Unfortunately, some of those guys carry machetes. Peter swallows, gesturing with his cup. I just don’t get why she did it that way. Heck, she has a whole camp of people doing work for E.A., any one of them would have gone with her. But she didn’t tell anyone and she didn’t look after herself. It’s like she wanted something bad to happen. Maybe she thought it would be easier on her own, Xie says, maybe she was just trying— Nothing’s easier on your own, Peter interrupts, sharp. That’s the first thing you learn. People with that mindset—they’re either in prison or they’re burned out or they’re dead. I knew a girl, a couple years ago, who made a pact with a group obsessed with extinction, every member tying their life to an endangered species, not just mammals but insects, plants, fish, whatever. Her thing was a moss that only grew in the montane forests in Bolivia, where she was born. Everything, her whole life, was about that list. She isolated completely. If a conservation group wasn’t focused on exactly that thing, she wouldn’t deal with them. In her mind, this was it. This was how she was going to make her point. And when the forest was gone so was the moss and so was my friend. Peter rubs his brow, sweaty, the heat on in the basement, too hot for the weather. I support Nova a thousand percent, but I don’t think getting hurt or hurting yourself or someone else does the right kind of good. The work we do can be scary, it can be hard, but it doesn’t have to be lonely and it doesn’t have to be about despair. Peter drains the cider from his cup. I mean, damn. What a waste, you know? Quiet. It just makes me mad. How long have you been doing this? Xie asks. Twenty years. Lines all around his pale blue eyes. Xie looks at his own cup, still full. I’m sorry about your friend. Peter pats his back. Hey. Thanks. And thanks for being here. Me? Yeah, you. Xie flushes. Um. I haven’t done anything. Oh, but you have, Peter says. You will.