The next morning I'm brushing a comb through my hair, desperately trying to work the knots out of my shoulder length blonde locks. I might prefer sleeping in the barn on a couple of blankets, but that doesn't mean it does any good to my hair.

Although I did go to bed with it still wet from washing it in the lake, and that's never a good idea. Gritting my teeth, I tug it through the final knot, exhaling in relief once it's done. Tugging the broken hair out of the brush, I push the small window open ever so slightly, dropping the strands out the window before leaving the brush on the window sill. Emilia, Anna and Lyla have all been asking to borrow it all week, so I figure it's easier to leave it in here for now.

Turning back to the mirror, I examine my blue eyes, ever so slightly brighter than they were yesterday. I'm up earlier today, and far better rested. I've already changed clothes into a pale green vest top and black jeans, tucked my feet into my tattered black Converse and washed the sleep from my eyes.

The longer I stare at my reflection, the duller my eyes become.

Lifting my finger, I slowly bring it to my face and trace the raised, pale red scar that runs the length of the skin, from cheekbone to jaw. It's ugly.

Biting my lip, I watch my reflection as my eyes glaze over, darkening even further. My hand drops from my face and I tip my head forward slightly, letting my hair cover the imperfection as much as possible. It's a horrible reminder from Killmoor.

"You're still pretty, Kay-Kay."

I whirl towards the doorway, my eyes wide, heart hammering as I drop my hands to the sink. Riley's leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed across his chest, a strand of blonde hair hanging over his forehead.

My eyes are blazing as I exclaim, "Jesus! What the freaking hell are you doing? Privacy, please!"

"You left the door open," he argues. Stomping towards him, I grip onto the wooden door, intent on slamming it in his face. "Whoa, no!" He curls his own hand around the wood, stopping me. "I'm not leaving you like this."

"Get off," I exclaim, attempting to shove him back into the hallway but failing miserably. He just steps further into the room before wrenching the door from my hands and slamming it closed behind both of us. "Great," I exclaim, folding my arms across my chest. "Now we're both in here. What exactly are you trying to achieve?"

"I want to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Because... you were..." He points towards the mirror.

I hum. "It's a mirror. You can't tell me that you don't look at yourself twenty times a day in one?"

"Try thirty," he retorts with a smirk.

"Of course."

"Kayla..." He trails off, his brows furrowed.

I tear my gaze away from him and shift on my feet. "I told Heidi I'd help her train." I point towards the door before stepping towards it, making a move to walk around him.

He follows my pathway, blocking my escape. "Just stop for a minute."

"Riley—"

"Stop," he says once more before stepping even closer. His hand rises before suddenly a singular finger traces my scar. My eyes flutter closed as my mood falls. "You got this recently?"

"Nearly five months ago," I answer. "In Killmoor."

I hear him inhale. "Bastards."

I can't fight the smile from spreading across my face and I reopen my eyes. "It spurs me on. Reminds me why we're fighting."

His emerald eyes meet mine. They're studying me intently, digging beneath the surface and uprooting every emotion. He's picking me apart. "But that's not all it does," he comments softly.

He knows. He saw the expression on my face before he walked into the room. Stepping away from his clutches, I shrug and sink onto the edge of the bath.

"You think it ruins your looks," he adds.

I scoff before shaking my hair behind my shoulders and baring the ruined tissue to him before replying, "I'm not stupid, Riley. I know what it's done to my face."

I can't escape it. I'll never be able to escape it. I don't miss the way everyone's eyes linger on one side of my face, their eyes slipping to my cheek instead of my eyes. And it will always be the same.

Riley stands tall in the middle of the room, silent, for all of one minute before nodding to himself and reaching for the hem of his khaki T-Shirt.

"What are you doing?" I exclaim, wide eyed as he wrenches the fabric over his head. Just the prospect has my heart racing. "What do you th..." I trail off as my eyes land on his bare torso, only a dog tag necklace left behind.

