Kira’s eyes are bloodshot, her clothes are creased. That’s never happened before.

“I should have become a proper lawyer. I should have specialized in this. I should have . . . I’ve wasted my whole life on business law and crap like that when I should have . . .”

Her colleague sits down opposite her.

“Do you want to hear the truth?”

“Yes.”

“You could bring in the world’s foremost expert in cases involving sexual offenses, Kira. But there’s no guarantee that would make any difference. It’s one person’s word against another’s, the police weren’t told until a week later, there’s no forensic evidence, no witnesses. In all likelihood the police will shut down their preliminary investigation within the next couple of days.”

Kira flies up from her chair angrily and only just manages to stop herself hurling the coffee cup at the wall.

“I’m not going to let them win! If I can’t win in court, I’ll have to find another way!”

“What do you mean by that?” her colleague asks anxiously.

“I’ll go after his dad’s company, their friends’ companies, I’ll dig up all the crap they’ve ever buried, every set of accounts, every tax return, and I am going to hurt them. If they forgot to pay the tax on a single pen ten years ago, I’ll take them down!”

Her colleague says nothing. Kira’s voice fills the office: “I’m going to attack everything and everyone they love, and I am going to protect my children, do you hear? I’M GOING TO PROTECT MY CHILDREN!”

Her colleague stands up. There’s a trace of disappointment in her voice when she says: “That’s how wars start. One side protects itself, so the other side has to protect itself even more, and then we start swapping our own fear with their threats. And then we start firing at each other.”

The coffee cup hits the wall at that.

“SHE’S MY FUCKING CHILD!”

Her colleague closes her eyes. They’re spaced far apart.

“Maybe that’s when you really need to know the difference between vengeance and justice.”

*

Ana opens the door. Her dad has taken the dogs to the vet; the house is empty. Maya is standing outside with her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. It’s hard for both of them to know if they should cry or laugh, scream or joke—which of those will give them the best chance of survival.

“I miss your annoying face,” Maya eventually whispers.

Ana smiles.

“I miss your horrible taste in music.”

Maya’s lower lip quivers.

“I don’t want you to get caught up in this. I’m just trying to keep you out of it all.”

Ana puts her hands on Maya’s shoulders.

“I’m your sister. How much more caught up in it can I get?”

Maya stares at her until her eyes sting.

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

“You’ve been trying to protect me all my life, and can I tell you something? You’re really shit at it! I’m obviously completely screwed up in the head, so how well do you think your protection has been working?”

They start laughing, both of them. “You’re such an idiot,” Maya sniffs.

“But no one else loves you like I do, you idiot. No one!” Maya exclaims.

“I know.”

Maya’s eyes are shimmering when she asks:

“Can we go out into the forest and do some shooting? I just need to get away, Ana. I just need . . . It’s just that shooting’s kind of relaxing. I thought it might help me get rid of some of my . . . aggression.”

She’s lying now; she’s never done that to Ana. Ana looks at her for a long time. But she’s a real friend, so she goes and fetches two rifles without asking any questions.

*

Ramona puts her hands down on the bar. Observes the two men.

“This is a business.”

“What?” Tails wonders.

Erdahl, on the other hand, sits calmly on his chair and smirks tolerantly.

“She wants us to order something,” he says. Okay, two large whiskies, the best you’ve got, then we’ll talk.”

She pours the drinks and Erdahl wastes no time. “You know who I am?”

She snorts and drains her own glass. Erdahl interprets that as a yes. He raises his glass and very nearly spits the contents across the bar when it hits his tongue.

“What the . . . This is your BEST whisky?”

Ramona shakes her head.

“It’s my worst whisky.”

Tails empties his glass without any change of expression. He looks almost pleased with it. But his taste buds are as dysfunctional as the volume control on his voice. Erdahl pushes his own glass away in disgust.

“In that case, can we have your best whisky, please? This one tastes like something you’d use to clean a boat.”

Ramona nods obligingly. Gets out new glasses. Pours whisky from the same bottle as before. Erdahl stares at her. Tails can’t help grinning.

“There’s only one sort of whisky at the Bearskin.”

*

Maya and Ana walk until the forest swallows them up. So far that even Ana’s dad would have needed several days to find their bodies. There they stand and fire their guns, shot after shot. Ana adjusts Maya’s posture occasionally, angling her shoulder and elbow, reminding her about how to hold her breath without actually stopping breathing. Ana asks: “Okay . . . what about this one? Live your whole life in Beartown until you get old, or move anywhere in the world but die within a year?”

Maya answers by frowning, her whole face crumpling like a used napkin.

“Stupid question?” Ana asks.

“Pretty stupid.”

“We’re going to get out of here, Maya. I’m not going to let us get stuck here. We’re going to move to New York, you’re going to get a recording contract, and I’m going to be your manager.”

Maya starts to giggle; she didn’t believe she still had that sort of laughter left in her, but it just bubbles out.

“No, no, no, you’re never going to be my manager.”

“What? I’d be a BRILLIANT manager!” Ana retorts, insulted.

“You’d be a terrible manager. Terrible. You can’t even look after your own cell phone.”

“Yes, I can!”

Maya raises her eyebrows.

“Okay. So where’s your phone?”

Ana starts feeling her body frantically.

“Maybe not right NOW! But . . . Fine! I can be your stylist instead. Believe me, you NEED a stylist!”

“What’s wrong with my style?” Maya wonders.

Ana looks her up and down.

“Sorry. You can’t afford my consultation fee. Get in touch when you’ve got your recording contract.”

Maya roars with laughter.

“You’re totally crazy.”

“Or I could be your nutritionist! I’ve found a new juice diet that cleans out the whole intestine! What happens is that . . .”

Maya covers her ears, turns around, and walks deeper into the forest. “Sorry, the reception’s really bad out here . . . shkkkrrrr . . . Hello? Hello?”

She holds a phone to her ear, pretends to talk into it.

Ana squints at her.

“Is that my phone? Where did you find it?”

“I’m driving into a tunnel now!” Maya shouts.