The Replaced

“Wanna talk?” His simple two-word question cut right to the chase, and encompassed more than just concern for my well-being. It was Thom’s economical way of letting me know he didn’t miss anything inside the perimeter of his camp. He was like that, always using his words sparingly, like they could be banked for a rainy day.

It was only one of the million differences between him and Simon, the two camp leaders—that spare use of words of his.

“I’d rather not,” I answered. But I kinda liked that he’d come here to check on me. And I especially liked that there wasn’t the slightest trace of pity in Thom’s eyes—only concern. And there was a huge difference between the two.

Pity meant I was someone to feel sorry for.

Concern meant I mattered . . . that I was important.

“Fair enough. If you change your mind . . .”

I blinked against the unwanted sting of tears. I damn sure wasn’t about to cry just because Thom made me feel like I mattered.

Full-on crying in front of people was a definite don’t in my book. It always seemed so staged. Like those pageant girls who theatrically fanned their faces when they won, even though you knew they’d rehearsed their tears in front of the mirror a thousand times before.

I didn’t cry the pretty kind of tears that came from practice, either. When I cried, it was ugly crying, with snot and swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks. If Thom did that to me—made me cry—I would have to be pissed at him too.

I reminded myself that all he’d done was be nice.

“You don’t have to go with them,” Thom told me. And in case I wasn’t certain what he was referring to, he added, “When they leave—Simon and the others. You’re welcome to stay at Silent Creek, Kyra.”

A knot formed between my shoulder blades. “Why? What have you heard?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. At least not yet. I just want you to know you have a place here, with us, if they decide to move on. Make camp somewhere else.”

I relaxed. He didn’t know about our plans to go after Tyler. But his invitation to stay at Silent Creek wasn’t entirely unexpected. Natty had been hinting at it for the past two weeks. She’d made her feelings about me jumping ship from Simon’s camp more than clear.

Still, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

I didn’t even think I belonged with Simon’s camp, at least not officially, despite the fact that everyone else seemed to believe I did. Whatever claim Simon had on me was like this weird Finders-Keepers kind of claim—like I was some toy he’d found on the playground, and since no one else had seen me first, I belonged with his camp.

The thing was, today was the first day I’d really even talked to Simon since the day we’d arrived here at Silent Creek, which meant I hadn’t had the chance to explain I wasn’t playing in his sandbox, and that I’d make my own rules, thankyouverymuch.

Then again, hadn’t Simon just offered to help me find Tyler? I couldn’t exactly deny I might be at least somewhat important to him if he were willing to take such a risk.

But until we had that conversation, about which camp, if any, I was going to set my roots down with, I planned to keep my options open.

My uncertainty over Thom’s offer must’ve been written all over my face, because he let me off the hook with a relaxed smile. “You don’t have to decide now,” he told me. “There’s no rush. But consider this,” he added, his expression growing decidedly more somber. “Sometimes those close to Simon get hurt.”

There was some definite history between the two camp leaders, and I still hadn’t figured out what it was exactly. It made me wonder why Simon picked this camp, when he’d once explained there were others out there—places like Silent Creek and the camp we’d fled, where the Returned banded together to stay safe from the reach of the No-Suchers and anyone else who sought us out. Because this feud, or whatever it was between them, made them both so obviously uncomfortable.

All I knew for sure was that whenever they accidentally bumped into each other, everyone around them got all quiet, like they were waiting for something to happen. It was as if a timer had just been set on a bomb, but instead of running away, they all just stood around, waiting for it to detonate.

It always ended the same, though, with Thom and Simon taking off in opposite directions. As if being near each other was physically painful.

We did this science experiment in junior high, where we learned that some magnets attract other magnets, while others repel each other. Simon and Thom were the repelling kinds.

I understood, because that’s how I’d been with Simon too, ever since the incident up at Devil’s Hole.

And now here was Thom, warning me against Simon. Awesome.

Whatever it was that had happened between them, my dad had been wrong: time doesn’t heal all wounds.

I tried to look contrite. “Look, I get you don’t like him, and I appreciate the warning. Really, I do. But I think I’ll just keep my options open for now. No offense.”

Thom smiled a knowing kind of smile, his brown eyes warming. “None taken.” And then he pushed his hands into the pockets of his neatly pressed slacks, yet another difference between him and Simon. Simon wouldn’t be caught dead wearing slacks. I noticed the way Thom’s hair, black and shiny, slipped sideways across his forehead, refusing to stay in place, defying his tidy exterior. “I just want you to know, I’m here.” He shrugged. “If you need me.”