Freestone,

So, after weeks now of not getting a straight answer out of either of you two, I took the liberty of flipping through Gigi’s papers while she was boiling snow for water and you were in another fever dream. Can you believe she’s still writing everything down? Stuck in a rundown cabin, fighting hypothermia and stretching our rations as far as they’ll go, and she’s writing all of this down. She’s still dreaming of getting published in Nature.

I know. That I’m dying. That you’ve been working yourself to death trying to keep me from dying. That not only was Bean right about you working for a being as old as Eden, but that she’s somehow your mother. And bits and pieces about exactly what you were doing the night we left, and why. Just about everything I suspected about your background seems to be correct. Marshal training’s doing me well; I think I’d have a conniption if this happened a year ago.

Don’t get me wrong, if you weren’t half-dead yourself I’d slap you for not telling me how bad it was. Prissy little Negro thinks no one else can bear the terrible knowledge he holds, especially not the womenfolk. Do you understand the risk you’re putting me and her in, especially with you ready to shuffle off any day? Her desperately trying to figure out how to treat me, me finding out I only have days to live if she doesn’t, while your fever-riddled body cools in a hole we dug through the snow? Infuriating. Always infuriating.

I’m going to be better than you, again. Every Marshal’s assistant has a badge with a battery wired up to it. Mine’s an unmarked spare the Marshal gave me before he left, but it’s still rigged up. But if you turn the dial on it the right way, it uses the same kind of waves that ‘The Switch’ uses to send out its location, for exactly these kinds of situations. I never needed to walk out of here to sell you out. I’m still here in this wretched, miserable hovel, smelling woodrot and your puke and the stench of whatever half-burned meat Gigi got from the snare, wrapped up in every stitch of cloth I own so I don’t freeze to death. I’m not here for Gigi; her hopes and dreams be damned, I’ll accept her fury if it means she’s safe and warm. I’m here because I need to know. Not about your strange teachings or your fantastic lineage or any of the other trivia bait Gigi’s concerned about. I need to know what kind of man sees two bullet holes in his stomach and a third in an enemy he utterly despises and chooses to help the enemy first. I need to understand why you care more about my health and wellbeing than almost every other man I’ve ever met, and most of the women as well. I was ready to tear you apart from the woman you love - and you do love her - and stop you from saving your own mother, and you’d rather take me with you than let me die. People who’ve told me they love me, that they will always love me, have utterly betrayed me over less than I’ve done to you, and you didn’t hesitate for a moment, didn’t consider letting me drown in my own blood while she was gone.

You hate differently than anybody I’ve ever met, and since that saved my life, I’m inclined to pay you back. I’ll stay with you two until you can fix my throat, and when I return to the Marshals, I’ll try and delay them until you can flee the country. I would hope that’s enough to convince Gigi that she doesn’t need to crack my head open for her theoretical mother-in-law’s approval. All I ask in exchange is that I be kept in the loop. If your arrogance can spare that, then mine can spare this.