“You’ve both grown so much,” Dad says finally, drawing back to look at us. He looks Bree up and down. “Eleven years old,” he says, shaking his head as though in disbelief. She was seven last time he saw her. Then he looks at me. “Seventeen.”

I nod. I wish he could have seen us back when we were in Fort Noix. We were healthy then, our muscles stronger, our hair and bodies clean. He would have been able to see firsthand how well I’ve looked after Bree. Instead, she looks more like a mangy cat.

“You’ve changed too,” I say.

He laughs, sadly, and points to his gray hair. “I look older.”

It’s been four years since we last saw each other, but Dad seems to have aged so much more. The stress of war has taken its toll on him.

He reaches up to wipe a strand of hair tenderly from off my face. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Brooke,” he says. “But I never gave up hope. I thought of you, both of you, every single day.”

Tears blur my vision.

“How long has the camp been here?” I ask. “Is it yours? Did you build it?”

I know I sound like an eager child, but I want to know everything that has happened to him over the last four and a half years. How he came to defect from the army and create this place.

But Dad puts a finger to his lips to quiet me, and smiles. “We can talk about everything later. But first I think you should go to the hospital for health checks.”

He eyes the metal collar around my neck, which has given me sores and rashes.

Bree slides her hand into his and holds on tight. “Will you come with us?” she asks.

“Of course,” he says, kindly, smiling down at her.

While in the medical ward, I finally have the metal collar removed from around my neck. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. The doctor gives me an ointment to help the wounds heal.

“Can we see our friends?” I ask the doctor as I take another gulp of the sugar and saltwater solution she’s given me.

“Please,” Bree adds.

The doctor looks at Dad for his approval. I can’t help but swell with pride, seeing the way everyone looks up to him. He is clearly well respected.

Dad nods, and the doctor leads us through the ward to where Charlie is sleeping, with Penelope sitting on the end of his bed.

“That’s Charlie,” Bree tells Dad with an air of pride. “Brooke rescued him from an arena. And this is Penelope.”

She strokes the Chihuahua behind the ear. Despite the ordeal we’ve been through, Penelope is looking well. If it weren’t for her missing eye, she would look the picture of perfect health.