Deception Island. Brynn Kelly

bit into her sandwich, closed her eyes and tilted her head back. The sea washed in and out, the breeze teased her face. No matter what became of her in the next week, at least she’d had the simple pleasure of this moment. In prison right now she’d be lying sleepless on her bed, trying to zone out the unvarying soundtrack of cries, groans and jeers of the other inmates. If the senator’s people hadn’t approached her, she’d be fighting a bunch of other homeless people for a spot under a freeway bridge. Here there were goddamn frangipanis. There were worse places to die—not that she planned to.

      We may as well make the most of a bad situation.

      Yep. They might as well.