— her duster so it hung on the back of one of her Ranger Sequoia’s holsters. Raider. Unfortunately for this one, she hated raiders almost as much as Legionnaires. She regarded him with eyes that were too green for this desert. Framed by dark bags, they were still sharper than most, and the —

— hate they held was almost tangible. She tapped up the brim of her wide hat, the fading sun kissing the deep browns and pale white patches of her skin. “Mommy and daddy aren’t home, but Aunt Joanna is paying a visit.”