The bed creaked and dipped a little, the motion jolting me awake.

Since Tom had died, I'd learned to be a light sleeper. It never did you any good to go too deep in the New World we'd found ourselves in. You needed to stay alert. Be aware of every little sound, every small movement, because each one could be the very thing that transformed your dreams into real-life nightmares.

I sat up with a sharp exhale, to find Tom sitting on the edge of the bed. Moonlight rippled through the crack in the drapes, and for a second, I forgot everything and then remembered it all again instantly.

Not Tom.

And yet so like him.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I didn't mean to wake you.'

'Is everything okay?' I said, my heart picking up a tempo. 'What's happening?'

'Nothing, everything's fine,' he reassured. 'You were... dreaming, I think. Restless.'

'Was I?' I rubbed at my eyes. Had I been dreaming? I felt like I remembered something. Some shadow lurking in the back of my mind that I struggled to bring into focus. 'I think...' My fingers crept to my temples, and I massaged there in small circular motions. 'I think I was dreaming about when my Dad died. Do you remember?'

Tom's eyes met mine. 'Yeah, I remember.'

'Odd,' I said. 'I haven't thought about it in ages. Do you remember that woman from the care home kept calling and calling, asking me to go pick up Dad's things and in the end she got a bit narky about it and said she'd have to dispose of them if I didn't go? She was so off with me when I got there. I still remember the way she looked at me, like I was the worst daughter ever just because I didn't go straight away to collect his stuff. I mean, crazy really, what was I going to do with it other than put it on the shelf in the garage just to gather dust.' I snorted and ran my fingers through my hair, tugging on a tangle and attempting to unknot it.

When I looked up, Tom was still staring at me, his lips slightly parted as if he was trying to work out what to say.

'You don't remember... about the box?' he said.

'What about it?' I replied, sensing his disquiet and starting to feel a little of my own, creeping along my shoulder blades like the delicate movements of a spider crawling over my skin.

'You threw the box away,' he said, his eyes not leaving mine. 'You threw it in the canal.'

'The canal...' I repeated, numbly. Tom and I had loved the canal, we used to run there or take walks at the weekend, sometimes finding a pub along the way and stopping for a drink. I hadn't thought about the canal any more over the past couple of years than I had about the time when Dad had died. 'You're right,' I said, 'how is it that you remembered but I didn't?'

'Maybe you didn't want to remember?'

Something about his tone bothered me. 'There's plenty of things I don't want to remember, but I seem to manage to anyway.'

He stiffened, pulling his shoulders back as if my words had reached out and hit him sharply in the chest.

'I'm sorry,' I said, instantly, and sensing he was about to get up, I reached out, my hand just stopping shy of touching him, just a couple of inches away. Just a couple of inches that once would have felt like a barricade of barbed wire and grazed skin and which now felt like barely nothing at all. 'I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry.'

Tom's eyes widened, almost as if he was surprised I'd said it, and I wouldn't have blamed him if he was. I was surprised. Confused. Troubled by the fact I'd woken up to see my dead husband perched on the side of the bed and yet didn't feel like I'd dragged a nightmare out through the seams of my slumber.

'You're apologising?'

I bristled. 'I am capable of apologising sometimes, you know.'

'Yes,' he said, softly, his gaze unflinching and warm. 'I know.'

We sat in silence for a moment and he turned his face to the window, the moonlight catching his features and making his eyes look almost black as the light reflected off them.

'Can I ask you something?' I said.

Tom looked at me and nodded slowly, his expression defensive, as if he might need to fend off another of my verbal attacks.

'It's been bugging me a little,' I continued. 'The hive know you're Tom, right? They're tracking you by sight now, not through any connection?'

'Yes,' he replied.

'Did they find out when we were in Spencer House?' I pulled my hand back and hugged my knees into my chest. 'I mean, I'm pretty sure I've worked it out already. I guess I didn't want to believe that what happened down there was anything but you telling the Grey to attack me. Nothing else really fit the narrative.' I looked at him for confirmation. 'But, that's not what happened, is it?'

'No, that's not what happened. I tried to tell you.'

There was no smug satisfaction in his voice. No I was right, you were wrong. I'd expected it, but instead there was just softness and Tom.

I swallowed. 'I know you did. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. If it wasn't for me leading that thing right to our door, they wouldn't know who you are and we wouldn't be trapped in here.'

'Wow, two apologies in the space of five minutes.' He smiled and shrugged, picking at a loose thread on an embroidered swirl on the bed cover. 'It's okay. They would have found me eventually.' He glanced up at me and for a second, I felt a coldness I couldn't understand. 'They always do.'

As if sensing my discomfort, he smiled – a little too brashly, which felt strange and out of place during this odd period of peace between us. 'As for being trapped in here,' he said, looking around at the room. 'We could be trapped in worse places, right? I mean, there's a bed for a start and no rats. I can't promise any room service though.'

