Thirty
The flooring Ryann sat on was cold, but the bodies around her were warm. She could smell their sweat, pungent with fear.
They sat by the sofa, their backs to the now-blank screen, pressed close together. Ryann didn’t know if that was through fear or simply for comfort. Across the rec hall, by the servery, Daman and Murdoch stood, both with weapons trained on the remaining Haven personnel. Ryann knew they were sussing, and occasionally Daman would look around. But Murdoch kept his eyes on Ryann and the others all the time.
“What are they going to do?” Farrell asked in a whisper. It wasn’t directed at Ryann, but she answered anyway.
“They need to get off Haven just as much as we do. Daman’s already given his plan away—they use us to keep the shades busy, then blast their way to
