As expected, my mom shakes her head in refusal. “Thank you, honey, but I think we should head home. Your dad’s been anxious about his job, and my bosses have been asking daily when I’ll be able to return…” Her voice trailing off, she gives me an apologetic smile.

“Of course.” I smile back at her, ignoring the slight squeezing in my chest. I know what’s behind their desire to leave, and it’s not their jobs or their friends. Despite all the comforts here, my parents feel confined, hemmed in by the watch towers and the drones circling over the jungle. I can see it in the way they eye the armed guards, in the fear that crosses their faces when they pass by the training area and hear gunshots. To them, living here is like being in a luxurious jail, complete with dangerous criminals all over the place.

One of those criminals being their own daughter.

“We should go inside and pack,” my dad says, rising to his feet. “I think it’s best if we fly out first thing tomorrow morning.”

“All right.” I try not to let his words sting me. It’s silly to feel rejected because my parents want to return home. They don’t belong here, and I know it as well as they do. Their bodies might’ve healed from the bruises and scratches they sustained during the car chase, but their minds are a different matter.

It will take more than a few hours of therapy with Dr. Wessex for my suburban parents to get over seeing cars blow up and people die.

“Do you want me to help you pack?” I ask as my dad drapes a towel around my mom’s shoulders. “Julian’s talking to his accountant, and I don’t have anything to do before dinner.”

“It’s okay, honey,” my mom says gently. “We’ll manage. Why don’t you take a swim before dinner? The water’s nice and cool.”

And leaving me standing by the pool, they hurry into the air-conditioned comfort of the house.

“They’re leaving tomorrow morning?” Rosa looks surprised when I inform her of my parents’ upcoming departure. “Oh, that’s too bad. I didn’t even have a chance to show your mom that lake you were telling them about.”

“That’s okay,” I say, picking up a laundry basket to help her load the washer. “Hopefully, they’ll come visit us again.”

“Yes, hopefully,” Rosa echoes, then frowns as she sees what I’m doing. “Nora, put that down. You shouldn’t—” She abruptly stops.

“Shouldn’t lift heavy things?” I finish, giving her an ironic smile. “You and Ana keep forgetting that I’m no longer an invalid. I can lift weights again, and fight and shoot and eat whatever I want.”

“Of course.” Rosa looks contrite. “I’m sorry”—she reaches for my basket—“but you still shouldn’t do my job.”

Sighing, I relinquish it to her, knowing she’ll only get upset if I insist on helping. She’s been particularly touchy about that since our return, determined not to have anyone treat her any differently than before.