Angela laughed, leaning against the tree beside me, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, Megan..." she murmured, her tone sweet, mocking, "you look like you could use a good meal." She took a sip of her drink, the sound exaggerated, taunting. "But slavery? That's a steep price for pizza."
Lisa chuckled, twirling a slice between her fingers. "Then again..." she murmured, her smile cruel, "you do look desperate enough to consider it."
Megan's face twisted, her voice low, venomous. "You're sick." She stepped closer, her finger jabbing toward me. "This isn't funny."
I shrugged, unfazed, taking another bite. "I didn't say it was." My eyes locked onto hers, cold, unyielding. "But life isn't funny either, Megan." I gestured to the mushroom broth boiling over the fire, the survivors clutching their bowls like lifelines. "And right now, you're starving while I'm feasting." My smile twisted. "So. What's it gonna be?"
