We spend the next few days setting new traps and eating as much fresh meat and fruit as we can, to save the packaged meals. At night, we use precious flashlight batteries so we can make a tent out of the parachute Tyson wrestled from the tree overlooking the shuttle wreckage, with a few strong, stripped branches for poles.

He remembers several designs for tarp tents from his days as a scout, but neither Maci nor I can visualize what we’re trying to make until he draws a couple of them for us with a stick in the dirt, in a clearing in the woods. The simplest are the A-frame and the lean-to, both of which require some sturdy cord and a set of trees to tie it to.

While Tyson and I measure and cut the parachute material, Maci braids cord as fast as she can, her thin fingers flying.

When the cord and poles are ready, we rig up both kinds of tent for a trial run, while Maci stands watch in the woods. I’m worried that someone will see us and realize Tyson is planning to take off with two of the women who should be giving themselves to new men in a few days. And after Darren, the possibility that we were followed into the woods feels both real and terrifying.

But if we were followed this time, I can’t tell.

With our tent well in hand, we turn our attention to bedrolls and non-perishables. But we hit a setback with the supply drop, four days into our preparations.

Maci’s intuition leads us to the west of the settlement, and she moves through the woods with confidence and enthusiasm—right up until the shuttle flies by overhead, without dropping anything.

It’s a small patrol shuttle, not a cargo shuttle.

“I’m so sorry,” she cries as we trek back through the forest, eyes and ears out for the telltale signs of a crowd scuffling over new supplies. Her eyes water and her steps falter.

“Hey. It’s okay.” I pull her close and squeeze her around her shoulders. “You’re the only reason we’ve found as many drops as we have.” For two of the four, we’ve been the first ones on sight when the crate landed. “But no one can hit gold every time, hon.”

She nods. But silent tears continue to trail down her face as we hike. She knows we won’t get another chance. There won’t be another supply drop before we have to leave.

“Shit.” Tyson groans, and I look up to see a flash of gray prison uniform flicker between two trees up ahead. Someone is in the woods. More than one someone, I amend as another shirt flashes by.

They’re carrying bags heavy with fresh supplies, heading through the edge of the forest on their way back to the settlement.

People have already found the drop. Most of what we need will be gone.

Maci sobs again, and Tyson turns to her with one finger pressed over his lips. “Buck up,” he tells her in a firm whisper. “Never let them hear you cry.” Maci presses her lips together and swallows a sob as we head in the direction everyone else seems to be coming from.

The crate sits in an open field just to the southeast of our settlement. Normally, we wait in the woods, out of sight while Tyson takes everything he can carry in our bags, but this time, there’s no use. People are taking a shortcut through the woods to get back to the residence, so it isn’t safe for us alone in forest. And the crowd around the crate is small now.

Several men scuttle away from the crate when they see us coming, hoping to make off with whatever they’ve gotten before Tyson takes it from them.

I used to feel guilty about that. About taking supplies from other people who need them. Then I noticed that he only takes from men who’re well-fed or who’ve thrown threats or lecherous looks my way. And over the past few weeks, I’ve decided I’m fine stealing from men who don’t need what they have or who’d take even more from Maci and me, if they could.

Tyson shoves his way to the front of the small crowd, and we follow in the narrow path he’s opened up, enduring jabbing elbows, then groping hands as the men realize who we are. Ty pushes men away from the front of the crate and tugs Maci and me forward, then stands behind us like a human shield while we bend into the waist-high crate, picking from what little is left.

Beneath tangled clumps of fabric that could be either clothing or bedding, Maci and I find a book of waterproof matches, a bottle of multivitamins, a packet of mint-flavored floss, and a strip of rubbing alcohol wipes in individually sealed packets.

Tyson reaches between us to grab an undiscovered pack of flashlight-sized batteries and a short strip of metal that either helps strike a spark for fire-starting or sharpens his knife. Or maybe both. But the food is all gone. We leave when the inevitable fights begin breaking out over what’s left, or what someone took that someone else wanted, and Maci sulks as we hike back through the woods to check our snares.

Until we get to the shallow ditch trap.

She squeals with excitement and runs ahead. Tyson and I take off after her to find her staring into the deeper end of the ditch—where an honest-to-goodness turkey stands staring at the wall of dirt in front of it.

“Audra! It’s a chicken! Or maybe it’s a goose!”

“It’s a turkey,” I tell her, struggling to control my own excitement as I turn to Tyson. “Is this what you meant to catch?”

He nods with a quiet smile as he squats at the end of the ditch, staring down at the poor thing. “The theory is that a turkey will follow the trail of corn to the narrow end of the ditch, where it doesn’t have space to turn around or spread its wings.”

“Why doesn’t it just back out?” Maci asks, squatting next to him, though she keeps her distance from the squawking bird.

