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“These are the breaks when you sign up for a gig like this. But you. Man. You’re a New Charitan with Sanctuary family and you came from the City? That’s messed up.”

“You’re telling me.”

“What did you do before?”

“Ballerina.”

“No shit? That’s cool. I guess. Is that why you started nursing? Can’t use dance much anymore?”

I let my annoyance at his question brush past me. “How about you?”

“Mechanical engineer. Aerospace. We’ll have planes again someday, I’m sure. In the interim, they keep me because I can weld just about anything.”

“Good for you,” I say. His optimism is a breath of fresh air.

“And the other guy?”

“That’s Paul. He’s a metal fabricator. Makes the big metal statues used to be in front of art museums and courthouses. Artist type. That’s why he’s always so goddamned moody. No offense.”

“None taken,” I say, overjoyed someone still considers me an artist. “Say, were you at the gate the night Mangold came for Nelle?” I would think I would remember him, as striking as he is, his bronze skin almost glowing, as if the sun was still shining on it, even in the dark.

“Paul was there.”

“I thought so.”

James rolls his shoulders back. “I was supposed to go in with Mangold and Nelle, see. We had a plan to breach the gate, then go in and open the reservoir.”

“You knew everyone would die, right?”

“We’re all dying, Syd.” He laughs a little, like I’m the oblivious one.

“Yeah, but still. Is this what we have to become in order to get what we want?”

“They forced our hand. And your loyalty has been compromised,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I understand.”

I don’t tell him that, a week ago, my loyalty to the City was unquestionable.

“When Perry took Nelle, he caught us by surprise. We can’t go through with our plan with Nelle in there.”

When Perry took Nelle.
That’s rich. “If you all expected to go out in a blaze of glory anyway, why not finish the job?”

“She’s our engineer, for one, and we need her to tell us what’s what at the floodgate. We don’t have enough ammo to hold off the guns inside for more than an hour or so. Even if we did manage to muddle through, though, it’s Mangold. Without Nelle, he’s like a boat without a goddamned rudder. Second-guessing everything. When the power went out he was sure she’d been killed. When he agreed to take you, I thought maybe he’d come up with another plan. But now he’s back in his tent. Same as it was.”

“I need to talk to him. Alone,” I say.

“He doesn’t really accept visitors when he’s in one of his moods,” James says.

“Well, he’s going to talk to me whether he likes it or not.”

“Oh yeah? By the hands of you and what army?”

“You and whoever else I can dig up. Hey, Linsey?”

He looks at me for a minute and starts laughing. Linsey joins him and, soon, I do, too. The lines we’ve drawn between friend and enemy are so arbitrary, and so fragile. I accidentally grab James’s injured shoulder and he yelps like a hyena and we set off into yet more laughter. James pinches my arm in retribution, and Linsey pitches slimy potato skins at us from the fireside. It seems like years since I was laughing with Cas at my mother’s old clothes. And before that, there hadn’t been any laughter since the City.

Mina, Agnes, and Doc, memories of Danny—my whole life in the City seems so distant, like it belongs to someone else. I wonder if my dad felt this distance to my mother and me when we left, and again after she died. And even though I finally understand it, I reject it entirely. I’ll keep the new along with the old, or die trying.

Linsey has no problem colluding with me.

“You don’t need to deliver dinner, love, just tell him you want to talk about Nelle.”

And so I do. James follows me, still limping, begging me to try again in the morning.

Paul is sitting in front of Mangold’s tent. “Figured you’d try something like this,” he says.

Mangold’s tent is gigantic, the size of the ranch house’s living room and kitchen together. I stand in front of the vestibule that serves as the front door and announce myself. “New Charitan traitor whore here to see you.”

Paul spits, and James flinches. “Mangold’s words, not mine,” I say.

“Are you hard of hearing or just stupid? He’s not taking visitors.” Paul unsnaps the holster for his knife.

“I’m here to talk about Nelle.”

The tent flap whips open. Mangold stands there in a pair of socks and a fortuitously long button-down shirt. “What about Nelle?”

Once inside, I take a deep breath and ask Mangold to sit down. He insists on making tea, of all things. He has a kettle rigged to a solar-powered hot plate, and though the tea is tepid, it’s a nice change from chicory. He explains how he makes his own tisanes by picking and drying what he finds in the forest. Mint and wild strawberry.

“I’m sorry for what I said at the gate. I was angry, and sometimes . . . well, I have always struggled with my emotions, and when they took Nelle, I was beside myself.”

“You and your men have assumed quite a bit about her confinement,” I snipe. But he doesn’t bite.

“Where are they keeping her?”

“She’s played her hand quite well so far. She’s staying at the Willis mansion, which is considerably more comfortable than the jail. Because of her friendship with Perry, they’ll make her useful in the near term. She’ll be turning the power back on, for one.”

“How did the outage occur?”

I ignore him. “Despite her competence, Nelle won’t be safe forever. After she restores the power, her usefulness declines precipitously. Did they give you a date for the exchange?”

Mangold isn’t listening to me, either. “Our original plan was interrupted.”

“James told me,” I said. Mangold frowns.

“Thanks a lot,” James says.

“And he said you knew about the Ward.”

Mangold nods. “We have a friend inside the gates. He warned us of what we’d find.”

I need to tell him that my dad is dead. But the words won’t form.

“I owe the man a great debt of gratitude,” he continues. “I’m sure he’s doing whatever he can to keep Nelle safe.”

