If you like speculative fiction, you won't be able to put this down. When surviving takes all your energy, can you afford to trust and love? Let alone raise a child... And what if this child isn't human? But what does 'human' mean?
I was twenty-eight years old and from another country. Someone who scavenged for a living and who, when not searching for bits of biotech, took care of a child who wasn't human. I was good at using weapons. I could sniff out a trap from a distance. I had no formal education, but had been home-taught well and could read at an advanced level. I could, with Wick's guidance, grow things in my bathroom that I could eat. That was the treasure that was me, and every time I went out I would need to gauge who would ignore the resume to gather the protein or want the skill set, or want the skill set snuffed out.