Because I had to. Because it is what they want. I pack away the swabs.

‘I couldn’t just let them kill you. I told you before. I have my own reasons for wanting you to live.’

‘You shouldn’t have bothered. Didn’t you hear? I’m dead walking.’ Beneath the ferocity, I hear fear. ‘Do you believe it?’

I shrug helplessly. ‘Without the equipment to run tests…’

She swears and sits back. ‘I need to talk to the others.’

‘Others?’

‘Other Generals. Like me.’

She falls silent. I wonder if she’s feeling what I feel: the sickly grey emptiness left behind by their presence. I wish I had some breath beads to sharpen my mind, but Falco doesn’t believe in them, says they make you too dependent.

‘I’ll bandage your arm later.’ I sigh and let my head fall back against the wall. ‘Pegeen is bringing fresh supplies.’

When she doesn’t answer I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. But I open my eyes to find her staring at me, her gaze fixed upon my neck, upon the livid scar that runs from ear to ear, badly healed, puckered pink. I move out of the light.

‘What’s that?’ she demands.

‘A scar. You have plenty of your own.’

‘None like that.’ She looks almost impressed. ‘What happened?’

I swallow, feeling it again, the terrifying rush of my own blood over my hands as I tried to hold my skin closed.

‘My throat was cut,’ I murmur.

‘Why didn’t it kill you?’

‘Luck, I guess.’

Luck. That’s what I always thought, before I came to Factus. Now I wonder: had they been there with me, watching the blood run, making sure my hand found the cauterising iron in time? Were they here even now?

‘Well,’ the General smirks, ‘at least it covers up the prison collar scars.’

The trap door above slams open and boots appear, clattering down the stairs. I push myself up as Falco storms into the cellar.

‘If I had known what you intended to do with that stun pistol, I never would have given it to you,’ she snaps. ‘All your talk of saving lives and not killing—’

‘I killed no one!’

‘No? Then explain to me why the camp is in uproar and why my informer is blathering about a dead medic and six wounded soldiers.’

‘Seven. And I didn’t kill the medic, she did.’

Falco regards the General, face inscrutable. ‘General Ortiz. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?’

The General hunches her shoulders, making herself seem tiny on the thin mattress. ‘They said I’m dying. I’m so scared. Please – will you help me?’

‘Poor little one.’ Falco kneels before her. ‘Of course I’ll help.’ She smiles. ‘I’ll take you straight to the nearest orphanage, where you can laugh and play with the other flea-ridden children.’

The General’s innocent expression drops. ‘Very funny.’