I consider spilling Nelle’s complicity in her own position, but it isn’t my confession to make. Mangold isn’t going to hear those words unless they’re delivered by Nelle herself.

“Our plan was to warn Cal during his next drop, so that he could get his brother out of New Charity before we went in. Nelle insisted on trying to warn Perry, and that ended up being our downfall. When the Bishop offered to send someone as insurance while they kept Nelle, naturally I asked for Cal. We got you instead.”

“Do you know why?”

“I assume it’s because you’re a danger to both sides.”

I nod. “That’s a fair assessment.”

“But who are you, really?” he asks. “Whose side
are
you on?”

“Everyone’s. No one’s.” I’ve let this go on long enough without delivering the news I came to deliver. “The man who fought with Paul, do you know who he is?”

“Sanctuary man, right? But not the important one.”

“He’s the Deacon. Deacon Pious Turner.”

He rolls the names around in his mouth for a moment before he brightens, then crumples. “Oh no. The brother. And he . . . damn. So where is Cal? Why send you? Who
are
you?”

“Cal Turner died three weeks ago. I’m his daughter, Syd, given special dispensation to enter New Charity to receive his belongings.”

Mangold shoves his cup aside and lays his head in his hands. “No, no, no, no,” he whispers. And I’m filled with a feeling I can’t put a name to, watching this man grieve for my dad in a way I couldn’t, haven’t, and won’t ever be able to.

I expect him to gather himself, sit up, and speak to me. But he continues to sob until my tea is cold. Until I stand up and duck out of the tent, leaving him to his own staggering guilt.

By nightfall, it is clear Mangold will not be joining the camp for the evening meeting. I’m sitting with James, Linsey, and a few others whose names I haven’t learned. Though Mangold’s in no shape to plan anything, Paul and James want me to explain to everyone else what I said to Mangold to put him in such a state.

I start with the important part. “I’m Syd Turner, City Survivor, but New Charity born. More pertinently, I’m your friend Cal Turner’s daughter. You didn’t know about me. I didn’t know about you. In fact, I don’t know a lot about my dad. But the fact that he was trying to help the Survivors makes me very proud.”

Linsey initiates a round of applause with his plate-sized hands.

“Listen,” I say, deciding to go big or go home, “right this moment, Nelle is safe, unless she decides to disturb the floodgate Ward. And though it looks bad, we may actually be in a strategic position to resolve the issue of the reservoir without leveling New Charity in the process.”

Paul and the men I don’t know groan in response.

“Cal Turner is dead,” I say over them, and watch them stiffen. “And by avenging his death, we can remove the source of suffering for both communities, namely the Bishop.”

“And just how do you propose we off the guy?” someone asks.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know what you have in terms of weapons or resources. I’m hoping if we take a night to think and then reconvene tomorrow, we can come up with some ideas and together we can make a plan.”

“You think you can just waltz in here and tell us what to do?” A tall blond man stands up and throws the dregs of his mug into the fire. “What kind of experience do you have? Screw you, sweetheart.”

“I’ll do it!” someone yells from the back. My skin crawls.

I take a deep breath. “I’m just explaining—”

“Thanks, General Lipstick, but we’ll wait for Mangold to get right first,” says a short, bearded man.

“We don’t have much time. Nelle doesn’t know that killing the Bishop will nullify the Ward. I didn’t have a chance to tell her before I left.”

Feet shuffle, but they offer no acquiescence.

“You listened to Nelle, didn’t you?”

“’Cause she was speaking for Mangold,” Paul says.

I roll my eyes. It was more likely the other way around, but Nelle is running virtually the same game inside the gates. Letting Perry feel as if he’s running the board, when she’s four moves ahead the whole time.

James stands up. “Hey, any of you ever consider she knows what she’s talking about?”

“Killing him takes more time,” Paul says. “The longer we’re inside the gates, the more risk we take. We have been over this a thousand times.”

Linsey waves him off from the other side of the fire. “Two weeks ago you were all ready to give your lives. Now, just because this gal is giving you ideas, you won’t take
risk
? You lads think on it. We’ll have no more discussion of this over dinner.”

We all sit, reluctantly. I put James between me and everyone else as the rest of the camp filters in. Linsey sits down across from me, delivering a plate of unsalted meat and root vegetables. It all tastes of the earth and, though it’s different from the tuna I’ve been scarfing down and the sticky-sweet baked goods of New Charity, I like it. I feel stronger. And maybe it’s because, for the first time, my vision seems clear.

Agnes worried the two sides would create a rift neither of us could fathom. I understand now—each side has the power to eradicate the other.

Unless we get rid of the Bishop.

So, that’s what I’ll do—with or without the camp’s help. If it costs my life, then, just as Nelle and the camp’s men argued, my last moments will be the gift I leave for the homes I love.

“What are you smiling about?” James asks.

“I know what I need to do, that’s all,” I say.

“That’s a great feeling, isn’t it? Savor it, Syd Turner.” He throws his good arm around me and hugs me to him.

“I will, thanks.” I move to squeeze him back, but then remember his injuries. I give him a kiss on the cheek, caught up in the moment. Glad to have a friend here in this strange place between my two homes.

A giant crack booms from the woods behind us. The air changes in an instant. Paul and James pull wooden whistles from beneath their shirts and begin to blow them.

“Get down,” James says, just before Paul runs past, lifting me from the bench and planting my face in the ground. I readjust and watch as Linsey takes a shotgun from behind a food chest and begins loading.