I stared at him, momentarily jolted by his humour – it was so Tom – before breaking out into a smile that came easily and comfortably. I wasn't sure I could remember the last time I'd really smiled at anything he'd said. It felt good - weirdly good - until he looked back into my eyes, and the guilt hit me hard and strong. I hugged my knees in tighter to my chest.

'Remember earlier, when you said that Zero's mistake was to not switch targets?' I said. 'Aren't you making the same mistake by staying Tom, especially if they now know you're him?'

Tom shot me a wry smile. 'Careful, Evie, it's almost starting to sound as if you might just believe me about all this.'

It was my turn to flinch at his words. 'I'm not saying I do or I don't. I'm just...' I sighed. 'Shit, I don't know. I guess I'm just trying to make sense of everything. You don't make it easy. Everything about this is just wrong, okay? I shouldn't be sitting here with a Grey having this conversation. I shouldn't have lied to everyone I care for. I shouldn't have done a lot of things, but I did, and now I've got to somehow work it out in my head.' I stopped to catch a breath, and rubbed at the back of my neck where the muscles had tightened and pulsed with a pain, like a dull relentless heartbeat. 'I'm just... so bloody confused.'

Tom opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to think better of it and stared down at the bed, his fingers idly tracing the pattern on the cover. His hand was close to my feet and I curled my toes up inside my boots, watching as his fingertips continued to trail along the embroidered swirl over and over.

'You're right,' he said, finally. 'I am making the same mistake as Zero did. I should switch targets. It would make things easier; give me some breathing space. It's what I should do. I just...' He glanced fleetingly at me. 'I'm just not sure I can anymore.'

I swallowed. 'Because you physically can't or because you don't want to?'

'Both, I guess,' he said. 'Switching is mostly a conscious decision. You find a target and your intent is to become them. But extreme circumstances can force the switch whether you want it or not.'

'Kind of like a self-defence mechanism?'

He nodded, twisting his body to face me and pulling his knee up onto the bed. 'Yeah, exactly like that. If you find yourself in significant danger, your cells can react violently, and force you to lose control of the target. Now, that could either mean your body rejects the targeted cells completely and you revert back to your real self...' He paused, scraping his teeth over his lower lip. 'Or, it could mean that your body identifies another target and forces the switch, as an emergency precaution.'

I stared at him, my eyes widening. 'Oh my God, that's what happened with Tom, wasn't it?'

'It's happened to many of us. There's nothing you can do,' he said. 'You can't stop it. It's like this survival instinct kicks in and every part of you pushes for the switch. Except, of course, it's not always like that. Not on Earth anyway. It seems the longer we are here, the harder it becomes to change. I've lost count of the number of times, I've been in dangerous situations as Tom and nothing – and I mean, nothing – has forced me to switch. I'm not sure I could now, even if I tried.'

'Do you think that's why Zero never switched?' I said. 'Maybe it wasn't intentional after all? Maybe he didn't mean to make that mistake? Perhaps he just couldn't?'

Tom seemed to ponder this, frowning a little. 'Maybe,' said with a shrug, going back to tracing the pattern on the cover. 'I'll guess we'll never know.'

I watched him for a moment, my gaze lingering on his face. 'If you were able to make the switch whether intentionally or not, what would happen to Tom if you did?'

He stopped, resting his palm on the bed. 'He would be gone. In claiming another target, my cells would discard him completely. No trace of him would exist.'

The thought of that hit me harder than I ever thought possible. To not see his face again. To not hear his voice or breathe in the scent of him. To not see him smile. Or feel his eyes on me. Or his hands, gently tracing patterns on my skin.

Tears sprang hot and unexpected, and I turned my head away, not wanting him to see. I didn't understand any of this. I couldn't make sense of how something that had felt so much like torture to witness, now suddenly seemed to be the one thing I wanted to see the most.

'It hurts you, doesn't it?' he said, softly. 'This hurts you. I see it in your eyes all the time. Every time I remember something that we share. I know I shouldn't say these things, I shouldn't remind you, it's just sometimes, I feel them so strongly and you're the only person I can say it to. I feel like if I don't say it out loud, maybe it won't be real, and I want it to be real so much.'

'Why?' I whispered, resting my chin on my knees.

'Because it's all I have,' he said. 'It's all I know now. You and Tom, you're all I know. Since the start of this, you're all I've ever known.'

He pulled his hands into his lap, massaging his thumb over his knuckles and smiling to himself; a small, timid smile that made my chest tighten.

'Do you know what the first thought was to hit me after I became Tom?' He glanced over at me. 'That I knew what it was to be loved by you. It anchored me to him from the moment our DNA became one. These past couple of years, there were days when you were all I could think about.' He hesitated, swallowing hard. 'It was so easy to just forget what I really was.'

'How did it feel? To forget?

'Good,' he answered instantly. 'Amazing, actually. It felt like...'

'Like what?'

