The General stands at the edge of the hold. How long has she been there? Someone has patched up her face with a few sterile strips. One of the Rooks, I suppose.

‘Moloney says we’ll reach Depot Twelve within the hour,’ she announces. ‘He says if you put up any trouble, he’ll shoot you.’

I let my head fall back. ‘We will not make Depot Twelve.’

There must be something strange in my expression. Even Silas draws back a little.

‘Why the hell not?’ the General snaps.

‘Unless Moloney lets us go, he will be dead before nightfall. Tell him that.’

Silas glances uncertainly at the General, but already footsteps are echoing towards us. One of the Rooks, the tall, lanky one with the shaved smooth head, appears at the hold doors. ‘Not a word from any of you,’ he barks. ‘We’re being hailed.’

‘Hailed?’ Silas frowns. ‘By who?’

‘An Accord patrol.’ He smirks at me. ‘Don’t worry, Life, we’ll get rid of them. Moloney won’t risk losing your bounty to a bunch of privates.’

A shiver runs through me, then another. It’s happening. Whatever it was they showed me, whatever path they chose, this is it. I listen hard. After several long minutes I hear the sound of other engines, faint but drawing closer.

‘Screw this,’ the General says, agitated. ‘They’re my people. They’ll listen to me.’

But before she reaches the door, Moloney bursts into the hold. He is sweating, his face red, like meat pearled with fat.

‘Untie her.’ He jerks his head towards me.

One of the Rooks comes forwards, a knife in his hands. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask.

‘We’re making a detour.’ Moloney wrenches open a trapdoor in the floor of the hold. ‘Think I’m going to let some scratchtooth border scouts take the rewards for both of you?’

The hatch clangs open, letting in a roar of wind, the sound of engines, closer now. Outside it’s grey, approaching night.

I gasp in relief as the cords are loosed. Before I can massage my wrists, the Rook is tying them again, this time in front of me. My heart beats hard, blood humming in anticipation of whatever is to come. Moloney stands before me, violent with life. It seems impossible that soon it will be snuffed out. And yet. I’ve seen it…

‘Keep the Longrider on course,’ he orders. ‘We’ll slip away in the shadow.’

Longrider. The wind shrieks through the hatch. It leads down to one of the smaller crafts, I see; one of the oil-black, agile birds that pursued us across the desert.

Moloney turns to me. ‘You try anything and the kid’s got permission to stick you in the spine. Nothing to me whether you get to the Accord in one piece or not.’