I didn't know that it was possible, but apparently you can hurt so badly that you can cease to feel anything at all.

I am numb. I don't know how long I spent curled up on Meg's cot crying my eyes out, but gauging by the untouched plates of food someone has left by the tent's entryway, it's been more than a day.

My head throbs, my throat is dry and parched, my knee and arm are still sore from wounds I sustained during the battle, but my heart feels nothing. I don't feel the ache of loss any longer; only a great, hollow emptiness.

At some point I visit with Jules. When I tell her what happened to her brother she at first stands dumbly, staring at me with an expression of disbelief. She begins to shake, then cry as the truth of everything gradually works its way home. She screams at me, spouting accusations and blame. I don't fight her, letting the younger girl push me, the force of her blows negligible relative to everything else.

Finally she collapses, sobbing against my shoulder. I hold her tightly, this girl who should have been my sister. We rock back and forth on the cot, our arms wrapped around one another, the two people who loved him most.

Eventually, Meg convinces me to allow Cade inside, insisting that I allow someone to tend my injuries. I don't see the point but figure I owe it to her. Dragging myself into a seated position, I blink the spots of light from my vision as the old healer pushes his way into the tent. Cade is followed by a second person, a shadowy figure standing a ways behind. It takes me a moment to place the stranger, but eventually my addled mind recalls his face.

It's Noah, Luca and Jaron's missing brother.

He gives me a small smile but I cannot bring myself to return the gesture, staring blankly at the two men while Cade efficiently arranges his various potions and remedies, instructing me to lie back on the bed. Meg murmurs an excuse and leaves, probably grateful for the respite.

"All right, let us get a look at you." Cade's tone is gentle as he smooths my hair back, his sharp eyes scanning my cuts and bruises.

Noah hands him a soaked cloth and the older man begins to clean the dried blood and war paint from my face.

"Kay, have you met Noah?" Cade asks conversationally. The medicine stings my cuts but I don't flinch, still adrift in the merciful numbness.

I glance up at the missing Waster brother. He is paler and leaner than both Jaron and Luca; malnourished from his time spent below ground, but there is still an unmistakable resemblance. Noah has the same dark hair and dark features as his brothers, though his eyes are bluer than Luca's, without any trace of the black that Jaron most often wears. There is another major differentiation, however, a kind of gentleness that his battle-hardened brothers lack.

I am about to mumble a non-committal greeting when I notice something else behind Noah's eyes, something that I recognize all too well.

Loss. This Waster is suffering in the same way I am. I think of Rowan, of her final moments, the way she saved me and spoke of Noah with her last breath. I study him closely, curiosity getting the better of me. This is the man that Rowan was willing to give up her tribe for. Before, I could not understand how she could place a single person above everything else. Now, I see the ways in which a heart can be pulled, how innocuous it can all seem when the life of someone you love is at risk.

Rowan was harsh, a warrior through and through. Noah, with his healer's touch and gentle nature could not appear more different, but I understand implicitly how well they were matched. Will and I were opposites also, but together we had balance.

My heart gives a lurch once more and I glance away, grimacing as Cade lays the foul-smelling leaf over my bad knee. The familiar itch of pain begins on the surface of my skin and I shut my eyes tight while I concentrate on the sensation, grateful for the distraction.

"Hello, Noah." I finally manage, easing my eyes open. "Welcome home."

"Thank you." He helps me ease off my filthy tunic, revealing the ugly gash I sustained on my arm before Luca pulled me back onto the grid. "I am told that I owe our rescue to you."

"I had only a small part in it." I watch with a measured detachment as he washes my wound. "The plan and execution was all Will's." Saying his name aloud no longer affects me. It is as though I am talking about some other life, some morbid bedtime story told to me long ago.

"You can see that Kay suffers from an overabundance of modesty." Cade has settled comfortably on the foot of the bed and busied himself mixing up some foul concoction. "But then, so did all the great heroes."

"I am not a hero." I snap at him before I can stop myself. The spacious tent suddenly seems incredibly small and suffocating. The leaf Cade has placed over my bad knee burns with a fresh intensity and I draw shallow breaths through my teeth.

