Thalia stood, grabbing her weapon as she did so, waited as the two men—their size was a dead giveaway—to approach.
Oh. These weren’t rescuers. These were her partners-in-crime. They wore heavy pants and boots like Thalia, their coats the color of their Sector, but heavy and coated in something shiny that, I assumed, blocked the wind. I couldn’t see their eyes because they were shielded behind reflective glasses. Even their hair was covered by hats.
“You could have taken a rover, Thalia,” one muttered. “No one will pay for a corpse.”
What? Were they talking about me?
“She’s fine. Trust me. The little b***h is tougher than she looks.”
Holy s**t. Yes, they were talking about me. They were selling me? Someone was going to pay them money for me?
Seeing the men in their thick coverings mad
