Soa, this time. Watching her from beside the campfire. Thoughtful predatory interest, like being watched by a coywolv.

She didn’t like his eyes on her, but when it wasn’t him, it was always another. Slim or Gutty or Ocho or one of the other hard-faced boys, as if through some unspoken communication they passed their close attention from one to the next.

No way she could escape with their eyes all over her. She mopped more blood and fought the urge to scream. Mouse was out there in the swamp with that dog-face, and she was stuck here, like a rabbit in a trap.

What would Mouse do in this situation? Would he just be crazy enough to run for it? But she needed to collect meds first. Needed to get away clean. And if she ran, what would happen to the doctor?

There was no way she could just bolt, even if they stopped watching her so closely. It was an impossible trap, with no good solution. Mahlia started scrubbing again, ramming her frustration into the work.

Boot steps, coming close. Mahlia’s skin prickled, but she didn’t look up. The boots stopped right in front of her, standing in the blood, blocking her work. Soa. She was sure of it.

She steeled herself and looked up.

He stood over her, smiling slightly. “You got a problem cleaning up our blood? Think you’re too good or something?”

Mahlia shook her head.

“You sure? ’Cause I saw you making a face.” Soa knelt down and ran his fingers through the blood, lifting them up in front of her face. “You think you’re too good to clean up the blood of patriots?”

He reached out and slowly ran his fingers down her cheek, smearing her. “Think you’re too good for us?” he asked. “Think we’re just animals? That’s what you peacekeepers always used to say, right? Called us animals? Called us dogs?” He dipped his fingers in the blood again and touched her forehead. Stroking her with wet fingertips.

Mahlia struggled not to flinch at the soldier boy’s touch. It was what Soa wanted. He wanted her to act disgusted. Wanted her to act like she was above them. And if she did, she knew he’d kill her. Kill her for spite.

Soa didn’t even have a soul. He was just a snake looking for an excuse to bite.

“I don’t want to fight,” Mahlia said. “You want me to clean, I’ll clean. I don’t want to fight.”

“Don’t want to fight.” Soa laughed. “More of that peacekeeper talk.” He dipped his fingers in blood again, marked her other cheek. Gave her a sharp shove, almost a slap. “Got a surrender slogan for me? One of those peacekeeper sayings? ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind?’ Some shit like that?”