Chapter 13. Money of My Own

June's POV

"You're the Keeper," said the woman behind the counter. "The one who pulled silver out of the Alpha with two fingers."

"I—yes."

"Good. Can you count?"

I blinked. "Yes."

"Can you read a label written by a man who thinks every letter should be the same shape?"

"I can try."

"Then you're hired." She slapped a ledger the size of a door onto the counter. "Ines. Quartermaster. Sit."

The supply house sat at the back of the outpost, a long stone building that smelled of rope, motor oil, dried apples, and dust. Shelves rose to the ceiling on every wall, crammed with crates and barrels and sacks.

Ines was maybe twenty-seven, short and solid, with ink on her fingers and a pencil stuck through the knot of her black hair. She talked fast and moved faster.

"Maren says you know herbs better than half her apprentic