Practically every inch of it is tattooed — no surprises there — and his pecs tighten as he throws his top onto the edge of the bath beside me. He's muscular, as much as I've always known from his tight tops and the way he flexes his biceps whenever I annoy him. It's not news to me that he's attractive.

But my lips part as I take in the ugly, raised white line that rips through the inked pictures that cover his torso, zigzagging from his left collarbone, all the way down to his lower stomach.

"What...?" I can't even finish my question, my voice quiet, trailing off in shock.

"You all know that I dabbled in some tattooing before the war, but I was also in the army for a few years. Because of that, that's what they wanted me to do when they first set up the State. Be an Enforcer," he pauses, reaching up and running one hand over his bicep. "I didn't want to do it, but I also didn't want to be killed. I started tattooing people as a side job, whenever I had time to myself. It was my escape."

"You're good at it," I tell him honestly.

He smirks. "Thanks." The smirk drops. "And then I was caught."

I suck in a breath and close my eyes. Of course.

"Four months in Killmoor and forbidden from ever being an Enforcer again," he pauses. "I went into hiding pretty soon after I got out."

"Four months?" I echo, my heart aching at the idea. Riley nods. My eyes well with tears. I was close to death after one.

"This," he gestures to the absurdly large scar that runs down his chest. "Was courtesy of a guard at the prison. Apparently the punishment fit the crime. Ruining the artwork on my own body," he pauses. "He believed it would dissuade me from ever thinking of the word tattoo again." The words are spit out like poison.

My hands are shaking as I look down at my lap. Riley's story has my emotions on high alert, stirring from the very depths of my soul and yanking at my heart strings. I've been there. I've lived it. It's why I'm here today. It's why I agreed to take charge of the resistance in the North whilst my friends are away. Moments like this pummel the confidence back into me. The reasons why I want to fight, to throw my life on the line.

And clearly, that's why Riley is here too. He experienced something far worse than I, and yet he still has the fire inside him to tease me, to joke, to laugh, to live. They didn't break him. Not like they wanted him to. And that fact is enough to remind me why I need to keep living too. For people like him. For me.

My fingers dig into the side of the porcelain tub and I close my eyes. "Three guards pinned me down while another did it," I tell him. Slowly, I lift my hand to my face. "They said that if my face was ruined, no-one would ever commit infidelity with me again." A lone tear slips down my cheek and I choke back a sob.

A large hand suddenly encompasses my own, gently prying it away from my face and tugging me towards him. Letting him lead me forward, I stand, only inches away from Riley.

"Look at me. At it," he says softly.

"Riley..."

"Look at it." His tone is harsher this time.

Finally lifting my head, I trail my gaze over his torso. Now closer, I can see how they made sure to wrench the knife through every single one of his drawings. They're all mismatched, like a puzzle, with a raised, white line stopping them from slotting perfectly back together.

"What do you see?" he asks quietly.

It's heartbreaking, unlike anything I've never seen before, and I can hardly tear my eyes away as I follow the white line along his toned body. It's a lot of things. But it's... it's not ugly.

"Tell me," he whispers.

I inhale before slowly lifting my hand to his chest and gently smoothing my fingers over the bumpy line. At his right pec, I stop, resting my palm flat against his chest and looking up, meeting his eyes. They're twinkling, wild with an emotion I haven't seen from him before, almost as though they're desperate to hear what I have to say. To have me here. His breath has quickened, his lungs inhaling and exhaling under my hand. It's comforting.

"It's a battle scar," I whisper softly. His eyes close, his lips setting into a firm line. It's not the answer he wanted to hear. "I'm not done." His eyes flicker back open. "It's a reminder of the hell they put you through. The shit they forced you to endure," I pause. "It shouldn't be here, Riley. It should never have been an option." I swallow the lump in my throat. "But... it's kind of... beautiful." 

His chest stops moving.

"It's unique," I continue, lifting my hand and gently moving my fingers over a tattoo of an oak tree instead. "I've never seen anything more unique. But apart from all of that, you're still just as attractive as if it wasn't there."

