The Last Star (The Fifth Wave 3)

“Give that back, Zombie.”

I let out my breath. I’ll take that as a no. “You told me what happened but you didn’t tell me how.”

“Well. You know.” She twirls a hand in the air. “The usual way.”

Okay. I deserved that.

“His name was Razor.” She frowns. “No. His name was Alex.”

“The recruit who shot Teacup.”

“For me. So I could escape.”

“The one who helped Vosch set you up.”

“Yes.”

“And then Vosch kind of set the two of you up.”

She gives me the patented impassive Ringer stare. “What does that mean?”

“Vosch left him with you that night. He must have known Razor had . . . that leaving the two of you alone might lead to . . .”

“That’s crazy, Zombie. If Vosch thought that for a second, he never would have left Alex to guard me.”

“How come?”

“Because love is the most dangerous weapon in the world. It’s more unstable than uranium.”

I swallow. My throat is dry. “Love.”

“Yes, love. Can I have that back now?”

“No.”

“I could take it from you.” She’s staring at me across a space no thicker than a fist with eyes only slightly lighter than the dark around them.

“I know you could.”

I tense. I have a feeling she could knock me out with a flick of her little finger.

“You want to know if I loved him. You want to ask me that,” she says.

“It’s none of my business.”

“I don’t love anyone, Zombie.”

“Well, that’s okay. You’re still young.”

“Stop that. Stop trying to make me smile. It’s cruel.”

There’s a knife twisting in my gut. The pain makes the bullet wound feel like a mosquito bite. For whatever reason, whenever I’m around this girl, pain follows, and not just the physical variety. Being intimately acquainted with both kinds, I’d rather be shot a dozen times than have my heart torn in half.

“You’re a prick,” she informs me. She pulls the jug from my hands. “I always thought so.” She unscrews the cap and fills it halfway to the lip. The liquid shimmers a neon green. Their color.

“This is what they’ve done, Zombie. This is the world they’ve made, where giving life is crueler than taking it. I am being kind. I am being wise.”

She raises the cup toward her lips. Her hand shakes; the bright green fluid sloshes over the edge and runs over her fingers. And in her eyes the same darkness that floods my core.