"Bring the girl. I want him to watch."
They bring Jenna, and I watch Avery interrogate her with surgical precision. Watch the girl's cover story crumble piece by piece until she's sobbing confessions about her father's operation, her captive mother, the settlements that have burned because of intelligence she provided.
"He took us after he killed our parents," Jenna gasps. "Uses us as scouts. If we fail, if we warn anyone, he hurts our mother. He keeps her separate so we never know if she's alive or dead."
Avery's expression doesn't change, but I see her hands tighten on the table edge.
"You were outside the gates," Avery says quietly. "When your 'father' came for you. Were you outside looking for something? Running an errand?"
Jenna nods miserably. "Medicine. My little sister was sick. I went back for the antibiotics."
The silence in the cell turns suffocating. I watch Avery process the parallel of another teenage girl, outside the walls for medicine, caught by violence not of her making.
"We're going to protect you," Avery says. "You and your mother, if we can find her. Old Hawk is going to die for what he's done. Do you understand?"
"Yes." The girl whimpers around tears.
"Good." Avery stands, turns to me. "You were right about the threat. That doesn't mean I trust you. That doesn't mean I forgive you. But you know how Old Hawk operates, and I need that knowledge to keep my people alive."
"I'll tell you everything."
"You'll do more than tell me. You'll fight beside us. And when it's over, if we're both still breathing, you'll walk away and never come back to Clearwater."
"Avery."
"Those are my terms. Take them or die in this cell."
I stand, stretch muscles that have been cramped for hours. "I'll take them."
"Good. Then let's go plan how to kill the bastard who's threatening my settlement. Again."
She walks out without looking back. I follow, knowing I've been given something I don't deserve: a chance to make right what I got wrong three years ago.
Whether it's enough remains to be seen.
three
Avery
Isendthetravelersaway the next day as promised, but at least now I know they’ll be back. I need to be ready for anything, and that’s where Dutch comes in.
I can’t trust him, but I can use him. We’ve spent the last few days turning my settlement into a trap, with Dutch, the man who abandoned us, guiding tactical decisions.
I hate how good he is at this.
I hate even more how much I like working with him.
"Evacuate non-combatants to the caves," I argue during our planning session. We're bent over maps spread across my desk. Close enough that when he shifts, his arm brushes mine and sends a tremble through me.
"That splits your forces. Everyone stays, everyone fights."
"I'm not putting children in danger—"
"Children are already in danger. At least here they're behind walls."
The urge to punch him is strong. Stronger is the urge to grab him and kiss him until we both forget about tactics entirely. "You don't get to make that call."
"Then make it. But make it smart." He looks up from the maps, and our faces are inches apart. I can see the flecks of darker gray in his eyes. See the way his gaze drops to my mouth for half a second before returning to my eyes.
