“Excuse me?”

She whips her bow up to aim at my face, but I slap it aside with my Switch before she can position the arrow.

“Are you crazy?” I snap as people around us begin to stare. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Just seeing if your reactions are always poor, or if you only choke when it really counts.” She tucks the arrow back into her quiver and slings the bow over her shoulder without once breaking eye contact with me.

I match her glare with one of my own. “My reactions are fine.”

“You’re impulsive, and you freeze at the sight of blood. That’s a dangerous combination considering the kind of enemies we have.” She gestures toward the tunnel now many yards behind us.

“I’m not—”

“You ran toward an army with nothing but your knife so you could try to save the life of an old man you don’t even really care about.”

“Jeremiah is one of ours.” My voice shakes. “Maybe you could leave him behind, but I can’t.”

The wind whips her silver ear cuff, tugging at the black feather that brushes her shoulders. She keeps talking like I haven’t said a word. “And then you hesitated. You wounded a man. You had the opportunity to shove him into the soldiers behind him and run for cover, but as soon as his blood hit your hands, you froze, and my brother had to rescue you. Again.”

The angry words I want to fling at her shrivel up, and I look away. She isn’t finished.

“I don’t get it. The Rachel I first met would’ve taken out that man and the two beside him without even flinching. Now you rush into danger with no escape plan. No spine for doing what it takes to win. What happened?”

Anger is a sudden brilliant fire warming the emptiness inside of me. Turning, I spit my words in her face. “What happened? You were there for most of it. My city is destroyed. Most of the people I knew are dead.” I lean closer. “Melkin is dead. My father is dead.”

The silence within me shivers as my words scrape against it. I imagine cracks across its surface, the terrible depths of grief and guilt buried beneath it a yawning mouth of unending darkness. I’m not ready to dive in. Not ready to be swept under when I have no safety rope to keep me tethered to my sanity.

Willow watches me, a challenge in her eyes. “Except for Quinn, all of the people I knew are lost to me now. And my father is dead, too. You don’t see me hesitating when it comes to survival.”

Her words sting, but I take a deep breath and try to sound calm. “I didn’t know about your dad. I’m sorry he died.”

“I’m not,” she says. The coldness in her voice makes me wrap my cloak tighter around myself. “But that isn’t the point. You need to figure yourself out, Rachel. Either you’re going to help us fight our battles no matter what it takes, or you need to go ride in a wagon with the elderly.”

“You never cared about my choices before. Why start now?”

“Because until I saw my brother shield you with his body, I had no idea your actions might hurt the one person I still love.” She grips her bow with bloodless fingers. “He’s saved you twice now. And this time it hurt him.”

“I didn’t ask to be saved. I don’t need him to protect me.”

“Try telling him. I can’t convince him that you aren’t his responsibility. So I’m talking to you instead.” She leans closer. “Stop deliberately putting yourself in danger unless you’re sure you won’t choke. Start paying attention. You lost people you loved. Others did too. You killed a man. Others have too. You don’t have the luxury of losing your edge, Rachel, because if you do anything—anything—that costs my brother his life, I will make you pay for it.”

Turning on her heel, she grabs a low-hanging branch and vaults into the closest tree as the skies split wide open and streams of icy gray water plummet to the ground.

I turn my back on the ruins of Baalboden one final time, and start walking.

Chapter Thirteen

LOGAN

Ian walks beside me as I lead the group toward what I’m hoping will be a usable campsite for the night. According to Jeremiah, we have only another hour or so to walk before we get to a large rock that will shelter us from at least some of the elements.

Rain is a merciless companion as we struggle through the Wasteland. It pools on our shoulders, our hoods, and our boots, chilling us to the bone. It flattens the grass with quick-moving streams of mud and lashes stray twigs and leaves from the trees above us. It drastically reduces visibility.

It’s the best travel companion I could’ve hoped for.

Highwaymen won’t brave the storm, so we’re safe from them for the moment. And the sudden streams that make walking difficult also wipe the land clean behind us, destroying all evidence of our passage. Unless the Commander is able to track our wristmark signals, he won’t know which way we went once we reached the Wasteland.

We’ve traveled hard for most of the day and have seen no sign of the army at our backs. Even the rain can’t dampen the relief I feel. A relief I see echoed on most of the faces around me. We’re free of the Commander. Free of the threat of Rowansmark coming after us.

For the first time in three weeks, I feel like I can breathe.

It’s a temporary reprieve. Once the storm passes, the water that wipes our tracks away will become mud that holds the proof of our journey in sharp relief. We have to put as much distance between us and our starting point as possible before then.