“Scud off.” He starts walking south. I can see his slingshot poking from the back of his waistband, so he did manage to grab some gear, or maybe that always stays stowed within arm’s reach. He’s got no jacket, though, to stave off the cold nights. No scarf or goggles for unexpected squalls. And nothing to eat.

“Where are you going?” I call after him.

“Wherever you’re not.”

“Asher, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I went alone.”

He keeps walking.

“You think I want to be out here with you?” I yell. “Some lying bit of dirt who conned me and lied to me and doesn’t care about my pack? We could save them, Asher. We could save them and make things better for everyone in the wastes, and you don’t care.”

He spins around hastily, and there’s a glint in his eyes, something detached and menacing. It reminds me of the version of him I saw that first night in Bain’s and Cree’s wagon. The kind parts of him buried beneath a callous heart.

“I’m only alive because I put myself first,” he snarls. “That’s how I survived Bedrock. It’s how I survived the wastes. The moment I got soft—the moment I decided to try to find you and the pack—everything fell apart. So when I found you at the Vulture’s Roost, I told myself no more. Just get to safety. Lie low. Breathe a little. Live. I got us to safety. We could have stayed in Powder Town, Delta. We could have stayed!” His eyes flit up and down my frame. “Do you think you’re special in your guilt? That you’re the first person to feel responsible for your pack? I watched mine get slaughtered. Burned. Beheaded. Shot through the chest. You lose people on the wastes. You can’t save everyone. I learned that lesson at nine. It’s about time you learned it, too.”

“So what? You just give up on people?” I scream back. “You run?”

“If you have to, yes. And you pray to the gods for forgiveness. And you try not to drown in your guilt. And when you find a bit of safety, you don’t spit in its eye. Especially not when you’ve been given a second chance.” He glances at the Powder Town wall, then back to me. “Gods damn you.”

He turns and strides off.

“Where are you going?” I call again.

“South. To Zuly’s. Maybe she’ll take me in.”

“You’ll never make it without supplies.”

“I’ve got you to thank for that.”

“Asher, don’t be stupid.”

“Scud off,” he says again, and he keeps going, slipping into the shadows.