“Don’t antagonize them,” Logan says, nudging me with his shoulder.

“Maybe they should worry about antagonizing us.”

He laughs, and the sound makes my skin tingle. I’m suddenly aware of how his shoulders fill his cloak. How his hair glows like honey in the morning sunlight. The tingle racing along my skin becomes an almost painful need I don’t know how to fill.

“You have no idea how to be diplomatic, do you?” he asks, but there’s no judgment in his voice.

“What’s the use in being diplomatic? I’d rather just pull my weapon and wing it.” I nudge his shoulder back, and warmth spreads through me as he winks and leaves his arm pressed against mine as we walk.

We leave the cornfield behind, the guard from the orchard trailing us by about twenty yards. I’d like to turn around and tell him exactly what I think about his stupid job and his stupid boss.

Logan seems to sense my intentions because he slides his hand onto the small of my back, presses gently, and says, “Remember, sometimes diplomacy is the better side of warfare.”

The heat of his hand feels like tiny sparks racing through me. “Diplomacy is a lot easier to accomplish if you’ve got your foe on his knees hoping you don’t lop off his head.”

“Do you really have to go into every situation with nothing but your wits and your knife?” he asks.

“Do you really have to go into every situation with more caution than a grandmother crossing Market Square?”

“It’s called a well-reasoned plan.” His hand slides away, and I shiver.

The dirt road gives way to the mud-caked cobblestones of South Edge. The fetid, rotting smell of trash heaps lies ripe on the morning air, and the few people who are outside of their miserable dwellings scuttle along the street with their eyes on their feet. Another guard steps out from behind a weather-worn house, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he watches us pass.

Clearly, the Commander expects us to run. To somehow sneak over the Wall without his knowledge, take his precious missing property, and disappear. It’s not a half bad idea. If Dad thought the package was something the Commander shouldn’t have, I’m not about to bring it back to Baalboden. Keeping my voice low, I say, “Maybe we should sneak out of the city.”

Logan makes a choked noise. “No.”

“But I don’t like the idea of traveling with the guards.”

“And I don’t like the idea of getting caught committing treason.”

I slide my knife free and hold it beneath my cloak as we enter the main stretch of South Edge. Not that I expect danger in broad daylight, especially with the obvious presence of guards at our backs, but I’m not going to risk it. Logan’s hand is on his sword hilt, his eyes constantly scraping over our surroundings, looking for threats. We both know the real threat resides in the stone-and-steel compound rising out of the northern edge of the city.

“We need to travel without guards. Dad risked everything to keep that package from the Commander. We can’t bring it back,” I say quietly.

“No, we can’t. But we can’t go over the Wall. Or through the gate. The Commander will be expecting both. And there isn’t another way out.”

“Then maybe you need to look at other options.”

He gets the faraway look in his eye that I now associate with hours of scribbling incomprehensible sketches while muttering to himself like a crazy man. I snap my fingers in front of his face. He jerks to attention and says, “You’re right. I need other options. Which means I have to extend today’s trip a bit.”

“No problem.”

He smiles at me, and our eyes linger one each other for a moment before I look away, pleased that he trusts me as an equal.

The guards behind us melt away as we swing into Lower Market, but it isn’t long before I realize a tall cloaked man is stalking us. I point him out to Logan as we take the main road running west, stepping around a woman and her children who shoo chickens into a crate held by their Protector.

“I see him,” Logan says. “Looks like Melkin. I guess this close to the gate, the Commander feels he needs a tracker following us. Just in case.”

I glance at Melkin’s scarecrow-thin form. “He doesn’t look like much.”

“With your dad out in the Wasteland, Melkin is the best tracker at the Commander’s disposal.”

“I guess we should take that as a compliment.”

He laughs and grabs my elbow as a fast-moving wagon lumbers by, forcing us to quickly step aside.

“So, what’s the plan today?” I ask.

“The plan is you stay with Oliver while I evade our followers and gather supplies.”

I yank my elbow free. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m leaving you with Oliver for the day, Rachel. We have nothing more to discuss.”

“We have plenty to discuss,” I say. “I don’t want to be stuck inside Oliver’s tent all day. I’m an equal part in this whole thing, and I want to help you find supplies.”

“Well, you can’t.”

I feel my face settle into mutinous lines. Does he really think telling me I can’t do something is going to stop me? When I remain silent, Logan glances at me and frowns.

“Listen,” he says. “The things I need to find aren’t at respectable establishments.”

I lift my chin and stare him down. “You’re acting like poor, delicate Rachel must be kept away from even a hint of danger.”