I can’t help but feel a swell of pride. Even though my dad will never be able to see me and tell me he is proud of my achievements, hearing this from the General feels almost as good.

“So I’m not a prisoner?” I say.

The General shakes her head and opens the door for me. “You’re free to go.”

In my thin hospital gown, I begin to take small steps down the corridor. General Reece and her soldiers escort me, one wheeling the IV on my behalf.

Just a few rooms down, the corridor opens up into a small dormitory. The first person I see is Charlie, cross-legged upon a bed reading a book. He looks up, and the second he realizes, his eyes fill with relief.

“Brooke,” he says, discarding his book, standing from the bed and coming toward me.

Movement from the other side of the dormitory catches my eye. Ben emerges into the brightening dawn light. Tears glitter in his eyes. Beside him, I see the small figure of Bree, with Penelope, her one-eyed Chihuahua, in her arms.

Bree begins sobbing with joy.

I can’t help myself. Tears spring into my eyes at the sight of them all.

The four of us fall into an embrace. We made it. We really made it. After everything we’ve been through, it’s finally all over.

As I cling to Charlie, Bree, and Ben, I let my tears consume me, shedding them cathartically, realizing this is the first time I’ve cried since the war began. We’ve all got a lot of healing to do. For the first time, I think we’re going to get the chance to mourn.

Because we may have made it, but the others didn’t. Rose. Flo. Logan. Our tears aren’t just from relief, but grief. Grief and guilt.

I realize then that the horrible nightmare I had last night is just the beginning. All of us have tortured, traumatized minds; all of us have endured more than anyone should ever have to. In some ways, our journey hasn’t ended.

It’s only just begun.

CHAPTER TWO

Our embrace is interrupted by a gentle tap on my shoulder, and I pull back from the others and turn to look behind me. General Reece is standing there stiffly. Her expression reveals to me that our outpouring of emotion has made her feel awkward. My dad was the same—he was always teaching me not to cry, to hold everything in.

“Now you’re all back together,” she says, “I’ll need to escort you to the Commander. It’s up to him to make the final decision.”

“The final decision about what?” I ask, confused.

Emotionlessly, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, the General says: “To decide if you can stay.”