Counterfeit ✓

Chapter 28

NOT KNOWING WHAT had happened, Mila woke up and rubbed her eyes. Oliver sat in a plastic chair next to her, his face pale and his lips pressed together in a thin line. He leaned forward once he noticed she was awake.

"You're awake," he said. "How are you?"

Mila raised her eyebrow. "I'm okay?"

She didn't know why he asked or why he even looked concerned. Sighing, Oliver stood up, ran his hands through his hair, and bit his lip as he turned his gaze elsewhere.

"Don't you remember? Aren't you even in pain?"

"No. Pain? What?"

Oliver frowned. "A wolf attacked you. Your stomach. You almost bled to death."

Squinting her eyes, she forced her mind to search for the moment a wolf had attacked her, but it was simply empty. Mila pushed the sheet aside, looked at her stomach, and saw no wounds.

Oliver stared at the empty spot. Shaking his head, he recoiled as if she were some nightmare. Finally, he collapsed in his chair, his hands burying his face. Oliver didn't understand. Mila even less so. Her head was spinning. She had no memory of the days after the attack, not even dreams. She stared at her palms as Oliver muttered unintelligible things.

"What happened?" she asked after a hellish silence. "I can't remember anything, Oliver."

"Not even how we kept the wolves at bay first?"

She shook her head, her hands clenched into fists. It frustrated her she couldn't even imagine a small gain as if she were living out of reality and floating somewhere between worlds.

Oliver took her tense hand and circled the top with his fingers. "We thought we had won. Until the wolves invaded our camp," he whispered. "After what seemed like hours, you suddenly appeared, and it seemed like you were sacrificing yourself. You showed the chip. They attacked you."

"How many died?"

In fact, she didn't even want to know the answer and hoped Oliver would keep his mouth shut. She was a monster. That was the only thing that ran through her mind. Oliver said so himself, it seemed like hours before she showed up, and those hours might have made all the difference to everyone who lost their lives.

Oliver squeezed her hand gently. "Don't blame yourself. Everyone was scared. Some fight, others run."

"How many?" she repeated herself. "How many, Oliver?"

"Twenty."

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. Twenty young lives. Died of her weakness. Died because she had not offered the chip to the wolves earlier.

She leaned over the edge of the bed. Her stomach contents landed on the floor with a splash as Oliver brushed her hair back. Mila didn't deserve the love and concern he gave her, not even the attention. Pushing his hand away, she pressed her back against the back of the bed, her eyes narrowed.

"You deserve better."

"We don't blame you, Mila. Others ran away too."

"I was the key to those people's lives."

He shrugged. "You can't know. The chip could also simply be luck."

After all, Mila no longer believed in luck. She was the reason for the grief in the camp and it even started in Stephen's camp where she had only caused trouble. She averted her gaze, hoping Oliver understood the hint, and left her alone. She needed time to process the information without him around.

Oliver didn't seem to support her opinion, though. He sat back on the plastic chair, his arms crossed and his shoe tapping on the floor.

"I won't let you down, Mila. You deserve better."