He looked at me and I thought that I would never want him to stop looking at me like that.

'Like a freedom,' he said, his face almost rapt with wonder. 'Like I was free, for the first time. I felt free.'

I let that sink in, felt it wrap around my skin, and my heart ached with it all, a deep, bone-shaking ache that felt good and awful all at the same time.

'You know something?' I said, my voice breaking a little. 'In a weird way, I think Tom would have liked that. I think he would have liked knowing that he helped you, that maybe him dying helped you. He could be annoyingly selfless at times.' I laughed, but I could feel the heat building in my throat and stopped before the sob could reach the surface. 'Unlike me, of course. Always thinking of myself.'

Tom looked at me, his face dropping. 'Why would you say that?'

'Because it's true.' I rubbed a stray tear away angrily. 'Because I do shit without thinking about the consequences. Because it's always about what I want. What I need.'

'Where has this come from?' he said. 'This is crazy... everything you just said is crazy. I know you, okay? And this is not who you are.'

My throat burned, that all too familiar pain creeping into my body bone-deep. He'd have done anything for me. He'd have said anything to make me feel better. I'd always known that. It was impossible to feel that kind of love without knowing it, without feeling the embrace of it every day. And yet what had I ever done for him?

'Tell me,' I said. 'I need to know. Do you remember when he died? Can you remember that? Can you remember what he was thinking at the time?'

'Evie...' he said, choked, his face twisting with anguish.

'No, no,' I said, grabbing his hand. It felt warm and good in mine. I'd always loved his hands. 'I'm not asking you to remember his pain or his fear. I don't want that. I just want to know what he was thinking. I want to know...' I faltered, the tears running freely down my cheeks. 'I need to know... please... does he blame me? Does he blame me for what happened to him? Because I think about it all the time. I can't stop thinking about it.'

Tom's face blanched and he edged closer. 'What? What are you talking about? Why would he blame you?'

'Because it was my fault!' I was sobbing now. I couldn't stop it. I clapped a hand over my chest as if my heart would burst right through it. 'I led him down that alley. He didn't want to go. He told me not to and I ignored him. If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have died and none of this would have happened. I did this. Me. I want him to know that I'm sorry. Do you think he knows that? Does he hate me? Please, tell me.'

Tom moved, reaching for me and pulling me closer. With one hand on my neck, he leant his forehead against mine and held me there, clutching onto me as I sobbed quietly.

'Never,' he whispered fervently; his breath hot against my skin. 'Why would you think that? It wasn't your fault.'

'It was,' I insisted. The pain was so sharp now, cutting me into pieces, tearing me to shreds. 'It was. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't hate me.'

Tom moved his hand to my chin, lifting my face so he could look into my eyes. My heart beat hard, strong, fast. The tempo was becoming almost too hard to bear.

'Don't you get it?' he said, his voice thick with emotion. 'I could never hate you. Never. Fuck, Eve, I love you. I love you.'

I gasped, a hard, sharp – almost angry – exhale of breath. I hurt to hear him say it. It hurt because I didn't realise how much I'd needed to hear it until then. How much I'd wanted to hear him say those words.

'I miss you,' I said. 'I miss you every damn day.'

Tom touched his fingertips to my tears, brushing them from my face. 'I'm here,' he insisted. 'I'm here. I wish there was some way I could prove it to you. I wish I could make you believe it. Everything he feels, I feel. Everything he wants, I want. I love you, because he loves you. I want you, because he wants you.'

'You want me?' I dared to ask.

He brushed a lock of hair back from my face, his fingers slowly running down the length of it, as if mesmerised by the touch. His eyes lingered on my face, my mouth.

'Always,' he said, softly, and then with a smile, 'I miss you. I miss you every damn day, Evie Morgan.'

I couldn't bear it any longer.

Leaning forward, I pressed my mouth against his, gently, tentatively. It felt the same. The same shape, the same softness. Emboldened, curious, I did it again, this time feeling his lips part when mine did, feeling his breath quicken and hearing his soft groan as our tongues met, slowly, exploring, like it was our first ever kiss, our first ever taste of each other.

He tasted the same.

No. Better. He tasted better.

I drew back from the kiss so I could look at him. Really look at him. My fingers trailed gently along his jawline, smoothing over his cheekbones, his brow, his nose, down to the delicate outline of his mouth. His skin felt the same. Warm. Soft. I brushed my lips over his chin, feeling the roughness of his beard against my mouth, moving slowly upwards until my nose was nuzzling his ear. He moaned again, longer this time, more of a growl in the base of his throat as I snagged on his lobe gently with my teeth.

'Eve,' he whispered. 'Eve...'

My palm flat on his cheek, I pulled back slightly so I could look into his eyes. 'Is this okay? We can stop if you don't want to do this...'

Tom's eyes widened a little. 'Do you want to?'

'Yes,' I said. And I did. I did.

More than anything. Maybe more than I ever had.