Free Stolen by Erin Bowman

wasn’t working on the crutches or her other duties, she was teaching Ness to fish. The girl taught Bree to mend a wardrobe properly in return. Ness could make rips and tears vanish, their scars barely visible. If a spear was an extension of Bree’s arm, a needle was the same for Ness.
    By the time Heath was ready for the crutches, summer had faded into fall. By the time he’d relearned how to walk with them, the first frost-tinged mornings of winter were upon Saltwater. With the arrival of December, Bree’s fishing lessons with Ness came to an abrupt halt. The water was frigid and the loons had fled. Bree missed them fiercely. The birds had seemed so sad on the night of Lock’s funeral, but now the days were short, and the nights had never seemed more empty. Even a bittersweet song would have been a comfort.
    On the evening before what could potentially be her last, Kent found Bree on the jetty, watching the stars fight to reveal themselves amid the season’s first flurries.
    “I never should have said that stuff about Lock,” he said. “That day on the beach.”
    “Feeling guilty now that your own birthday’s just days off?”
    “Look who’s talking.”
    Bree shrugged and said nothing. A small part of her was even excited. If she were Snatched, maybe she could see Heath again in the future. Or Wren and Cora and every other girl who had once been stolen away. Assuming it even worked like that. Regardless, it was better than living her whole life trapped on Saltwater, only to die alone.
    Kent took a seat beside her. He had a brooding face, like his features were stuck in a permanent state of regret. Bree watched him wring his hands together and set his stocky shoulders toward the horizon.
    “I always thought you were pretty,” he said. “I wanted to tell you for forever, but you only saw Lock, and then as soon as he was gone I went and said the dumbest thing possible—gave you a reason to hate me.” He paused. “I still think you’re pretty, you know. Even if you scowl all the time.”
    Bree almost laughed.
    “Hey, do you have any regrets? Anything you didn’t do during your time here?”
    “Even if the answer was yes, it would be none of your business,” Bree said, drawing her jacket tighter.
    “You’re scowling again.”
    She rolled her eyes.
    “Have you ever . . .” He raised his brows. “You know?”
    “Know what?”
    “Been with someone?”
    “Dammit, Kent, I’m not talking about this with you.”
    “I . . . I just thought if you hadn’t . . . if we were both going to die—be Snatched—that maybe—”
    “Stop it,” Bree said. “First, there’s no proof that a Snatching means you die. Second, you don’t want to be with me. You think you do, but you don’t. You want to be with someone who wants you back. Someone who makes you better. Someone who challenges you and sees you and gives you as much as you give them. It works two ways.”
    “I don’t care how it works. I—”
    “Kent, I’m going home now. Thank you for apologizing about Lock. I’ll see you tomorrow, and if I end up Snatched, maybe I’ll see you somewhere else, too. In time.”
    She left before a reaction could register on his face.
    That night, Bree slept in Heath’s bed, the boy wrapped in her arms and his head tucked beneath her chin. In the morning, he woke first, and nudged her with a bony elbow.
    “Go back to sleep,” she muttered. “The sun’s not even up.”
    Heath went on prodding her until she retaliated. He suffered a few good jabs in return, but he’d won. Bree was awake now.
    “Happy birthday,” he said.
    “My birthday’s tomorrow, bug,” she said.
    “But I might not get to say it tomorrow. You could be Snatched.” He sat up, using his arms to aid in the process. He was still getting used to the missing muscle on his left side, the new, unbalanced state of his body. “No matter what, I’ll see you again someday. I really think that’s how it works.”
    Bree just nodded.
    They