“More like a last chance,” he said, rising abruptly to pace.

“What do you mean?”

“It was here or the Wasteland,” he mumbled.

Thinking of how Henry described the place, I said, “Are you telling me that if you choose not to be part of this field unit, the Wasteland is your alternative? Dude, why would you quit if that’s where you’d go?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and held onto his biceps. “Because I realized Henry was right last night. You guys are depending on me. And that …” He set his shoulders and turned to me. “I’m not good at keeping my Guard partners alive.”

I stared up into his deep-blue eyes and saw the pain there. The guilt. The regret. “Tell me?”

He grimaced and shook his head.

“Consider that an order.”

He closed his eyes. “His name was Bomani. He’s dead because of me. That’s why I’m here.”

I waited to speak until he was looking at me again. “So maybe this is your chance to redeem yourself.”

“I don’t deserve a chance,” he blurted. “You really don’t understand. Bomani was a good Guard. A great one. He was about to be released into the Countryside. He’d gotten rid of all his possessions and lived on simple rations, bread and water and nothing else. In the Blinding City, where everyone’s addicted to something, where everyone’s trying to get stuff so that they can have more than everyone else, where everyone’s chasing a high, that’s the sign you’re ready to get out. We all knew Bomani was about to go.

“And I … I hated him. He was always in my way. Always trying to stop me from going out, from getting things I wanted.” He started to pace again, like a caged animal. “One night, I got in over my head. I snuck out of the Station to meet up with a girl, and it turned out to be a setup. I thought she could give me what I wanted, but it turned out she and her gang wanted something from me. Like the patrol schedules and routes of the Guards, so they could take us out one by one, keep us from interfering with their plans or whatever.” He bowed his head and chuckled, a choked, sad sound. “Bomani was too clever for his own good. He tracked me to the apartment and tried to get me out. But I knew … I knew he would tell my Captain that I’d sneaked out, and then I’d be punished. That they’d lock me in the Quiet Room, this tiny cell with nothing in it, where I’d be alone with—with—just … me.” He shuddered, and suddenly his crazed fear at the mention of a holding cell the night before made a lot more sense.