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“This is normal,” Asha said sharply, keeping her voice low to avoid being overheard. “I don’t know where you’ve been all this time, but this is the real world. And it’s every bit as shitty as they told us.”

John shot her a look of disapproval. “I don’t know where you’ve been, but this is not normal for me. No one where I’m from lives like this, and even the nearest trading post is leagues better than this.”

Asha shrugged. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Farm Boy.”

He rolled his eyes, but wisely didn’t take the bait.

“Who are these people?” I asked, nodding at the men scattered throughout the settlement. “Gang members?”

“That’s a good guess,” John answered gravely. “Not the Skulls, though. Someone else has moved in since last time.”

“The Guardians,” Asha said, surprising me again. “The feathers are their trademark.”

“How do you know?” I asked, and she glared at me.

“I heard of them when I lived in the city,” she replied, looking away.

John raised an eyebrow but said, “Let’s just get what we need and get out of here.”

He led the way to the end of the path, where there was a small market square with a variety of stalls.

The largest three booths stood in the centre and took up the majority of the space.

Each was labelled with a crude drawing: one of a carrot, another of a gun, and a final picture of a circle, square, and triangle.

The carrot and gun seemed self-explanatory, but I couldn’t decipher the meaning of the last one.

“Everything else,” John said wryly when I asked.

“Wouldn’t it be clearer to just…write th em?”

“Sure would,” he replied. “But you’re assuming anyone here can read.”

“ You can read,” I pointed out.

“Surprisingly,” Asha scoffed. I shot her an offended look, but John ignored her.

“Yeah, and I’m the exception, not the rule,” he said to me.

Asha waited, arms folded, in the centre of the square while we walked to the gun stand.

The merchant behind the counter was a thin, bony woman who could’ve believably been any age from thirty to seventy.

Her posture said that she was younger than she looked, but her face was deeply lined and pockmarked with scars that made her appear ancient.

Her fragile-looking sandy blonde hair was thin and lifeless, and there were gaps in the smile she greeted us with.

“Come to trade, love?” she said, batting her eyes at him.

If John was surprised by her attempt at flirting, he didn’t show it. He was all business, pulling the geese out of his game bag. As he did, the woman’s eyes flicked over to me, and her expression changed from pleasant to fascinated. It was more than a little unnerving.

“You’re beautiful, lady,” she said to me. “Pretty as a picture. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you weren’t real.”

I averted my gaze from her wide, interested eyes, deeply uncomfortable. I hoped that John’s efforts to disguise me weren’t moot. I wasn’t used to feeling different. In the compound, everyone had implants like mine. Smooth, clear skin and shiny hair were the norm, and I hadn’t stood out.

“Yes, well, thank you,” I managed to say, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Such beautiful hair,” the merchant mused. I jerked as I realized the end of my long braid had fallen outside my hood. The woman’s trembling, skeletal hand reaching to touch the end of it. “You could sell that hair, you know. Someone’d pay a fortune for that lovely red.”

I gulped, but managed to answer as politely as I could, “No, thank you.”

I cringed as her fingers played with the ends of my hair, but with how tense the atmosphere was in this place, I didn’t feel like I could say no. In a flash, however, John’s hand had closed around my elbow, deftly moving me out of her reach .

“Don’t touch her,” he said sharply to the merchant, who had the gall to look offended, then turned to me. “Why don’t you wait with Asha? I’ll only be a few minutes. Stay in the square.”

Relieved, I latched onto the out he gave me.

“I will,” I promised, and he nodded before turning back to the gaunt face of the merchant woman.

I returned to Asha’s side.

“Kill time with me?” I asked, and she nodded. We took a five-minute stroll amongst the stalls of the small square, trying not to meet eyes with the Guardians, who watched us like hawks.

We were about to loop back to John when I spotted something strange at the back of the square: a small platform where two brown-haired young women stood, their heads down, their gaze cast on the ground.

They held their hands behind their backs, and their clothes were torn and dirty.

A large, beefy man with a bushy grey moustache and a feather tattoo stood behind a stall next to them, quietly surveying the market.

Unlike the other stalls, there was no signage.

Something about the strange, subservient stance of the women unnerved me. I walked slowly towards the platform.

“Claire,” Asha hissed, her hand closing around my elbow.

I looked back to her, frowning. “Something isn’t right.”

Asha glanced toward the women with pity, but her grip on my arm tightened. I moved slightly to the left to get a better view, and my stomach dropped as I realized that the women’s hands were bound behind them.

