Chapter 7

Baker doesn't say much—just storms up to the house, cursing under his breath when he finds more people inside, voice sharp as flint when he orders them out. Richards motions for Rein and me to follow, and we slip inside, closing the door behind us as Baker paces like a storm contained within four very fragile walls. The floorboards creak beneath his boots, already worn thin from nights just like this.

I bit my lip to keep from smiling. He is fretting again, always does when control slips through his fingers. His gaze finds the ceiling, pulling in a deep breath like he might gather himself from the rafters, then drops to us. His eyes, dark with frustration, pinning Rein like a blade.

"Pierce did it," Rein says simply.

The words cut deeper than they should've. I gasp, glaring at him as heat crawls up his cheeks, caught like a kid ratting out his sibling to escape punishment. 

Coward.

"Why?" Baker's voice cracked like thunder. "They're not lost puppies—you can't just drag them along."

I shrug. His face flushes deeper. He can never hide his anger.

Richards tries to break the tension, his voice a careful thread between us. "They seem harmless. What were you planning on doing with them anyway?"

Rein's reply is flat, like the answer has been carved into him. "Told them to go their own way."

Baker's hands raked through his hair, a sign of defeat and frustration wrapped together. "We'll sort something out."

I take that as my cue to leave, yanking the door open, cold air biting my face as Rein follows. Baker's voice trails behind us, still sharp with tension as he argues with Richards.

"I hate when he treats us like children," Rein mutters under his breath.

But we are children, really. Barely scraping into adulthood—Rein just turning twenty, me barely nineteen—and with all the reckless decisions we've made, maybe Baker's frustration is deserved. 

The fire. The car explosion. Just last week, for God's sake.

The sky hangs heavy above us, painted in shades of bruised purple and ash. Rein's eyes track Caleb's group wandering between crumbled buildings, shadows swallowed by distance. Caleb stands apart from them across the road, arms crossed, face carved from stone.

"What happened between you two?" Rein asks.

"Nothing."

He snorts. "Sure. He abandoned his people for you. That's not nothing."

The accusation pierces deeper than I expect. Maybe that's all any of us are—fractured killers stitched together by distrust. 

No one saves anyone without a reason.

Or maybe we are just a group of distrusting killers. The words still bite and I want to hit something all over again, but I guess I'll settle with quietly simmering in anger. 

Maybe Caleb thinks he can piece me together again like a broken doll. He sees something to fix and that is all. Too bad for him I am anything but soft. He wants to try to fix me, I'll break him. I trusted someone else once. Now they're dead for it.

Night falls and I see my breath for the first time this year. Richards props the door open to allow us back in but none of us feel entirely ready to be in a stuffy room with Baker. He doesn't let go of things that quickly. Caleb and the others decide not to come back and choose a different building with a standing roof to spend the evening in. I watch as they build a small fire and huddle around it for warmth. Rein and the others discuss what comes next, but I stay outside, watching the sun descend behind the mountains, painting the sky a pink and orange before darkness takes hold and the stars wink to life. When it becomes too cold I step inside where our own fire blazes, keeping the room considerably warmer. Rein waves me over and pulls out thread and a needle. I sit, allowing him to stitch my wound together. Somehow I had forgotten about it.

As they talk I listen. When they left Charlie sent four other men with them. The first night everything was fine, the other men didn't make a move, but the next morning is when it got bloody. One of them tried to take them out in their sleep before they had to slaughter them. Rein tells them how I showed up with the Independant in tow and how he found the other ones hiding. Told them of his trip here with the others and how Caleb and I showed up.

Richards motions to my neck. "How does it feel?"

"Freeing," I say flatly. It's a lie. So far having a voice feels more like a burden that a deep part of me wishes I didn't have to talk. It would make avoiding questions easier. 

"We've decided to go with them," Baker announces. "We'll need a place to figure out where to go next and to restock."

"I thought we were going North," Rein says, confused. 

"The village we had in mind no longer stands," Baker's tone hints at something I can't pinpoint. Grief, maybe. "One of the Northern bases found it and burned it to the ground."

Rein makes a noise that sounds like a groan. "Where else is there to go?"

"The Wastes."

The room stills. 

The Wastes aren't just dead land—they are legend. A scar on the earth where cities once stretched toward the sky, glass towers catching the sun like fire. Now, it's nothing but ash and silence. Bombed into oblivion a century ago during the Old War, they said even time forgot those who dared to cross it.

Rumors swirled about what lay beyond, fortresses of steel and glass, untouched by the decay that devoured the rest of the world. Similar to the town we find refuge in right now. A paradise with power, structure, safety. But that is all it is. Stories whispered by desperate travelers with nothing left but hope.

No one who has entered the Wastes has ever returned.

Baker looks between the three of us. "We have to put as much distance between us and Charlie. He'll come for us."

"Then we fight him," Rein argues sharply. "We have the most knowledge on how to take him out."

"Him and the hundreds of others that follow him? Not everyone experienced what you two did and follow him willingly," Baker reasons. "They enjoy having a roof, water, food. We now endanger that."

My mouth tastes sour as I see Charlie's unconscious body on the floor behind his desk. If I had taken one extra second, I could have prevented him from coming after us. But that pesky man got in the way. I should have, but I didn't.

"They'll never agree to us coming into their homelands," Richards scratches the stumble growing on his beard. 

Rein smirks at me. "She can convince them."

I punch him in the arm, ready to strangle him but he swats my hand away.

"Caleb has a thing for her," Rein tenses. Odd how he finds it funny now when four hours ago he was going to throttle Caleb himself.

They all look at me expectantly and I growl, climbing to my feet heading towards the door. Making a point to kick Rein's leg as I go. Stalking through the night, I make my way to their camp. Briefly closing my eyes I curse my eyes for saving Caleb. 

Twice.

The firelight dances across Caleb's face—flickering shadows softening his sharp edges as I approach their camp. I ignore the way my stomach twisted as he stands, the way the air seems to thicken between us.

"Did they make a decision?" His voice was steady, but something fragile lingered beneath.

I nodded.

"Leaving us behind?"

I shook my head. His brow rose, surprised. "You're coming with us."

Before I can turn away, his hand catches mine—a gentle, anchoring touch. I freeze. The memory of saving him clawing at me like regret given form.

"Talk to me," he murmurs.

"I'm not something you can tame," I whisper.

"I'm not trying to tame you," his voice barely a whisper. "I just want you to feel free."

Freedom. A lie people like him sell to make you forget the cost. True freedom was isolation—no attachments, no weakness to be exploited.

"I want to be alone."

His hand fell away. His smile was soft, sad. "Sounds lonely."

Maybe it is.

But loneliness doesn't scare me. Trust does. The idea of being alone isn't as scary as someone might think. I've had the same people by my side for twelve years, I've never been alone. But to be alone with my own thoughts with no way to scream them is scarier.