‘Boots?’ I laugh.

‘Boots,’ she agrees. ‘Was probably half out of my mind but I swear it tasted better.’ She doles out the food. ‘At least this is salty.’

‘Close your eyes and it could be grits,’ Falco says, looking doubtfully at her bowl. ‘Almost.’

‘Gabi told me leave her alone. Says she’d rather sleep than eat whatever muck we’re cooking,’ Peg says, coming back from the wagon, where the General is curled on the seats.

‘Kids these days got no manners.’ Nevertheless, Boots spoons out a portion to set aside.

We eat, Boots telling funny stories about her time in the mines, Falco and I laughing around mouthfuls of food, Peg rolling their eyes, and for a few minutes, we could be any group of travellers sat in the night, filling our stomachs. But then the food is finished, the plates and pots scraped clean with sand. Falco and Peg go off for a few moments together, Boots to relieve herself, and I am left alone. I should go and check on the General. There’s every chance her absence is due to illness rather than any lingering resentment, but in that quiet, I find myself letting go, thoughts unravelling like cotton thread.

‘You won’t save her.’

I look up, my eyes dry and hot from the fire, no idea how much time has passed. Beyond the light’s edge, Boots already dozes on her blanket. There’s no sign of Pegeen. Falco sits opposite me, her fine-boned face drawn, the shadows pooling in her empty eye socket.

‘What?’ I ask, as Falco takes a swig from a bottle of benzene.

‘I said, you won’t save her.’

I scuff my boot through the dust. ‘I have to try.’

‘Then try, but don’t hold out hope.’ Falco sighs. ‘I’ve known kids like her. Not ones from the M-Force. Just kids who had everything taken from them, their memories, even their names, had it replaced by war and learned too soon to hate. Can’t think of many who lived long enough to learn a different way to be.’

‘She might.’ I toy with the scarf around my neck. ‘Anyway, I think they want her to live.’

‘The Accord want her dead.’

‘I don’t mean the Accord.’ The fire crackles between us, struggling with its own meal.

‘You talking about the Ifs?’ Falco says slowly.

‘Something has been happening to me, Mala,’ I murmur to the sand. ‘I know you’ll think I’m mad but I’ve been sensing them. More and more these days. Sometimes, it’s like they’re showing me things that haven’t happened, or that might happen.’

I risk a glance at her, waiting for her to scoff or laugh, but she doesn’t, just stares at me. I can’t hold that piercing gaze, so I look down at my hands, trying to think of some way to explain.