The knock sounds at the door again.

“Who is it?” Ryan asks Trent.

“Your neighbors,” the man outside the door answers. “We need to borrow a cup of sugar.”

“To make their People Pies with,” I mutter.

I hate to admit it so I won’t, not to anyone but myself, but I feel better having Ryan awake. I feel less certain that I’m going to die tonight.

He frowns at me now, his warm eyes dark in the dying firelight.

“Cannibals?” he whispers.

I nod, my mouth tightly strung in a grim line.

He curses under his breath then jumps slightly when the knocking starts up again.

“Little pig, little pig, let me in,” the man sings mockingly.

“Trent thinks you can talk to them,” I whisper to Ryan. “He’s seen people talk to them and not end up dead.”

“Not right away, at least,” Trent corrects.

“What do I say?” he asks incredulously. “Please don’t eat us?”

“Maybe don’t lead with that.”

“Lead with what then? The weather? Ask about his kids?” Ryan demands, whispering harshly.

“Maybe start with opening the door,” I suggest.

Ryan takes a calming breath, then nods his head.

“Weapons hidden, give nothing away,” he mutters to us as he stands.

Ryan, I think it’s important to note, was our reigning poker champion in prison. Even Trent, with his robot’s heart, wasn’t able to beat him. Trent has no tells, no emotional outbursts or giveaways to exploit. Ryan, on the other hand, has many, but most are lies. He’s an incredible actor—or a liar, depending on how you see it. I think it’s one of the reasons he does so well in the Arena. He has a charisma, an easy kind of charm that pulls you in and makes you trust him. Even as he’s taking all your money.

My blood is rushing in my ears as he turns the door handle. I think someone says something from outside but I can’t hear it, not over the sound of my own fear and panic pounding in my ears. Ryan nods, steps aside, and a man dressed entirely in black walks in. He gives the small room a once-over, his eyes barely falling on Trent and I. It’s something I’m a little insulted by. He’s looking for threats but I just got passed over like I was nothing. Like I’m an office chair or a roller skate.

The man’s skin is painfully pale. His dark hair is a shock against it where it droops over his forehead, looking clean and shiny. This is how I judge people in the apocalypse: do they have a shower and do they use it? Yes on both counts for this guy, meaning they’re living relatively well. No one showers first and drinks water to survive second.

“So,” he says quietly, turning back to Ryan with a stern eye, “who are you and what are you doing here?”

“We washed up on the shore here and weren’t prepared to travel at night,” Ryan says, his voice surprisingly deep and strong. “Not through this territory.”

“Not through our territory.”

“No. Colonists’ either.”

“And how do you know we’re not Colonists?”

“You knocked,” he answers wryly.

The man grins. It’s not as horrifying as I thought it would be. Not like when Trent does it. It seems more natural. Easier. Like he does it all the time. I remind myself that the truly horrifying thing about the cannibals is that they look just like everyone else—right up until they’re pan-frying someone’s calf muscle over an open flame. Then you can feel it in your bones, smell it in the air that they are wrong.

“You were on the ships then? You’re Colonists.”

“No,” I blurt out. I snap my mouth shut the second I say it, but it’s already done. All eyes are on me now.

“Really?” the man asks, stepping toward me.

I see Ryan tense beside him, but then another man steps inside the door to block his path. The first man looks at me intently. I don’t feel as terrified as I thought I would meeting his stare. His eyes are strange, too large and too dark, but they’re not crazy. Not as insane and empty as I expected.

“Yes, really,” I say, worried my tone is too sharp, but I’m not great at censoring myself. I clear my throat. “We’re not with the Colonists, and before you ask, we’re not with The Hive either.”

“Are you sure? That was a Hive boat you sailed out on.”

I swallow, glancing quickly at Ryan. How do they know about the boat?

“Did it sink?” the man asks. “We lost sight of it in the chaos.”

“Capsized,” Trent says as a matter of fact.

“And you left it like that? Uh oh,” he tuts, feigning concern. “Marlow won’t like that. You’ll be indebted to him now. That’s never a good place to be.”

“You know Marlow?” I ask.

“I know of him. Never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance.”

“You’re not missing much.”

He grins again. “So I hear. Clear something up for me, would you? You sailed to Vashon Island on a Hive boat, but you’re not with The Hive. You clearly aren’t with the Vashons because here you sit, on the opposite side of the Sound. You say you’re not with the Colonies and I’m inclined to believe that. So if you’re not with The Hive, the Vashons, or the Colonies, who are you exactly?”

“No one,” Ryan says, his voice dead.

I’m surprised by his answer but then I remember that it’s true—that I did that to him. He’s no longer a Hyperion because he betrayed them for me and that’s going to eat him up inside. That was his family—a piece of his life with his brother—and I’ve taken that, giving nothing in return. But he’s not no one. Even standing in an empty room without a weapon or cent to his name, he’s so much more someone than I’ll ever be.

“Well, whoever you are, you need to come with us.”

“And if we don’t?” Ryan asks.

“You will.”

It’s not a threat exactly, it’s more like a truth. One I feel in my gut. He’s right, we’ll go with them because we don’t want to die and it doesn’t even have to be said that that’s what will happen if we resist. We all know it. I can feel it and they can probably taste it and there’s no sense in denying it.

I stand slowly. Trent does the same in my peripheral but I keep my eyes on Ryan. He’s watching me rise and I’m worried that I can’t read his face. He’s gone into Arena mode: he’s a fighter now, dead and calm inside. I envy him that. I recognize that trick as one I used to be able to perform, but my skills have slipped or fallen entirely away and I’ll never be able to do it again. Even now as I look at him I can feel emotions swirling inside of me. I feel scared, anxious, protective, angry. And it’s all for him.

We’re led outside into the dark and the cold. We leave our fire burning inside and I have the fleeting, ridiculous thought that we should put it out before it burns the building down or draws someone to it. But it’s not my home and the moths are already here. The damage has already been done.

I fall in line behind Ryan as we head out the door. I’m startled by the sudden silence, the cease of raps and taps on the outside of the building. It’s so perfectly synched that the lack of sound unnerves me as much as it did when it started. I’m beginning to think these people share a brain.

“Weapons,” someone ahead of Ryan says curtly.

I unhook my knife and toss it to the ground toward the shadowed voice that demanded it. Then I slowly pull my ASP free, running my fingers over it lovingly as I ache inside. I just got her back. How many times can we be separated before it’s the last?

I glare at the man in front of us, holding up my ASP for him to see. “I want this back.”

“Toss it with the others,” is his cold reply.

“Do you understand me? I want it back.”

“When?”

“When we leave.”

“Who said you will?”

I suppress a shiver along with the urge to whip the weapon out to full length and crack it against the guy’s face. He’s taking shape as my eyes adjust to the darkness. He’s not that big. He’s actually almost my height, not that much meatier. I’m not used to fighting the living but I’m suddenly curious how I’d do. The more I can see of him, the more convinced I am that I can take him. But I can’t fight all of them and neither can Ryan or Trent, so I slowly lower the baton to the ground where I let it fall with an echoing clatter.