Riley shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ll give her a chance to defend herself and then—”

“What?” Sofia has her hands wrapped around a mug of steaming-hot tea. For all the things we don’t have, we have an extraordinary amount of tea from the guards’ station. Hopefully that’ll keep us going throughout the winter, especially since we’re quickly running out of instant coffee.

“We’ll throw her out, for all I care,” Mackenzi’s voice is low and livid. “She didn’t want to be here, right? She can figure out her own way.” She came up to me after we brought Saoirse to the infirmary, angry beyond words, and she hasn’t calmed down yet. She’s shaking.

I can feel a headache build behind my eyes.

This is neither a responsibility I wanted, nor one I know how to take. I stayed here to survive, and if any of the others survive too, so much the better. But this… They want me to do something. They’re hurting. And I don’t know how to make it better.

Khalil looks at me. “Why did you bring her back in the first place? What if Saoirse is still contagious or Josie’s sick and her illness hasn’t manifested yet?” His voice holds no anger, just a mild curiosity and a whole lot of fatigue. He’s sustained a black eye from the hallway brawl.

Before I can even say something, Sofia answers in my stead, “Because in spite of everything, they’re part of us. Saoirse is ill, and she needs care. Josie was hungry and desperate. We couldn’t let her die outside, could we?”

It would’ve been easier. I don’t say that. I didn’t miss the edge to her words, and she may not be wrong.

Khalil nods. “I understand, but—”

“Josie can stick to her room. If she gets sick, that’s the easiest solution.” Riley raises her head, chin pointing out and a challenge in her eyes.

“No.” Casey’s voice is soft, but that one word hits like a thunderclap. He leans toward her, his arm muscles rippling and his hands clenched. His brown skin is near gray, and his shirt hangs loosely on his shoulders. “We’re doing everything we can to survive. All of us, together. That’s the only way to keep going.”

“So we should accept that she stole from us?” Mackenzi asks, her voice faux pleasant. “It doesn’t matter that she tried to suffocate Logan and harm Emerson? It only matters that none of us want to die?”

Logan narrows her eyes. She taps her foot. She signs something in Nia’s direction, and the other girl nods. “We’re not murderers,” she says. “And not judges either.”

“Then maybe we should figure out how to be,” Mackenzi suggests. “Judge and jury.”

“And executioner?” Casey demands.

“Calm yourself, doc,” Mackenzi mocks. “We’ll do this the proper way.”

His eyes flash. He takes a step in her direction, then seems to think better of it. He pushes his hair back with his hands and stalks toward the door.