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He promised me peace. But how the hell are the three of us going to live in peace? Last night, I was sure I didn't even want to live.

And if I'm honest, we'd probably all be a little better off if I didn't.

"You know, if you want to lie down, Noah, there's more room back here," Tate says.

"No, thanks. I'm fine here."

"Yeah, I get that," Tate says. "He's all big and muscly; makes you feel safe, right?"

I ignore him, but…yeah. Pretty much.

"Like a tiny little baby," he continues. "And he's sexy. Smells really good. Good kisser, too."

"Tate…" Silas laughs, shaking his head. "I don't think she wants to hear you talk right now."

"No, he's right, though," I say softly. "You do make me feel safe. And all the other things, too. Silas?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you still want me? Even though I'm…bad?"

"You're not bad, Noah," Silas says. "You're still a good girl. There's nothing you could do that would ever change my mind about you, okay?"

"What about me?" Tate asks. "Am I a good boy?"

"No, absolutely not," Silas says. "But I'm happy. I know I'm probably the only one. I know it's selfish, and you're not happy, Noah. I can feel it coming off of you, filling ever corner of this small space, so don't think I don't know it." He rubs his thumb against my hand. "But you told me you were happy last night. And this is how it's supposed to be—we're supposed to be together. We're a family. It will get better. This is the only way itcanget better."

My eyes well with tears. I swallow a lump in my throat to stifle a sob, grateful for the radio right now, even though it's breaking into static.

"Don't do that to me again, Noah," he adds. "You have to promise."

I stay silent, unwilling to make a promise I'm not sure I can keep.

"You should get some sleep, Noah," Tate says. He leans forward, resting his head against Silas's arm, and runs his fingers into my hair. "It's a really long drive."

"You don't even want me here."

"Mmm…that's not exactly true. I think you know that. I'm notthatgood of a liar."

"Yes, you are," I whisper.

"Do you want to know where we're going now?" he asks.

I don't answer, so he continues, stroking my hair.

"There's a small community in the Northwest Territories. They're going to give us a house and let us live there as long as we follow their rules."

"Why would they do that? Do they know who you are?"

"No," he says. "They don't care who we are."

"They aren'tgivingus a house," Silas clarifies. "We're smuggling enough guns and ammo for the entire community to hunt through the winter in the walls of this vehicle. That's what they get out of it. That's one of their rules—everyone contributes."

"So, it's a cult."

"I think they prefer the termoff-grid community," Tate says.

"You'll like it, Noah," Silas says. "It's peaceful. The people there live without televisions and the internet. There are no newspapers. No one will ever look at us twice."