“We shouldn’t intervene,” Asha said, and my eyebrows shot up.

“Intervene in what?” I asked.

She didn’t answer, simply tugged on my arm.

I tore my gaze from the women on the platform with difficulty.

Before we could go back the way we’d come, however, a terrified-looking young woman crossed our path.

She wasn’t as emaciated-looking as the other residents—in fact, her complexion looked downright healthy compared to most here—and her clothes were worn, but mostly clean.

She latched onto my forearm, her eyes wild. Instinctively, I tried to pull back, but she held fast.

“Please help me,” she pleaded with me. “My daughter’s been hurt in an accident just that way.” She pointed farther down the path, away from the square. “One of the houses collapsed and buried her. We need everyone we can to help.”

She tugged on my arm, trying to drag me…right towards the platform with the bound women. Desperation marked her every movement.

“I’m sorry, I—” I began.

“Fuck off,” Asha cut in, her tone hard as steel.

“Please,” the woman replied, never taking her eyes off me. “All I need is your help!”

“Asha—” I said, prepared to scold her.

“You heard me well enough, bitch,” Asha snarled back at her. “Tell your pimp to find another mark.”

The woman’s demeanour changed in an instant; she drew herself up and twisted her lips into a nasty little smile.

“So, you’ve got it all figured out, huh?” she said harshly, finally turning her gaze to Asha as she released my arm. She frowned, studying Asha’s face for a moment. Asha shifted uncomfortably and adjusted the hood of her jacket.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” the woman asked.

“No,” Asha replied curtly, turning away from her. “I just know your kind. Now, back up.”

The woman suddenly laughed. “Asha, right? You were one of Angel’s girls.”

I balked, staring wide-eyed at Asha. The gang leader she mentioned—her tormentor—was called Angel.

Asha had said this gang called themselves the Guardians. If their leader had been named Angel, that made sense…as did the feather tattoos. She knew who they were because this was her former gang.

Panic rose inside of me. Who else might recognize her, and what would they do if they found out she was here? I needed to get back to John.

“Cade’s been looking for you, you know,” the woman continued with a mean-spirited grin. “He’s the one in charge, since the… incident with Angel. Such a coincidence that you disappeared right around that time, too.”

“Give Cade the same message I’m giving you,” Asha said dismissively. “Go fuck yourself.”

“We should go,” I said, taking a step back. “Come on, Ash—”

The man with the moustache appeared at the woman’s side.

“You having trouble here, Val?” he asked her. “These girls bothering you?”

“They seem to think they’ll be leaving,” she answered casually, and my stomach dropped.

The moustached man grinned, showing missing teeth. “That’s cute, isn’t it?”

My heart was hammering in my ears, and I took another step back…right into John, who had appeared silently behind me as if from nowhere. I sagged against him, relief flooding my veins.

“There a problem here?” he asked, staring down the gang members.

“These two girls yours?” Moustache replied. “How much you want for them?”

My eyes must’ve gone as wide as saucers. This man was…buying us?

“Not for sale,” John said, his voice suddenly a menacing growl. “Now back away.”

Moustache held up his hands with a laugh. “Honest mistake. Man doesn’t want to lose his harem; I get it. Take your women and go.”

I wanted to vomit at his words, but John didn’t reply. With a final, icy glare, he led me firmly away, Asha on our heels.

As soon as we were out of earshot of the man, John pulled me close and spoke in a low, rapid voice by my ear.

“When we get to the gate, run for your bike. Ride as fast as you can. Don’t wait for me, don’t look back, and don’t stop.”

“What—?” I replied, alarmed.

“Trust me,” he said, clipped. “They’ll follow us.”

My pulse was a low thud in my ears. He gave me no time to reply, taking me by the hand and leading me back toward the gate. I couldn’t help but notice that the eyes of the entire village were on us as we went—not just the Guardians. It felt like they were waiting for us to make some fatal mistake.

As we approached the gate, the guard watched us with interest. When we passed by, he opened his mouth as if to speak, and I took that as my cue: I bolted.

Kimmy stood dutifully with the bikes at the fork in the road. At my flight, however, her expression changed from watchful to alarmed, and she sprang into action. There were shouts behind me, and it took everything I had to not look back.

I reached my bike and sped away, my thighs burning as I pumped the pedals, riding as though the mouth of hell itself had opened behind me.