His lips curl up into a small smile.

"I'm just massaging your ego, aren't I?"

Now it's a full blown smile. "A little."

"I'm just... I'm just saying that it doesn't — shouldn't — define you. You're just as good looking with it, as you would be without it," I finish quietly. He exhales loudly, his eyes twinkling once more.

"But you think it's beautiful?"

My cheeks flush with pink and I let my hand drop, moving back. "Riley—"

"Stop." His hands reach out, gripping onto the top of my arms to hold me in place and stop me retreating. "Don't get all embarrassed on me now."

"Too late," I mutter.

"Look," he says softly, pushing me. I step backwards, unable to fight against him. Letting go of my arms, he swiftly turns me around before planting his hands on my hips and pressing his chest to my back. We're in front of the mirror. "Look," he says once more, his fingers slowly rubbing circles on the bare skin above my jeans.

"I..."

"Look, Kayla." His voice is harder now, insistent. Reluctantly, I stare at my reflection. He's watching me in the mirror. Analysing my reaction. "How is your scar any different?"

It's redder than Riley's. Far newer. Rawer. It needs time to heal before it'll look anything like his. But... I suppose...

"It's not," I breathe out.

Riley smiles. "Exactly. It will take time. But eventually, you'll learn to accept it." He stoops down slightly, his mouth next to my ear as he watches me. "Your battle scar. The beauty of it. The uniqueness."

My body is buzzing from his words, his closeness. The touch on my hips is winding tiny clockwork butterflies up in my stomach. They swirl around, giddy from the action. His mouth, so close to my neck, is spawning anticipation inside my heart. Anticipation that is being pumped through my veins at an accelerated rate, causing all the hair on my body to stand on end, magnetising towards Riley.

I turn around. He straightens his spine but his fingers stay where they are, sweeping across my lower stomach and back before they're resting against the opposite hips. I'm only three inches away from his chest as I tilt my head back, looking up at the six foot three man in front of me. 

Subconsciously, my hands rise to rest against his biceps. They flex beneath my touch and I breathe in, a combination of pine trees, spice and a natural scent sweeping through my nose. 

His fingers stop drawing circles. Their grip tightens on my skin before he steps forward, forcing my body against the sink. Caging me in. My heart flutters. Parting my lips, my gaze lowers to his own: plump, pink and lonely.

I'm pushing myself up on tiptoes, needing to close the gap, to feel his mouth on mine. To stop the loneliness. 

A loud, domineering knock crashes against the door. "Kayla, are you done?" I slam back down to the floor at the sound of Zac's voice.

"Uh... just a minute!" I call back, shoving at Riley's shoulders, pushing him away. Riley smirks, finally stepping backwards and reaching for his top on the rim of the bathtub. He hauls it over his head before stepping towards the door.

Reaching out, I curl my hand around his arm. "What are you doing?" I hiss.

Riley's eyes dance with amusement. "Leaving."

"You can't!" I whisper yell. "He'll know."

Riley cocks a brow. "Know what?"

"That... you... I... he'll get the wrong idea!" I exclaim. My heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now.

Riley nods. I let go of his arm. "And what do you suggest then? Because I'm too big to shuffle out that window and down the drainpipe."

"I... Just..." I trail off. I can't find a solution. Damn it!

"We're out of options, Kay-Kay." Riley grins.

"Don't call me that!"

Riley's grin widens before he gives me a mock salute. "See you later," he exclaims before curling his hand around the door handle and hauling it open.

"Kay— Oh!" Zac's brow furrows at the sight of his tattooed friend. I grit my teeth.

"Good to see you, Zac," Riley exclaims, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder. And then he's gone, disappearing down the corridor as fast as he arrived in this damn room. I can hear him hollering at Carl downstairs only a few seconds later.

Zac's staring at me, one brow cocked questioningly.

Biting the inside of my mouth, I gather my jacket into my hands and shove my hands into the armholes. "Don't say a word," I mutter to Zac as I leave the room.