Tyson shrugs. “There’s little else on Earth—or Rhodon—dumber than a turkey.”

“I don’t know. I’d be willing to try a human-size ditch trap to put some of the dumber Settlement A predators out of their misery. I guarantee you we’d get some takers.”

I’m only joking, but Maci stands up, frowning. “What kind of bait would catch a human predator?”

Tyson and I exchange a glance.

“Oh.” Maci looks vaguely sick.

“Okay, bear with me. I haven’t done this since I was fifteen years old,” Tyson says as he reaches for the bird. I laugh, and he shoots me a look. “In Earth-standard solar units.”

Maci and I watch, both fascinated and disgusted, as he grabs the turkey around its torso, pinning its wings in place, then flips it over and holds it at arm’s length by both feet.

“I need you ladies to make a noose from some of Maci’s cord and hang it from that branch,” he says, nodding to one of the limbs overhead.

The bird is surprisingly calm while Maci deals with her cord and I help her tie it firmly to the branch. The poor thing doesn’t protest as it’s strung up by its legs, or even when Tyson uses his knife to cut its throat, right at the floppy red waddle.

But then, as it bleeds out on the ground, the bird begins to flap furiously, slinging blood across the underbrush and a thick carpet of dead leaves.

Maci squeals as we both leap back to avoid the splatter. Then the bird hangs still. Dead.

We take the turkey to the park, where Tyson shows us how to pluck it—as best he can remember from his scout days—and Maci collects the feathers in one compartment of her backpack, convinced they will be useful for something.

There are already several men in the park using the other grills when we arrive, but more gather when news of our latest conquest spreads. By the time we’ve built a fire in our grill and Tyson has butchered the bird, there are probably twenty men and a couple of women watching.

I feel guilty for how angry it makes me that the women are both eyeing Tyson in interest, clearly planning to pick him in a couple of days. They’re only trying to survive, just like I was when I picked him.

I’ve never smelled anything as appetizing in my life as the scent of turkey meat cooking on an open flame. Maci digs a seasoning packet from a pouch of dehydrated noodles and I sprinkle half of it over the meat. Tyson dumps the rest of it into the largest can we have, along with purified water from my canteen and some of the organ meat, to make a protein-rich soup, which will be especially appetizing once the sun goes down and the temperature starts to drop.

He saves the rest of the organ meat in an empty food pouch, as bait for our traps and for the fishing hooks he’s planning to make from the bird’s smaller bones.

The wings and thighs cook quickly, and the crowd around us has doubled by the time the turkey legs and breasts are cooked through. While some of the men try to pretend they aren’t interested in the scents wafting from our grill, others watch us in open envy.

Greasy rabbits and raccoons were one thing. A turkey is ridiculous wealth. It’s more high-quality protein than we can eat in a day, and we have no way to preserve the leftovers. Which all the onlookers seem to understand.

As we remove the meat from the grill, Tyson catches Maci looking at the two women in the park. I assume he’s going to remind her what happened the last time she tried to share, but to my surprise, he holds up the two drumsticks, crisp, fragrant, and dripping with juice. This time, instead of offering them to Michelle and Sana, he makes eye contact with Thomas and Booker.

“For the women,” he calls out. “No strings attached.”

The men glance at each other, evidently considering the gift. Finally, Booker shrugs and gives Sana a nod.

She crosses the park toward us, thin arms crossed over her chest, gaze glued to the ground, and Tyson gives me a turkey leg to give to her. So that there’s no contact between him and Sana, in case Booker is inclined to take offense.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and my heart breaks for her. She’s too thin and her hair is oily. Dirt smudges her arms and her face, in spite of the fact that Booker has a functioning shower, and I wonder if she’s left it there on purpose, to camouflage the bruises.

I’d kill Booker myself if I could. I don’t care what Sana did to get sent here; no one deserves what she’s going through. But I don’t know how to stop it, other than asking Tyson to step in on her behalf, and I’m afraid that would start a riot. Which we cannot afford, so close to our own escape.

Thomas gives Michelle a nod, and she takes the other leg from Maci. She’s in better shape than Sana is. In fact, she’s unbruised, as far as I can tell, and her hair looks recently washed. But she’s thin and she looks browbeaten as she makes her way back to Thomas with her head down, tearing huge chunks of meat from the bone with every bite.

I’d rather take our food back to our room to eat away from the envious, often hostile gazes, but Maci won’t leave the park until she’s seen that Thomas and Booker don’t take the meat away from Michelle and Sana, and I can’t blame her. We’re not in the business of feeding abusive bastards.

So we eat in the park while our soup can cools in the fading daylight. Then we gather up our supplies and fresh soup and head back to the dorm.

On the way up to our room, we stop by Lauren’s room and set our leftovers just inside her doorway.

