Kip was already there, crouched like a gargoyle on a rusted barrel, cigarette glowing red in the dark. That familiar grin curled up as he saw David approach.

“You’re late.”

Late. David bit back a retort. Like he owed Kip punctuality. Like this wasn’t already more risk than it was worth.

He pulled the flask from his coat and set it down between them. “Peace offering.”

Kip’s eyes gleamed. “That supposed to buy you more time?”

“It’s thanks,” David said evenly. “For trusting me.”

He kept his face unreadable. Flat. He’d learned that a long time ago: don’t let anyone see your angles. Keep them guessing.

Kip snorted. “You think I trust you?”

No. David knew better. Kip didn’t trust anyone. That’s what made him dangerous—and what would make him sloppy, just for a sip of something stronger.

“I’m just patient,” Kip added, twisting the top off the flask. He took a long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn. Forgot what decent stuff tastes like.”

David didn’t move. He watched Kip’s throat, watched the agent go down. It wouldn’t hit right away. He needed at least three or four gulps for it to take hold. Kip was bigger than him. Meaner, too.

“You got my Cinderbone?” he asked, voice low.

Kip chuckled, slow and dry. “Cute. You think that’s how this works?” He leaned in. “You want your kiddie cannon, you give me what I asked for. Access. Weapons. Gate codes. Men.”

David nodded once. He’d rehearsed this. Lied to himself first so the lie would sound better out loud. “That’s what I’m working on. But the Officials are still here. You want to move too early, we’ll all end up at the bottom of the pit.”

Kip’s eyes narrowed. Suspicious. Always suspicious.

“I heard you got married today.”

David blinked, quickly masking his surprise. He hadn’t expected that news to reach Kip. “And?”

“So that mean you’re leaving? Making your getaway?”

Dammit, Kip was more aware than David realized. He fluttered his eyelids like the comment bored him. “Didn’t stick.”

Kip’s brows went up. “No?”

David scoffed. “She ran,” he said. “I let her. After I got what I wanted.”

It hurt to say. Even though he barely knew Amari. Even though it wasn’t real. Saying it out loud made it feel uglier than it already was.

But it made Kip laugh. “She made you marry her before she’d give it up? And then she left you like the dog you are?”

The words made him feel dirty. Disgusted with himself even though he hadn’t done anything. Still, he stayed in character.

“She was going to drag me down.”

And maybe you were going to let her. That thought came and went like a flicker of heat. But David buried it. He couldn't afford soft edges tonight.

Besides, none of it was true. Amari hadn’t left him.

Kip stared at him for a long second, like he was measuring his bones.

“So you’re staying.”

“This is my home.” David didn’t blink. “You think I’d survive out there with a ten-year-old and no heat packs? I’m not suicidal.”

David shifted, just slightly, enough to keep his back angled toward the path in case someone wandered too close. His body was calm, but his brain wasn’t. He was counting Kip’s breaths now. Watching his eyes for dilation. Calculating the moment when he’d start to sway.

“I want what you want,” David said. “Burn this place down and rebuild it the right way.”

Even as the words left his mouth, something curled and recoiled in him. Lies. Not because he didn’t want justice. Not because he didn’t understand Kip’s rage. But because Kip wanted a kingdom of ash, and David was done choking on smoke.

Kip took another swig. The bottle was nearly half-empty now.

“You’ve got two nights,” Kip said at last. “Then we move.”

David nodded. “Understood.”

Kip stood, slower this time. The first wobble in his step was almost imperceptible. But David saw it. The sleeping agent was setting in.

“You’ve grown up, E22,” Kip said, voice thick.

David said nothing. Just watched him turn, flask swinging at his side, vanishing into the night.

When he was gone, David exhaled. Not relief. Not triumph.

Just breath.

He had two hours, maybe less. Then Kip would be out cold.

The Cinderbone was stashed somewhere near Kip’s tent. He’d find it. He had to.

Because by the time Kip opened his eyes again?

David—and Grace—would be gone.

Aug. 30, 003

It’s barely dawn, but I couldn’t sleep. So I left Mema in the tent and I’m at the sick house.

I feel sick myself.

I got married last night.

I want to throw up.

Survivors. I hate the Survivors’ Mantra. Like we were chosen, elected to make it this far, instead of lasting this long by sheer luck.

I wish I had died.

Light is filtering in through the window behind the beds. The sun will rise soon and I’ll leave here. Without Mema.

I don’t know if anyone will be able to read this, the words are blurring beneath my tears.

Abigail doesn’t know yet.

She’s my only friend here. Her shift starts in half an hour. Will I be gone by then?

I came here last night also, right after we got married, when my head was a mess and I needed to work and pretend it hadn’t happened.

Abigail met me at the door, and we didn’t speak of the announcement.

“The child that died last night,” I said, and she nodded.

She didn’t say she was surprised to see me. She didn’t ask how I felt about the caravan. I’m sure she assumed I wasn’t going.

I didn’t ask her anything either.

It was just the two of us, working together like we’ve done for the past few months. We took the child to the morgue and wrapped our hands and faces in linens just in case it was the Drange, though we take the pills every day to prevent infection. A new strand could pop up without warning, eradicating the effectiveness of the pills and wiping us out. We have to be vigilant.

We didn’t take her clothing. We strip adults because the dead don’t need garments in the ovens but the living can use them after we sterilize them.

Not children. Officially it’s because the clothing are usually shredded rags unfit for reuse, but it feels like a small apology to them, a recognition of the injustice done to them by the universe and the unfortunate era in which they were born.

We do keep her jacket and hat, though, tossing it into the vat for washing.

Abigail’s light hair kept falling in her face. I took her ash-colored hair and wove the strands together, braiding it as I’ve done every night, and I wanted to cry. I wanted to kiss her face and tell her I loved her.

I didn’t realize I’d let her into my heart until that moment.

“The children are the saddest,” Abigail said.

This conversation is familiar. I fall into it, grateful not to have to think. “This world is no place for them.”

“They don’t know sunshine. Warmth. The only life they ever know is the refugee camp.” Abigail wiped her eyes.

Maybe she cried for the children, and maybe she cried for the lost opportunity of escaping Camp Orange. I couldn’t ask without revealing my recent marriage, a fact I wasn’t ready to face. “How do you think she died?” I asked instead.

Abigail checked the child’s eyes, then opened the stiff jaws of her mouth and peered into her throat. “It wasn’t the Drange, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A shudder ran through me at the mention of the disease. “We have to be sure.”

Abigail showed me the girl’s hands. The nails were dirty but not torn off, not caked in blood, not bitten off.

I took the small hands and clasped them on the girl’s belly. “Not the Drange.”

“No.”

I was suddenly thanking the very same gods I cursed hours earlier.

An outbreak of the Drange in the camp would be the end of us.

“We’re taking our pills,” Abigail said, breaking the silence. “They should protect us.”

Should.

No guarantees.

We won’t know until we encounter an infected, and by then it will be too late.

And if we miss a day, even one day, the protection is gone. Gone for a full week until the resistance rebuilds in our system.

We burned the body, standing as silent witnesses beside the hot oven. Disease breeds too easily in decaying bodies. We can’t take chances.

But I always feel guilty for enjoying the warmth of the fires.

I should have told her I was leaving. I cried as the body burned, but the hot air evaporated the moisture from my cheeks before I had to wipe it away.