He looks away.

I rub my thumb across the back of his hand. “You know I’m right.”

“I know you aren’t going out there to stand guard while there’s a chance the killer might come back.” An edge of fear sharpens his words. “Plus, there’s the army to worry about.”

“Who is better qualified?” I ask, and he closes his eyes like I’ve hurt him.

“She has a point,” Ian says, and Logan’s eyes snap open.

“Stay out of this,” he says.

“Logan, I can guard the camp. I can fight a professional killer—”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Ian says softly.

“I’ve had far more training and experience than anyone else in the camp except you,” I say to Logan. “And there’s Willow to think of.”

Logan frowns. “What does this have to do with Willow?”

“Adam told me some people are mistreating her. Mocking her or giving her the silent treatment because she’s different from what Baalboden told us a girl was supposed to be. If they see that I’m like Willow, maybe they’ll have to reconsider their ideas.”

“Or maybe they’ll just start mistreating you as well,” Ian says.

“Maybe I don’t care what they think of me,” I snap at him.

He grins. “Maybe you don’t.”

“I’ll put a stop to it,” Logan says. “I’ve seen how Frankie treats them. How some of the others treat Willow. I’d hoped that if everyone spent enough time around the Runningbrooks, really got to know them, the prejudices would die. But I’ll step in and make it stop.”

“How?” I ask.

He rubs his temples. “By punishing Frankie or anyone else who disrespects them. Publicly.”

“Good, we got that settled. Now tonight. Guard duty. Do you want me to take first shift or second?”

“Rachel, please.”

I tug him closer to me and meet his gaze. “I know why you don’t want me out there, and I understand it. But I’m a fighter, and this is my battle. You can’t hide me in our shelter to keep me safe. It isn’t fair to the others, and it isn’t fair to me.”

He stops suddenly and wraps his arms around me. Burying his face in my hair, he whispers, “I don’t care about fair. I just don’t want to lose you.”

I lean into him and let his warmth press against my skin. “I know. But you need rest, and I’m a lot harder to kill than most of our guards. I’m not asking your permission, Logan. I’m simply asking if you’d prefer to sleep during the first or second shift.”

His shoulders shake, and for a second I think he’s lost his mind and is crying in front of Ian and everybody else, but when he pulls away from me, I see he’s laughing. There’s a note of despair under the laughter, but still, I smile back.

“You are the fiercest, most stubborn girl I’ve ever met.” He makes it sound like a compliment. We start walking again before the rest of the group can catch up to us.

“You’re pretty stubborn, yourself.” I nudge him with my elbow, and see Ian roll his eyes.

“Not so stubborn that I can’t see reason,” Logan says. “You’re right. I need sleep. And we need your instincts on the guard shift. I’ve delegated the task of assigning and rotating the guards to Ian during Quinn’s absence. He can choose which shift you take.”

I raise my brows and glance at Ian.

“First shift,” he says.

“Fine.”

“Don’t screw it up.” He winks at me.

I heft my Switch. “If your eyelid twitches one more time while you’re looking at me, I’m going to remove it and feed it to the birds.”

Logan wraps his arm around my shoulders and tucks me up against his side. His eyes are suddenly serious when he looks at me. “Be careful tonight.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I’m always careful, but even I don’t have the audacity to lie like that. “I will,” I say, and I mean it.

I will carefully stand guard, and if anyone tries to hurt someone in the camp again, I will carefully spill their guts across the Wasteland floor and carefully wait for the vultures to feast on the remains.

For the first time since Melkin died beneath my blade, I don’t mind the thought of having more blood on my hands.

Chapter Twenty-Two

LOGAN

When we finally climb to the top of a steep bluff and see the ruins of a large city laid out before us, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s taken six days instead of four to get here, despite the fact that I’ve pushed my people to their limits. I guess estimating distance on a hand-drawn map is harder than I realized.

I’ve spent those six days triple-checking our security, encouraging the group to move faster, and worrying that the Commander could catch up to us at any moment. His army is too large to move much faster than we can. Still, every day we catch glimpses of them behind us, on hilltops and ridges, and it seems like they’re steadily closing the distance.

When I’m not worrying about the Commander, I’m busy trying to figure out who killed our boys. There’ve been no more deaths, either because of the increased security or because the killer is somewhere in the Wasteland being hunted by Quinn and Willow.

Or because he’s simply waiting for his next opportunity.

The constant threat against us has caused a subtle shift in the dynamic of our group. Fewer complaints. More offers to help without being asked. And most surprisingly, instant obedience from the most rebellious survivor—Adam.