Later, after Maci has gone to sleep in the tub and Tyson and I have expended a turkey-fueled surplus of erotic energy, I lie next to him in the bed, naked, while sweat dries on my skin. “What’s your middle name?” I ask as I trace meaningless shapes on his chest.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Deal. Marian. I’m Audra Marian. Hideous, isn’t it?”

“Tyson,” he returns, without comment.

I roll my eyes at him. “Your name is Tyson Tyson?”

He chuckles. “No. I am—or I was—James Tyson Adler.”

“Your name is James?” I prop myself up on one elbow and stare down at him, studying his face. “You don’t look like a James.”

“Maybe that’s why everyone always called me Tyson.”

“I didn’t need your last name, though. If you say all three of them together, you sound like a serial killer.” I frown. “Are you a serial killer?”

He actually laughs. “Not unless ridding the planet of rapists counts as serial murder.” He strokes hair down my back. “So, if we’re going to stay together, I might need one more sign of your commitment.”

I arch both brows at him. “Something other than what we just did?”

“Something more personal. You don’t have to answer, but I have to ask,” he says, and I know what’s coming before I even hear the words. “Why are you here, Audra? You don’t belong here, and I can’t imagine you doing anything bad enough to get sentenced to Devil’s Eye.”

I exhale slowly. Then I meet his gaze. “I didn’t.”

“What?” He sits up, and I push myself upright until I’m facing him, my legs crossed between us.

“I didn’t do anything. I’m innocent.”

I try not to be insulted by his incredulous expression. “But you can’t get sent to Rhodon without DNA evidence. It’s a foolproof system. DNA is never wrong.”

“DNA can be wrong when you have a twin.”

“You’re a twin?” He looks utterly floored by the idea that there could be someone else out there just like me.

“Identical. Her name is Anna Maressa. She’s six minutes older than I am. And around six months ago, in Earth-standard lunar cycles, she left the scene of a hit-and-run, in which a congresswoman and two of her children died. She must have been hurt in the wreck, because when they found the car, her blood was on the steering wheel. Only they think it was my blood.”

“They can tell the difference between twins’ DNA now, can’t they?” Tyson says.

“Sometimes. If environmental factors have been enough to change DNA after birth. But Anna and I grew up in the same place, with the same lifestyle habits. Even if they were to run the tests, I don’t think they’d find any beyond-a-doubt difference.”

“But surely if they know you’re an identical twin, they can’t use DNA evidence against you.”

“Yeah, my attorney tried that. But the judge didn’t buy the defense because we didn’t raise it until our appeal. She accused me of making a last-ditch effort to blame my sister for my own crimes.”

“Why did you wait so long to tell them about her?”

“Because I had an alibi, so I didn’t think they had much of a case, at first. And it seemed wrong to rat out my own twin, if I didn’t have to. Then the jury came back with a guilty verdict, and I didn’t have any other choice. But by then it was too late.”

“Your sister didn’t come forward?”

I laugh out loud, and the sound is more bitter than I intended. “They never found Anna. I don’t even know if she knows about the charges. Or if she ever will, unless she calls home. But I hadn’t heard from her in nearly three years by the time I was arrested. So who knows how long that could be.” Not that it matters. Anna might feel guilty, but she won’t come forward.

No one would volunteer for a life sentence on Devil’s Eye.

Tyson’s scowl has reached new levels of dark and angry. “Audra, this isn’t right. They can’t keep you here if you didn’t do anything.”

My huff sounds just as bitter as my laughter. “I have nearly four weeks’ worth of anecdotal evidence that says they can.”

“But you don’t belong here. I knew that from the moment you asked me to take Maci too.”

“Ty, it’s okay. There’s nothing I can do now but make the best of it.” And that’s infinitely easier with him at my side.

“This is not okay, Audra. The rest of us have earned this, but you haven’t. There has to be some way to—”

“What did you do?” I ask, to change the subject. To distract him from a mission I can see building behind his eyes. A mission that won’t help either of us.

“What?”

“How did you get here, Tyson?”

“Oh. I stole a car.”

“That’s it?”

“It was a police car. Which I crashed into three other police cars, because I didn’t actually know how to drive. Because I was young and stupid. I learned my lesson—don’t steal police cars. But what are you supposed to learn from this? Don’t have a twin sister?”

“Tyson.” I take his face in both hands. “I need you to listen to me. When I got convicted, I went into shock. I didn’t process much of anything for several days. Then, when my appeal was denied, I wanted to die. I tried to die. But then I woke up in the hospital and realized I was glad I’d failed. Because I want to live. I decided on the prison transport that there’s no sense dwelling on how I got here. The interstellar justice department believes I’m guilty. No one’s ever gotten off of Devil’s Eye. Refusing to accept those two things will only make me miserable. This is my reality now. You’re my reality. And I can live with that. I think I can be happy with that—if we can get out of this damn settlement.”