I stand there, stunned, not knowing what is going on.

“Where am I?” I say.

“Fort Noix,” she replies. “Quebec.”

I can hardly breathe. It’s true. We really made it.

“How?” I stammer. “How do you exist?”

General Reece looks at me expressionlessly.

“We are defectors from the American and Canadian armies. We left before the war, because none of us wanted to be a part of it.”

I can’t help but think bitterly of my dad, of the way he volunteered to join the war before he was even called. Maybe if he’d been idealistic like General Reece and the other soldiers here we’d never have gone through everything we did. Maybe we’d all still be a family.

“We’ve created a safe society here,” she continued. “We have farms to grow food, reservoirs for water.”

I can’t believe it. I sit back on my bed, overwhelmed, feeling relief wash over me. I’d given up all hope of ever being safe, of ever living a life again where I wouldn’t need to fight.

But she isn’t about to give me time to bask in the moment.

“We have some questions for you, Brooke,” she says. “It’s important that we know where you heard about us and how you found us. Staying out of sight is paramount to our survival. Do you understand?”

I take a deep breath. Where do I even begin?

I recount my story for the General and her troops, beginning with the Catskills, the house Bree and I shared on the mountains, before going into the trauma of the slaverunners. I tell her about escaping Arena 1, about rescuing the girls who’d been taken to become sex slaves. She watches me with a grim expression as my story unfolds, our capture and ordeal in Arena 2. The only thing I leave out is Logan. It’s too painful to even say his name.

“Where are my friends?” I demand when I’m finished. “My sister? Are they okay?”

She nods.

“They’re all fine. All recovering. We had to speak to each of you in turn, separately. I hope you understand why.”

I nod. I do. They had to make sure our stories corroborated, that we’re genuine and not slaverunner spies. Suspicion is the only thing that keeps you alive.

“Can I see them?” I ask.

She puts her hands behind her back, a position I remember my dad adopting all the time. It was called “at ease” even though it doesn’t look remotely relaxed.

“You can,” she says in her clipped, emotionless voice. “But before I take you to them I need you to pledge to never speak about what you see here to anyone. Absolute secrecy is the only way Fort Noix can survive.”

I nod.

“I will,” I say.

“Good,” she replies. “I must say I admire your bravery. Everything you’ve been through. Your survival instinct.”