“Then we’re ready,” she says, and the hardness in her eyes makes me ache.

I want to give her something more valuable than just another one of my inventions. Something that will remind her of love. Family.

Me.

I reach into my front pocket and close my fist around the leather pouch I’ve carried since the day my mother died. “I want to give you something else,” I say as I pull the pouch out into the open.

“What is it?” She glances at her bag as if wondering what else she can possibly add to the pile.

“No, not a weapon. Something more … feminine.”

Which sounds incredibly stupid, but I don’t know how to do this.

She frowns and looks down at herself. “I think I’m already feminine overkill.”

“Yes,” I say in fervent agreement, and she raises puzzled eyes to mine. But I have no intention of explaining myself. Instead, I say, “I have a gift for you. It would mean a lot to me if you’d accept it.”

She holds out her hand, and I press the soft, time-worn bag into her palm while making sure to look at the wall behind her. She tugs open the brown drawstring and dumps the contents into her hand.

It’s an intricately designed silver pendant made of a dozen interlocked circles with a glowing blue-black stone in the center of it. The necklace hangs on a glittering silver chain. It’s the one thing of beauty I can call my own.

“It was my mother’s. The only thing I have left of hers,” I say, and hope she understands that this means she’s my family now.

She clenches her fingers around it, and then slowly reaches out to hand it back to me. “I can’t accept this.”

I close my fingers around hers, the necklace still resting in her palm, meet her eyes, and say what Oliver once said to me.

“You’re worth so much more than anything I can give you. If you can’t believe that right now, believe in me.”

She stares at me, and I hold her gaze. I don’t know what she sees in my face, but she turns, lifts up her hair, and waits for me to fasten the chain against the back of her neck.

When she turns back, the pendant rests against her chest, glowing like it was always meant to be hers. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. She still looks fierce, running on rage and grief. But one day, maybe, she’ll look at the necklace and realize I see much more inside her than the tangled mess she feels now.

“It’s a Celtic knot. The same design I burned into the cuff I just gave you. It symbolizes eternity. The stone is a black sapphire, which symbolizes faithfulness.” I reach out and trace my finger over the pendant.

She looks at my finger, and then back at me, and a tiny tremble goes through her.

“It means”—I lean closer and will my words to take root within her—“I will always find you. I will always protect you. I won’t let you down. I promise.”

Something softens the fierceness of her gaze. It’s a small shift, but I catch it. “Do you remember the first time we met?” I ask, closing my hand around the pendant, her skin warm against mine. “Reuben Little stole bread from Oliver, and you chased him through the Market, cornered him in an alley, and were pelting him with items from the trash heap.”

“Oliver sent you to find me, so he wouldn’t have to tell my dad I’d run off into the Market on my own again. I was eight,” she says, and grief shivers through her voice at the memory.

It shivers through me, too, and I welcome it. It’s my last connection to Oliver.

I lean a little closer, until the space between us can be measured in breaths. “You were this wild girl with spirit, brains, and so much beauty it almost hurt to look at you. I was this penniless orphan, spurned by our leader and scrounging in trash heaps for my dinner. I never thought I’d be in a position to offer you protection, but I am. And nothing is going to stop me.”

“Nothing is going to stop me, either,” she says, and I hear the warrior she’s becoming coat her grief with purpose.

I lean my forehead to hers, our breath mingling for a moment, while my hand still clenches around the pendant and every rise and fall of her chest scrapes against my skin and makes me feel alive in a way I’ve never felt before.

Then she steps back, picks up her bag, and feels for the weight of her knife sheath beneath her skirt. I strap on my sword, heft my bag, and meet her gaze.

“Ready?”

Her smile is vicious as she holds her hand out to me. “Time to start paying our debt to the Commander.”

I match her smile with one of my own, lock fingers with hers, and together we walk out the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

LOGAN

As we walk hand in hand through Country Low, I realize it’s the last time I’ll see the fields stretching between the orchards and offering the space to breathe. The last time I’ll come around this bend and see the city laid out before me. I should probably feel a sense of loss, but with Oliver dead, Jared somewhere in the Wasteland, and Rachel leaving with me, I find I have nothing left to tie me to this place but a burning hatred for the Commander.

We enter South Edge and Melkin steps out from behind a building. If he wonders why we’re bringing travel bags to the Claiming ceremony, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he follows us as we head toward Center Square. As soon as we turn north, he falls back, apparently satisfied that we’re obeying the Commander’s orders. I scan the street for any guards who might be following us as well, but see no one.