Quinn set her jaw. A stubborn, boorish part of her wanted to argue just to argue, but she pushed her frustration down. “I have no intention of—” Gran’s wrinkled face hardened. “You don’t always choose it, girl.” Chagrined, Quinn’s mouth clamped shut. She knew exactly what Gran meant. She thought of the horror stories coming out of Illinois; the Syndicate taking over FEMA camps and small towns, stealing and selling girls and women. Her stomach curdled.
