“But you would’ve,” Ian says quietly, and my eyes snap to his. “You understand that Carrington chose its master, and that the soldiers are collateral damage. And if you had the opportunity to destroy the Commander, you wouldn’t stop to worry about whether you could control the beast. You’d risk anything to punish him. Even your own life.”

My skin tightens, my heart pounds, and the lie that I know should leave my lips—the one that will protect my secrets and keep up the pretense that I wouldn’t sacrifice everything I have for a chance to hurt the Commander—refuses to come.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asks, and this time I hear the desperate purpose that consumes him.

That consumes me.

Slowly, I nod.

“You’d go to any length to make the man responsible for your pain hurt, wouldn’t you?”

“As long as it doesn’t endanger the few people I love, yes.”

“Even if it cost your own life.”

“Yes.”

We lock eyes for a long moment, and something unspoken shivers in the air between us. He smiles, the sharp angles of his face transforming.

“So we understand each other,” he says.

“Apparently.”

“Who knew I’d have common ground with the mouthy redhead?” He winks.

I roll my eyes. “Who knew I’d have common ground with the camp flirt?”

He laughs. “You might try a little flirting. It would soften your image.”

“My image doesn’t need softening.”

“It does if you don’t want your enemies to see you coming.”

Now I’m the one who laughs. “It’s a little late for that.”

“But it’s not too late to finish this. Anyone who abuses his power and betrays his people must be brought to justice. No matter what.” He watches me carefully. “We could help each other.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I don’t need help taking down the Commander, but I swallow the words, because he’s right. Two people working together toward a common goal are more effective than one.

Not that Logan isn’t already committed to bringing the Commander to justice, but he has lines he won’t cross. The only lines I won’t cross are the ones that would hurt Logan, Quinn, Willow, or Sylph.

And Logan has just proven that using the device is no longer a threat to us.

“What do you say, Rachel? If we have the opportunity, should we destroy the man who ruined our lives? Even if it means taking the device from Logan and using it ourselves?” He extends his hand as people brush past us to hurry onto the ruined field, clutching each other and talking in breathless, hurried gasps.

It’s just a backup plan. It doesn’t mean I don’t trust Logan. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight by his side to deliver justice. It’s just a piece of insurance in case something goes wrong.

In case Logan doesn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it’s in front of us.

I take his hand and shake it briefly. “If the Commander is in range, and Logan’s plan doesn’t work, you and I will kill the Commander.”

“Whatever it takes.”

I nod. “Whatever it takes.”

He squeezes my hand briefly and then lets it go. I weave my way past clumps of people, climb over ruined trees, and fight to reach Logan’s side, all while trying to shake the feeling that I’ve just done something that would disappoint the boy I love.

Chapter Eighteen

LOGAN

I don’t call for us to make camp for the night until it’s nearly twilight. I wanted to put significant distance between us and the place of the Cursed One’s attack in case the beast returns to finish what it started. And I was looking for a location that could shelter us from the relentless wind. Wind that drove rain into our faces for most of the afternoon, and then whipped us dry as the sun steadily disappeared into the western horizon.

I find what I’m looking for at the base of a rock outcropping that blocks most of the wind and also seals off the western edge of camp from possible intruders. Not that we’ve seen anyone in the Wasteland since leaving Baalboden four days ago, but that doesn’t mean our luck will continue to hold.

Still, most of the survivors seem to feel like we’ve escaped the worst of our journey unscathed. We outwitted the Commander and left him far behind. We sent the Cursed One back to its lair without losing a single life. A sense of giddy triumph envelops the group. Children laugh and chase each other through the shelters while Jan, their assigned keeper, watches them with a light of hope in her eyes. A woman with wavy white hair and skin as wrinkled as a prune plays a violin she carried out of her home during the Cursed One’s rampage. The tune is lively and the notes swirl through the air, causing toes to tap until a few of the men gather up the courage to ask some of the women to dance.

I smile a little as I watch them, but the elation they feel won’t take root in me. I see too many worst case scenarios, too many ways the dangers of the Wasteland can still turn against us, to feel like celebrating.

The tall gray-white rock we’re camped beside is easily as high as Baalboden’s Wall. I feel better about our safety knowing that we have to keep watch in three directions instead of four, but the fact that most of my guards have no experience is a constant worry in the back of my mind.

So is the fact that Quinn and Willow have yet to return. That I don’t know where the Commander is. And that I can’t explain why the Cursed One attacked us today after nearly four days of safe travel. The fight between Ian and Adam wouldn’t have generated enough noise to attract the beast, especially when I had the third button on the device tied down. It’s a mystery, and that makes me nervous.