Nevaeh’s gentle voice, filled with conviction, whispers in my head. No scavenger has ever stolen anything from their own pack.

I think of the hours Nevaeh spends in the woods, foraging, for plants that heal and other “useful” things. I think about how no matter the hour, the Bogs are never quiet, never still. Whatever the scavengers are, they aren’t lazy.

Whatever they do with their time, can it be more useless than play fighting each other in a ring when money has bought rank for the past fifty years?

What am I even doing here?

What are any of us doing here?

My brain is thick, certainly concussed, and...