I couldn't save him. Gods help me, I failed. Had I fought him harder, insisted, begged, pleaded or otherwise forced him to remain with me, then he would still be here. Jules would still have her brother, our soldiers would still have their Commander, and I would still have my reason to fight.

A hero would have brought him home.

The Runner left him behind.

"You must not blame yourself for what happened." Cade's voice is so quiet, that at first I am not sure he has spoken at all. "The situation was unwinnable."

I clench my jaw shut tight, curling my hands into fists and casting my gaze down at the rumpled sheets. There is nothing to say about what could have been done, about what wasn't done. I've already thought it through a million times.

Despite what Cade says, I know the truth. I am to blame for Will's death. The Madam killed him in order to hurt me; she knew precisely which person I cared about most.

Will's only crime was loving me.

Noah withdraws a length of thread and a needle, pinching the newly-clean skin on my arm together and stitching a neat line while Cade tidies up the remaining herbs and poultices.

"I'm sorry about Rowan." I tell Noah, finally breaking the silence.

He freezes momentarily, returning to his work a second later. "Jaron told me what she did. I will never know if we could have mended what we had together."

I nod my understanding. "She saved my life."

He glances up at me. "Really?"

"Yes." A sad, rueful smile escapes my lips. "Granted, she first tried to kill me, so perhaps that negates the rescue."

He chuckles softly, completing the last stitch and wrapping my forearm in a protective layer of linen. "You could say that Rowan was an acquired taste."

"She was one of the bravest people I have ever met." I tell him sincerely. He pauses and I speak deliberately, needing to accurately convey my meaning. "Not only in battle."

His green eyes flash and he grips my hand in his, squeezing tightly. I barely know this Waster, but already I feel that we understand one another.

"It is time for you to join us outside." Cade selects a clean tunic, tossing it to me.

I catch the shirt and stare at it blankly. "I'm tired. I'll come later."

"Later will not be easier." Cade says sternly, almost cheerfully as he slings his medical satchel over his shoulder. "Come, there is something I think you should see."

Noah pulls me to my feet and I stifle a groan. I follow the Wasters reluctantly through the tent flaps, ducking my head against the late afternoon glare. The sand surrounding our camp is burnt orange, swirling around our feet and twisting in tight spirals up towards the sky.

The world appears at once the same and entirely different. Our hastily-constructed camp has become overrun by people; soldiers and refugees alike. Warriors bruised from the battle make their way through the narrow passageways, weaving between tents and gathering around the bonfires smouldering in the open spaces.

I ignore the curious glances cast in my direction, sticking close to Cade and Noah and glancing about at the crowd streaming past. Besides our troops there are also people who have made the journey from the City or a tube station, volunteers and supporters lending a hand to the refugees. From the looks of things, there is no shortage of work to be done.

Cade glances over at me, smiling and drawing me closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as we walk. The simple gesture reminds me of my father and I allow myself to lean against the older man. Together, we make our way towards the centre of the camp.

Here, an impressively large bonfire has been built, burning fiercely against the darkening sky. The crowd has thickened and the air rings with shouts of laughter. Families and friends are reunited, celebrating uproariously amongst the general sense of triumph, but all the festivity is lost to me.

This is what Cade wanted me to see. Everywhere, Wasters and Miners huddle together, embracing long-lost companions and catching up on missing years. I want to feel glad for my people, but my bitter heart instead twists with jealousy. Why, after everything I have been through, should I not know a piece of this? What more must I do? What other sacrifices can I make?

We draw closer to the roaring fire and I freeze in my tracks, halting Cade who looks over at me, concerned.

Lara.

She notices me in the same instant, paling and rising shakily to her feet. I feel myself tremble, my fists furling and unfurling at my sides as she draws closer. Cade slowly withdraws his arm from around my shoulders, stepping aside to give us some space.

At once, all of the old feelings come flooding back. The anguish I experienced as I watched him crumple to the ground, the endless, wretched pain tearing through my chest, the injustice of everything encompasses me.

I thought I was numb.

I was wrong.

Lara steps up in front of me, her eyes shadowed and pleading. Her brassy hair is mussed and coated with sand and there are visible bruises dotting her arms and shoulders. Her expensive silver necklace is gone and the heinous scar marking her as a breeder is displayed prominently. She looks nothing like the laughing, carefree girl who took me into her home all those years ago.

