I slow my pace when I pull up next to him, but I’m still power walking. Breathing hard. Beginning to sweat.
“Hey,” I say, pinching my shirt away from my chest, where it’s starting to stick. The weather is getting weirder; it’s suddenly sweltering. I wince upward, toward the sun.
Here, within the Sanctuary, I’ve been getting a better idea of the state of our world. News flash: The earth is still basically going to shit. The Reestablishment has just been taking advantage of the aforementioned shit, making things seem irreparably bad.
The truth, on the other hand, is that they’re only reparably bad.
Ha.
“Hey,” I say again, this time clapping Warner on the shoulder. He shoves off my hand with so much enthusiasm I nearly stumble.
“Okay, listen, I know you’re upset, but—”
Warner suddenly disappears.
“Hey, where the hell are you going?” I shout, my voice ringing out. “Are you heading back to your room? Should I just meet you there?”
A couple of people turn to stare at me.
The normally busy paths are pretty empty right now because so many of us are still convalescing, but the few people lingering in the bright sun shoot me dirty looks.
Like I’m the weirdo.
“Leave him alone,” someone hisses at me. “He’s grieving.”
I roll my eyes.
“Hey—douche bag,” I shout, hoping Warner’s still close enough to hear me. “I know you love her, but so do I, and I’m—”
Warner reappears so close to my face I nearly scream. I take a sudden, terrified step backward.
“If you value your life,” he says, “don’t come near me.”
I’m about to point out that he’s being dramatic, but he cuts me off.
“I didn’t say that to be dramatic. I didn’t even say it to scare you. I’m saying it out of respect for Ella, because I know she’d rather I didn’t kill you.”
I’m quiet for a full second. And then I frown.
“Are you fucking with me right now? You’re definitely fucking with me right now. Right?”
Warner’s eyes go flinty. Electric. That scary kind of crazy.
“Every single time you claim to understand even a fraction of what I’m feeling, I want to disembowel you. I want to sever your carotid artery. I want to rip out your vertebrae, one by one. You have no idea what it is to love her,” he says angrily. “You couldn’t even begin to imagine. So stop trying to understand.”
Wow, sometimes I really hate this guy.
I have to literally clench my jaw to keep myself from saying what I’m really thinking right now, which is that I want to put my fist through his skull. （I actually imagine it for a moment, imagine what it’d be like to crush his head like a walnut. It’s oddly satisfying.） But then I remember that we need this asshole, and that J’s life is on the line. The fate of the world is on the line.
So I fight back my anger and try again.
“Listen,” I say, making an effort to gentle my voice. “I know what you guys have is special. I know that I can’t really understand that kind of love. I mean, hell, I know you were even thinking about proposing to her—and that must’ve—”
“I did propose to her.”
I suddenly stiffen.
I can tell just by the sound of his voice that he’s not joking. And I can tell by the look on his face—the infinitesimal flash of misery in his eyes—that this is my opening. This is the data I’ve been missing. This is the source of the agony that’s been drowning him.
I scan the immediate area for eavesdroppers. Yep. Too many new members of the Warner fan club clutching their hearts.
“Come on,” I say to him. “I’m taking you to lunch.”
Warner blinks, confusion temporarily clearing his anger. And then, sharply: “I’m not hungry.”
“That’s obviously bullshit.” I look him up and down. He looks good—he always looks good, the asshole—but he looks hungry. Not just the regular kind of hungry, either, but that desperate hunger that’s so hungry it doesn’t even feel like hunger anymore.
“You haven’t eaten anything in days,” I say to him. “And you know better than I do that you’ll be useless on a rescue mission if you pass out before you even get there.”
He glares at me.
“Come on, bro. You want J to come home to skin and bones? The way you’re going, she’ll take one look at you and run screaming in the opposite direction. This is not a good look. All these muscles need to eat.” I poke at his bicep. “Feed your children.”