In the same way Griffin had immediately disliked Willow—the way some magnets repelled each other. Tyler and I were the ones that attracted. The ones that, no matter how far apart, would forever be drawn together.

Meant to be.

I didn’t always believe in such things, but now, finding Tyler in this Utah compound with Griffin and her fanatical militia . . . now I couldn’t believe otherwise.

“It was perfect,” I told her.

“So he remembered you?” she asked nervously.

It didn’t matter that she’d asked it nervously or that she hadn’t guessed right. “No. But he will.” I sat on my bunk. “What about you? Have you been here the whole night?”

Natty perked up. “Thom was here. They’re letting us see each other. He just left.” It was the most animated I’d ever seen her.

I wasn’t sure what to say, what I should say. If it were Cat, I’d ask what they did . . . like exactly what they did. But that definitely felt like prying. “Did you . . . have fun?”

So. Awkward.

Natty didn’t notice. She beamed as she nodded, her eyes gleaming. “We talked all night.” She lowered her voice, letting me know she was sharing a secret. “He told me more about Blackwater, and he said they call this part of it—where they’re keeping us—Paradise.”

I leaned closer. “Did he say why?”

“It’s like what Willow said about not trusting the government names that sound the most innocent. That if you hear something called Operation Rainbow, it’s gonna be majorly bad. Paradise is where they keep the people they don’t trust.” She shrugged with her face, her eyebrows rising and her mouth drooping. “Like us.”

I wondered if letting Thom spend the night with Natty might be a step in the right direction toward letting us off house arrest, if we might be earning our way out of Paradise.

But then I remembered the look on Griffin’s face when she’d busted Nyla for sneaking me away to meet Simon, and I sincerely doubted it. Thom and Natty might earn their freedom back, but Simon and I would likely be trapped in Paradise forever.

Just then there was a knock, or as much of a knock as there could be on a tent door, kind of a flapping sound against the canvas. I jumped up and pushed the opening aside.

I felt a surge of triumph when I saw Tyler standing there, back so soon. “Couldn’t stay away?” I beamed, unable to contain myself.

He held his hands behind his back. “I brought you something.” He said it like it was no big deal, but he was self-conscious, and he bit his lip. It was completely adorable. “It can get kinda boring here.” And even though I understood what he was saying, I couldn’t disagree more. At this moment there was no place in the world I’d rather be than right here. This camp was the most exhilarating place I’d ever been.

He clumsily withdrew his hands and presented me with a book, his hands shaking. “It’s my favorite,” he told me, holding it gingerly, and my face nearly crumpled as I reached for it, pressing my hand over its paperback cover. The edges were worn, tattered.

I lifted my eyes to his and swallowed hard. I didn’t tell him that I’d already read this book—his favorite. That he’d given a copy to me before and that I’d memorized line after line and that he was the one who’d taught me the beauty of reading. “Thank you,” I managed while he let me take it from him.

Our fingers brushed, more than brushed, as the book exchanged hands and my cheeks ignited all over again.

“I can’t stay,” he whispered. “I just wanted to give you this. I gotta go.” He glanced back at me once more after he ducked his head, leaving Natty and me in our tent as he left to meet Griffin, or do whatever it is her trainees were supposed to be doing all day.

I clutched the book to my heart.

“I see what you mean,” Natty joked when I finally spun around and saw her watching me. “A book. That’s pretty serious.”

“It’s Fahrenheit 451,” I breathed, ignoring her mocking tone as I held the book even tighter. “It was the first gift he ever gave me.”

The bantering look melted from her face. “He doesn’t remember?”

“It doesn’t matter. He gave it to me again. It means something.”

Natty didn’t argue, and I went to my cot and sat down with my treasure, looking at a cover I’d looked at a hundred times before, and ran my fingers over it. This wasn’t just about the book.

But as I peeled the cover back and began thumbing through the pages, my heart throbbed savagely, achingly.

Tyler might not readily recall the other things from our old life together the way I did, but they were still there, buried somewhere in his subconscious. I knew for sure because I was looking right at them with my very own eyes.

The best things in life are worth the risk.

The phrase was scribbled in Tyler’s familiar handwriting across the top of one of the pages, and had been traced over again and again, as if he’d considered them. Chewed on them. Come back to them time and time again.

I wondered if he even knew who he’d written them for . . . if he knew he’d meant them for me. Or if that was what haunted him. If the memory was right there, elusive and insubstantial and just out of his reach.

I could picture them clearly, though, even if he couldn’t. Vibrant and crisp and artfully chalk-drawn on the road between our houses: The best things in life are worth the risk.