"Kay." Her voice is hoarse.

I remain stock-still, staring at her in disbelief. Why should she be here, this selfish, traitorous wretch who never gave a care for anyone but herself. How is she allowed to live while Will is dead and gone forever?

"It should have been you." I hear myself say. My voice is cold, not my own.

She gasps and stumbles back a step, clutching at her non-existent necklace.

"He was better than you are. Better than you will ever be." I blink my dry eyes forcefully, my every word full of lethal intent.

"I know." She whispers. "I'm so sorry."

I feel Cade's hand on my arm and shake him off, the rage now all-consuming and causing me to shake violently.

Tears cascade down Lara's face, but it isn't enough. Whatever it is she feels, it will never make a difference. It won't bring Will back. Somewhere in the recesses of my broken mind, I remember all she has done to redeem herself for her betrayal. I know that this camp is now home to countless innocent Babelonians, I know that Lara risked herself in order to give more people a chance to escape.

I know all this, but it doesn't stop the venom spewing from my mouth. I hurt, and so she must also hurt.

"We are finished, you and I." I tell her. "I never want to see you again."

"What happened to Will wasn't my fault." She protests. "Kay, please."

"It should have been you!" I lunge at her and someone grabs me from behind, pinning my arms and yanking me back. Lara releases a strangled cry and the world at once becomes lost to me. It is no longer my old friend standing in front of me, it's the Madam.

She smiles menacingly, holding aloft the lethal syringe. I throw myself at her again and again, fighting violently against the many arms holding me back. The Madam stands impassively, throwing her head back and cackling, taunting me with the needle.

Meg appears, capturing my hot cheeks in her cool hands and forcing me to look at her. I blink, my eyes darting around wildly before finally settling on her familiar face. My heart hammers in my chest and slowly, slowly the world begins to make sense again. Meg murmurs to me, her soft voice gradually easing me towards calm. My body begins to relax as I stare out over her shoulder. The Madam is gone and Lara stands in her place, shielded by Gus, Babel's rebel mechanic.

A crowd has gathered. Their wide-eyed expressions are a mixture of horror and something worse.

Pity.

The hands holding me tentatively release and I feel myself sag. Meg leans her forehead against mine as a sob constricts my throat.

I don't know how long we remain that way, but when we draw apart the crowd has dispersed and Lara has disappeared. The old numbness returns, coating me like a blanket. Meg keeps her hands clasped around my neck, calmly waiting for me to come around.

"Don't worry." She says. "You don't have to be all right. You're home, now. This is where we take care of one another."

"Something's wrong with me." I tell her. Why am I seeing people who aren't here? Why can't I control myself?

"We'll get you through it."

"What if I can't be fixed?" My voice cracks. "What if I'm too far gone?"

"Then I will bring you back." Meg's ferocity nearly penetrates my dull exterior. "You aren't alone, Kay. You've been strong enough, now it's time to accept some support."

She lifts my chin with her finger and I reluctantly drag my gaze up to meet hers.

"Remember what Will told you." Her blue eyes search mine. "You aren't broken. If you give up now, then you are doing precisely what the Madam wants you to do. You would be letting her win."

Something sparks inside of me. There is the barest hint of my old fire; the familiar urge to run against the grain.

"I know the last thing you want is to give her the satisfaction." Meg continues, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips. "If you ever did what anyone expected of you, then you wouldn't be our Runner."

I glance behind her. Wasters, Miners and Babelonians gather around the fire, passing food back and forth and drinking from frothy steins. Arms are flung across shoulders and riotous ballads are sung drunkenly. I catch sight of Luca sitting off to one side with Cade, Noah and Jaron. The brothers wear identical smiles, talking and laughing with one another, completely oblivious to the rest of us.

This is the moment we fought for. This brief instance of peace, shared between people who were at one time the bitterest of enemies.

Only a few short months ago we were an isolated City caught in an endless war with the savage Wasters. Now, not only are we allied, but we have successfully freed our lost comrades along with an unexpected amount of Babelonians from the clutches of a madwoman.

This is what Will wanted. This is why he risked everything. This very moment is the reason he stayed behind.

It would be a shame to miss it.

