Levi. And still, he believes I’m the only person he can trust.