23, guitarist, the spark that starts the fire and the one who keeps it from burning the van down. Her well-worn Telecaster — grandfather’s old church-band guitar — never stays perfectly in tune on purpose. She likes the raw edge, the way it fights back. Wild curly hair, red bandana tied tight when she’s truly pissed. Tank top, jeans, sharpie slogans still wet on her shoulder. She fires anti-government barbs between songs, leads the chants, and limits herself to one drink because somebody has to drive the getaway car.