Jaron looks up and catches me looking at him. His smile widens and he waves us over. I allow Meg to pull me towards them, sinking down onto the soft sand between her and Luca. The heat from the crackling fire washes over me as I stare into the flames, letting myself drift on the fringes of my friends' conversation.

The sun dips behind the dunes, casting long shadows while we build our fires higher and higher, tossing dried brush into the flames to create towering infernos. When the sky turns to indigo and the stars begin to make an appearance, the Wasters bring out bowls and dyes, churning the powders into a thick, tacky substance.

I watch Luca as he mixes together a concoction. His hands are steady, selecting each individual ingredient with the same calm decisiveness he uses when dispatching a target. Gradually, the paste in his bowl turns a deep, luminous shade of blue. Seemingly satisfied, Luca strips off his shirt and crumples it into a ball at his side, handing the bowl of dye to Jaron along with a lethal-looking reed of sharpened wood.

Jaron hums a low tune under his breath as he dips the needle into the bowl, coating the tip. The chief's humming is picked up by the other Wasters and gradually, hundreds of individual voices combine together to create a deep, rumbling crescendo that fairly rattles the earth below me.

Luca turns his back to his eldest brother and shuts his eyes. The reed clutched in Jaron's hand hovers over the taut skin on Luca's shoulders before Jaron begins to sketch, pressing hard into the flesh so that the colour bleeds through.

There must be pain involved in this ritual, but none of the Wasters receiving a tattoo show any trace of discomfort. Instead, they appear conspicuously at peace, their faces slack as they hum. The artists create swirling masterpieces, stretching ornate designs across the limbs and torsos of their comrades. I am mesmerized by the process, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of tanned skin decorated by thousands of unique stories.

Luca's eyes flutter open and he catches sight of me staring unabashedly at the pattern being drawn on his back.

"Do you like them?" He asks quietly.

I nod, feeling as though as I am intruding on some sacred ceremony. "They're beautiful."

"Your scars are beautiful, also."

I rub the back of my neck self-consciously, fingering my marred skin. I nearly forgot about my scars; so much has happened since I received them.

"What is your number, now?" I ask him.

He pauses before answering. "Four hundred and nine."

"Why do you keep track?" I try to guess at how many people and half-people I slaughtered during the battle at Babel. My stomach instantly gives a warning lurch of disgust, so I shake my head and try to focus on Luca's words.

"I do not know." He answers, grimacing either from discomfort or the topic. "The number began as a point of pride. Now, I think it is a habit."

I look over Luca's shoulder and up at Jaron. The Waster chief's dark brows are furrowed in concentration as he slowly and methodically sketches the lines for Luca's tattoo.

I glance to the side, noting that Meg's eyes are also focused on Jaron. She catches me looking at her and smiles in that small way, raising her shoulders in an apologetic shrug.

"Will you get a tattoo?" Luca asks.

I start. "Oh...no." I say, glancing about reverently at the haunting ritual. "I couldn't. This is obviously something sacred for you Wasters."

"You are a Waster." Jaron's deep voice cuts in. He looks up at me, pausing momentarily in his drawing. "This ceremony is for you as much as it is for us."

"Maybe you would like to cover your scars, Kay?" Meg asks softly.

I shake my head. "No. I don't want to hide them."

"Your arm, then." Luca indicates my unbandaged right arm. "The one you use to fight."

I look down at my hand, furling and unfurling my fingers. Dried blood and black goo have crusted beneath my nails, and my flesh is dotted with scrapes. This is the hand that cut down countless Enforcers and Mech Enforcers, the hand that held Will's a moment before he disappeared back belowground.

This is the hand I will use to kill the Madam.

"All right." I say, eventually.

Jaron completes the extension to Luca's branding and indicates that I should extend my arm. He grips my wrist firmly, turning it so that the light cast by the fire coats my dimpled skin. I watch with fascination as he selects a freshly-sharpened reed and dips it into the bowl of dye.

My arm is laid across the Chief's lap and he presses the tip of the reed into my forearm, just below my elbow. I flinch, but only at first. The needlelike instrument pricks my skin over and over, gradually forming a blue-black line.

