“How do you want us to distribute the extra rations?” Anika asked. Long streaks of morning sun gilded her rich brown skin. One of her eyes had swollen shut and tufts of hair had pulled free of her tight braids, but she stood with the same confidence—the same defiance—she’d shown from the moment she’d arrived on the island.

Serina had heard a rumor that the women of Hotel Misery had tried to name her Shade, but she’d refused to answer to anything but Anika, saying her name was the only thing her mother had given her that no one could take way.

It was Anika whom Serina had submitted to, rather than killed, when it’d been their time to fight. That moment had started all of this, had put a target on Serina’s back. If Commander Ricci hadn’t tried to make her fight again, maybe there never would have been an uprising.

“The food will be easier to share fairly if we all stay together in one camp,” Serina said. “Do you think Hotel Misery is big enough for all of us?” They’d already set up an infirmary of sorts in one of the old ballrooms on the first floor.

Serina would be happy if she never had to sleep another night in the lava tube her crew had called home. Oracle hadn’t seemed to care about the sulfuric winds off the caldera or how close it was to the living part of the volcano, but the rock had always felt like it was pressing down on Serina and she’d never been able to forget that rushing lava had carved out the space… and could pour down upon them at any moment.

Anika glanced at the other women of her crew. In the hours after the fight, when their leader, Slash, had been killed, Anika had stepped in, shouting orders as she helped Val haul the seven surviving guards to the compound.

She turned back to Serina and nodded. “We have room.”

“How can we trust Hotel Misery?” someone asked. “They’ll kill us all in our beds.”

Serina found the source of the voice in the crowd—a woman in her twenties with a sweep of white-blond hair and a pinched, angry pink face.

“What’s your name?” Serina tensed her leg muscles to keep herself from swaying. She was so tired.

“Fox,” the woman spat. “I’m in charge of Jungle crew now that Venom is dead.” She turned her glare on Anika. “Thanks to her.”

“Venom killed plenty of us,” another sharp voice replied. A rumble of voices built, insistent and angry as a wasps’ nest.

“Hey!” Serina called, raising her hands for silence. “That violence was demanded by the Commander, remember? Anika didn’t kill Venom by choice. None of us killed by choice. We are not enemies. We need each other. We’ll only survive if we work together, like we did last night.”