Chapter 3: No Sympathy Left

"Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you!"

Hunter hacks through the bushes, his vest snagging on thorns. "We told you—if you get lost, you wait right there. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Your only use is as bait, and you keep screwing that up. Come on, get back here."

Hunter stops a few yards away, hand on his pistol—his old habit after two years in this hellhole.

My reflex is to slap on a placating smile, maybe explain myself. But what’s the point? I’ve spent two years trying to please them, always left behind, always the outcast. They all think I’m jealous of Sam Logan, desperate for attention. Every danger, I’m the first one thrown away.

So screw it. I’m done. "I’m not going back."

For the first time, I don’t force a smile. I just look at Hunter and say, calm as a corpse: "The system says my health’s got days left. I’m quitting the team. I’m dying today."