Jaron begins to hum again as he works. I stare into the flames of the fire, focusing on the pain and the low murmuring of many voices joined together. As Jaron's artwork begins to take shape my mind wanders. I think of the hundreds of people gathered in this camp, of the different walks of life we all come from. I think of how I arrived here, the chances I've taken and the friends I've gained. I think of my family, of Meg and the sacrifices she's made for myself and our people.

Mostly, though, I think of Will. The embers show me his steely grey eyes, his half-grin. I remember the way his palm cupped my cheek as he pulled me into a kiss. I remember his laugh, his warmth and sureness. I think of when we first met; how he chased me through the alleyways, pulled me from a wall and demanded that I hear of his rebellion. I remember his selflessness, his bravery in battle, his careful planning and single-minded passion.

I remember the day we embarked on our journey into the Wastelands. Standing together at Phoenix's stern, staring out across the endless unknown.

"What do you think? Are we flying high enough for you?" Will asks.

"We could always be higher."

He shoots me that dimpled half-grin. "I don't think you will be satisfied until we scrape the stars."

When I refocus back on the flames, I realize that my face is damp. I brush the tears away with the back of my free hand, letting my shoulders droop as I give in to the cleansing release.

I'm not all right, but I'm not broken, either.

Jaron finally puts the bowl of dye aside and I raise my arm to admire his handiwork. The blue-black lines twist and swirl in complicated patterns, wrapping around my forearm and ending several inches above my wrist. It is both precise and savage, and it is a part of me.

"Thank you." I look up at Jaron.

He doesn't say anything, instead gripping me around the shoulders and pulling me into a fierce hug. My bruises and fresh tattoo cry out in protest, but I don't care. I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in the Waster Chief's thick chest and breathing in his scent. He smells of fire and of the desert. He smells like home.

"Thank you, Kay." His deep voice is gruff. "My brothers and I owe you everything. From now on, we are family."

The word tugs at something inside of me. We hold one another tightly, warmed by the fire and an unbreakable bond.

When we draw apart I have to turn away, staring into the fire in an effort to bring my emotions back under control. A strangely familiar face peers back at me through the flames and I furrow my brow, concentrating.

The darts of light cause the person to swim in and out of focus. I straighten, rising to my feet and moving slowly around the crowd.

Smoke and the intensity of the blaze prevents me from seeing clearly, but he seems to be moving towards me. I blink forcibly, urging my brain into action, ignoring my traitorous heart and the way it lurches hopefully. His face is blurred but slowly, as I make my way closer, his features fall into place.

We step up in front of one another. I stare at him wide-eyed, not trusting myself. This can't be real. This is another illusion; another trick of my addled mind.

"Kay?" His voice triggers something in me and I start, reaching out a hand tentatively.

He catches it and holds tightly.

"Is it really you?" I whisper.

A smile twitches near his cheek. "Who else?"

I watch him carefully, taking in his appearance. There is the mop of wavy auburn hair, grown wild from his time spent belowground and the same bright, mischievous eyes, so like my own. He looks older, which gives me pause. Were this a figment of my imagination, I probably would have conjured up a boy. Standing before me is a man. Freckled and malnourished, but a man just the same.

"Frye."

His grin widens further. "Good to see you, sis."

It is inconceivable, impossible, but I don't care. I throw myself at my big brother and he catches me handily, laughing uproariously as he lifts me into the air and squeezes the air from my lungs. I clutch at his shoulders, holding him fiercely, as if letting him go could cause him to slip back into the grave.

Frye, my gods, Frye. My brother is alive. All this time, I thought him lost to the Wastelands, yet impossibly enough, he's here, with me. There was someone for me in that hellish prison, after all. By some insane will of the gods, one of my many perished loved ones has been brought back to life.

Finally, at long last, I give in to my selfish heart, holding my lost family close and savouring this moment. Frye's arms tighten around me and from him, I draw the strength I so sorely needed.

I'm not broken.

I'm going to become better. I will become more than I ever was before. I'll train, I'll fight. I'll dedicate all of my time to honing my skills, becoming stronger, faster. I will hold the ones I love close, cherish and protect them. There is so much inside of me, now. All of the hurt, the loss and the betrayal have combined together and sparked a fire that will ignite the desert.

The Madam thinks that she knows the Runner.

She hasn't seen anything, yet.

THE END