She studied him with eyes that were older than the face in which they were set. There was wisdom there, and a cunning that looked every bit as sharp as Lilah’s, but there was something else, something that Chong always saw in Lilah’s eyes. Sadness. Not new grief, but an older sadness that ran so deep it was as much a part of this girl as her skin. A sadness that was aware of itself and knew that it had nowhere to go.

They were inside what looked to be an old shack. Bare walls, a wood beam ceiling draped with spiderwebs.

“What else do y’all remember?” asked Riot.

“All of it, I suppose.” Then he gasped. “Eve! What happened to her? Please, tell me that they—”

“She’s here,” said Riot quietly. “Keep your voice down. She’s sleeping.”

Chong turned his head and saw a tiny figure curled up under a thin blanket in the far corner. He made as if to sit up in order to see her better, but a meteor of pain slammed into him. He started to scream, but Riot instantly clapped a hand over his mouth, stifling the sound before it could escape. She bent close and whispered in his ear.

“If y’all wake that little girl yonder, I’ll give you something to scream about, boy. We clear on that?”

Chong took in a ragged breath through his nose. Even that was an effort. He felt thin, hollow, like he was more ghost than person. He stared into her eyes and saw that there was more fear than threat there.

He nodded.

Riot studied him for a moment, returned his nod, and slowly removed her hand. She sat back on her heels.

Chong very carefully gasped in a lungful of air. The pain subsided slowly.

“Poor kid saw her mommy and daddy cut down in front of her,” murmured Riot. “Hasn’t said a word since. Not a peep. She ain’t ever gonna be right after something like that, but at least we can let her sleep some. It’ll be a mite easier trying to grapple hold of things when she’s not dead-dog tired.”

Chong nodded. “She’s still young . . . maybe she won’t remember all of it.”

Riot gave him a strange, sad look. “Nobody’s that young.”

“You see something like that too?”

She shrugged. “I’ve seen some things.”

He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. He looked around. “Where are we?”

“Old ranger station, I think. Brought you here on a quad I filched from one of the reapers who clear don’t need it no more.”

He cleared his throat. He was bare-chested, and he glanced down at the feathered end of the arrow that stood up straight from his flesh. It was low, just inside the hip bone. He touched the feathers ever so lightly. “What do we do about . . . um . . . this?”