“Food never lasts long around here, but you may have just set a new record,” Sledge said with humor.

Caledonia licked the sticky paste of the seed cake from her fingers, savoring its sweet flavor. With a full stomach and her body on the mend, she turned her attention to the camp around them. It was laid out with precision, each tent spaced evenly from the next. In the center, the ground had been cleared and the grass tramped down from frequent use. Beyond the camp, the woods crowded in on three sides. The fourth sloped gently upward, bearing only low, scrubby plants and patches of wiry grass. Caledonia suspected on the other side of that rise she’d find her beloved ocean.

Milling between the tents and darting in and out of the woods were dozens of people. They were not only Bullets as she’d assumed, but Bullets and Scythes. There were boys and girls here, and they weren’t polishing guns or preparing ammo, they were purifying water and weaving and cooking and laughing together.

“There are a lot of girls here,” she said, watching two young girls stoking the flames of a fire beneath a small pot of water.

Sledge followed her gaze. “Seems a normal amount to me.”

“Not for a group of defected Bullets.”

He raised an eyebrow, regarding her with a curious air. “And Bullets aren’t girls?”

“No. I mean, I’ve never seen any,” she said. “Only Scythes. And they don’t fight.”

Sledge gave a lazy shake of his head. “I promise you, Aric makes use of any willing body. Women occupy all kinds of roles in Bullet society. If girls want to fight, they fight. They’re there, even if you don’t see them.”

As if that settled the matter, he leaned back and stretched his legs out in front to bask in the late afternoon sun. It was strange for someone so large to remind Caledonia of a cat, but there was something undeniably catlike about the way Sledge moved and watched her through narrowed eyes.

After a long moment, he added, “You can ask me questions about our camp if you trust me to answer them.”