The sun hit me like a punch in the face, my eyes struggling to adjust after hours of creeping through the dark. For a moment, I let myself enjoy the warmth—until I saw Greg standing there.

  And just like that, all the rage I'd been bottling up since we stepped into that death trap of a building came flooding back.

  I wasn't going to kill him. Probably. But I was absolutely about to beat the ever-loving hell out of him.

  Greg must’ve seen it in my face because he immediately started backing away, hands up like that was going to stop me. "Nate, come on, just calm down—"

  "Calm down?" I ughed, and even I could hear the edge in my voice. "You nearly got me killed, Greg. Twice. And now you’re telling me to calm down?"

  He kept moving backward, trying to talk his way out of it. "Think about it, man. Before the Dawn, we were—we were friends."

  I stopped.

  "Friends?" I scoffed. "You were a convicted felon, Greg. A murderer."

  That one nded. He flinched, but he tried to hide it. "That’s not fair."

  "Oh, no? You killed a man, Greg. I think it’s pretty damn fair."

  Greg clenched his jaw, his usual bravado cracking just enough to let something else slip through. Guilt.

  "It wasn’t just some random guy," he muttered. "It was Smith’s caretaker."

  I felt my stomach drop.

  Smith.

  His name sent a shockwave through my chest.

  Smith had taken us in when we had nothing. No home. No family. He raised me, Greg, and a few others, gave us shelter, gave us a chance. And then, after everything he'd done for us—after everything—he ended up bming himself for something Greg did.

  Greg must’ve seen something change in my face because he swallowed hard and kept talking.

  "That guy? He was a piece of shit, Nate. You didn’t see what I saw," Greg said. His voice was lower now, like he was trying to keep it together. "Smith wasn’t just sick. He was being hurt. That bastard was tying him down, keeping him locked away like some—some prisoner."

  I already knew Smith had been getting worse. He was forgetting things, struggling to move some days, his mind slipping away faster than any of us wanted to admit. But I didn’t know—I didn’t know someone was doing that to him.

  I gritted my teeth. "So what? You decided to py judge, jury, and executioner?"

  Greg shook his head. "I couldn’t stand watching it, man. I couldn’t let it keep happening. So, yeah—I killed him."

  I stared at him, my hands balling into fists. "And you think that fixed anything?"

  Greg’s expression hardened. "I think it saved Smith."

  "No, it didn’t," I snapped. My chest was tight, the words cwing their way out of my throat before I could stop them. "You didn’t save him, Greg. You broke him. You should’ve seen him after you did it. He thought it was his fault."

  Greg’s face paled.

  "Yeah," I continued, my voice sharp and cutting. "He bmed himself. Said if he wasn’t such a burden, if he hadn’t needed help, none of it would’ve happened."

  Greg took a step back like I had physically hit him.

  "I—" He shook his head. "I didn’t know that."

  "Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you killed the guy."

  For once, Greg didn’t have a smart-ass remark. He just stood there, jaw clenched, hands curling into fists at his sides.

  Finally, he muttered, "I was just trying to protect him."

  I let out a hollow ugh. "Well, congrats. You protected him so well he spent the rest of his life thinking he was a burden to us. I hope that was worth it."

  Greg looked away, his face unreadable.

  I didn’t care.

  "Family doesn’t make each other feel like that," I said. "And family doesn’t drag each other into hordes of Dozers just because they think they know best."

  Greg sucked in a sharp breath like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to tell me I was wrong. But for once, he didn’t.

  Because he knew I was right.

  Without another word, I turned my back on him and kept walking.

  I didn’t know if Greg was still behind me.

  And honestly?

  I didn’t care.