"Kyle?" I hover uncertainly on the edge of the group. Kyle, Everett, Rogers and the newly distant Lopez are clustered round a table, playing poker with a set of battered cards. They're using bullets in place of chips. Lopez's pile is by far the largest.
I haven't escaped my watchdog. Kendrick is behind me, wedged into a corner, dismantling and cleaning his rifle with loving care, half an eye on every move I make.
"Yeah?" Kyle doesn't turn round, his attention on the collection of cards in his grasp. Taking one more step forward I can see that he has two queens, an ace and a four of hearts. I have no idea if that's good.
"Can I talk to you?"
"What about?"
I stare at the breadth of his shoulders. "It's private," I say hesitantly.
For a few seconds he ignores me, shuffling his hand, and I hunch my shoulders, embarrassed. But then he sighs and dumps the cards down. Standing, he chucks a couple of bullets into the small pile in the centre of the table.
"Deal me out," he says, turning to face me at last. I give him a smile but he doesn't return it. Instead he grasps my upper arm in a gentle but firm grip and leads me across the floor, stopping just inside the shadow of the arch that leads to O'Neill's. We're still in view of the others but out of earshot. Kendrick is watching us carefully, his feet repositioned under him as if he's ready to move should I try to ease out of his line of sight. "What?" The question is short and clipped, pulling my eyes away from the Lance Corporal.
I bite my lip as I consider Kyle. I'm not really sure where to start. Or if I should at all. He's looking at me like he's angry. He is, I guess. He told me to stay put and I didn't.
"I haven't got all day, Bree." That stings. Especially because I know that he has.
"I wanted to ask you something." I pause, trying to think how to phrase my question.
"So ask," he prompts me.
My spine stiffens a little at his gruffness and I find the words.
"Why did Brunton keep us?"
"What?" His eyes narrow in impatient confusion.
"Brunton," I repeat. "Why did he decide to keep us? Millie and me." I break off for a moment as I watch Kyle's face change from irritated to wary. My heart starts to beat faster at the caution in his eyes. Kendrick was right; there is something else at play. "I mean," I continue, warming to my point, "We've met plenty of people in the last two years, he hasn't offered to take any of them under his wing, has he? What's so special about the two of us?"
"We've met nothing but liabilities," Kyle spits out.
"And what are Millie and I?" I shot back. Brunton is constantly telling me how much we slow them down, how much easier their lives would be if they didn't have two little girls tagging along, getting in the way... "Some of the men we've met have been young. Strong. They could have been useful."
"Yeah, men," Kyle scoffs, then he slams his jaw shut as if he's let something major slip.
And finally it clicks.
God, I am stupid.
"He wants to breed from us," I whisper, the horror freezing my insides reflecting in my voice. My eyes widen, my glassy stare burning a hole in Kyle's t-shirt. Then I lift my gaze and see confirmation written all over his face. Brunton plans to breed from Millie and me. Just like the men who stole her away.
And Kyle knew about it.
I take a step back, appalled. Kyle knew. Kyle, my friend, the person I trust more than anybody else in the world, Kyle who I...
