“Yeah, but we just passed a road, and this camp is too close to it to be safe.”

“A road? Jumping Jesus. Where?”

“Just over that way.” Mitch pointed with two fingers in the opposite direction from where we’d come. It was a bold choice, considering we didn’t know which route they had taken in.

“Christ, you may be right.”

I could see Mitch gain confidence, his shoulders straightening so that his backpack lowered a full inch. It was like watching him get bigger before my eyes.

JP hitched up his jeans, so stiff with dirt they barely moved. “Let me ask you guys something. Do you think we should go get the girls for this move? I mean, we’re in the clear to just take off on our own here.”

I paused, my anger making my teeth clench. And then I saw this for what it was: an opportunity, a way that Sunny and Therese could be free, free from this man and, most importantly, free from the fate that was about to befall him.

“Of course. You never know when you might need a woman around. Plus, a kid is a good bargaining chip if we need one,” Mitch said quickly, the answer already on the tip of his tongue. No hesitation. No ulterior motive. Just the mission.

The man laughed. “True. She might come around to my overpowering masculinity. I could use a wife out here, even if it is in the country way.” He ended with a wink, and Mitch winked back, a stunted motion that looked as fraudulent as it was, like a broken eyelid rather than a shared signal.

I lagged behind on the way back to the other lean-to and the firepit, the pile of wood now soaked to useless. Therese was outside, hanging clothing from a low branch—a hoodie, a pair of blue socks, and a tiny pink dress with a duck stitched on the front pocket. That pink reminded me of a pair of boots Riri used to wear before she was killed by a traitor just like Mitch and me.

Long game, French. Family. Rose. Freedom.

Therese watched us with narrowed eyes, like we were the storm returning. She wasn’t wrong.

“Hey, now, let’s get all this packed up.” JP started to kick at the firepit, a half-hearted effort that would have done nothing to disguise human presence from a Recruiter with his eyes closed. “Time to move on outta here.”

“Why?” She put a hand on her hip and shifted her weight, one hand still working a T-shirt onto a branch.

“Because I said so,” JP answered.

Mitch jumped in. “We’re too close to the road. And we heard vehicles before we ducked into the bush. Might be school people trying to take advantage of the bad weather to hunt. People stop moving in bad weather and are easier to find. So we need to move.”

The way he called them “school people” instead of Recruiters made her nose wrinkle. None of us called them people. We were more accurate than that. Mitch was going to have to get better at this, and fast.