Sucking a filtered breath through the mask, I hear the shouts again, arising from the direction of the secret entrance. Too far to make out the words or the voices. I run in their direction, past the tents from which there are more babies crying and mothers shushing them.

And then I see them: A group of people, men and women, shouting, arguing.

“We should kill the Glassy baggards ’ere and now,” a woman’s voice says. I identify the speaker immediately. Skye. Her back is to me, but to her left I see Circ, holding a torch, and Siena, too. And on her right, Wilde and Feve. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

“Skye, please, we need to talk about this.” Wilde says that, reaching out to calm her friend, but Skye slaps her arm away.

“We’ve talked enough. Did the Glassies just talk to the Icers? Ha! They squashed ’em like ants.”

“Where’d you find them?” Feve asks. It’s clear he’s not asking Skye.

I move closer, craning my neck to see past Skye, to see who they found, and who did the finding.

Hawk’s face comes into view. What’s he doing away from his post? I wonder. “They were wandering in the desert,” he says. “Dead on their feet. If we hadn’ta found ’em when we did, they’da probably died.”

“Good riddance,” Skye says.

I’m getting closer now, almost able to see past Skye, where there’s a shadow on the ground, maybe two shadows. A voice freezes me in place, widens my eyes. Cracked and tired, but a voice I’d recognize anywhere. “Please. We’re just trying to find our friend.”

In a burst I rush forward, shove my way between Skye and Siena, and look down.

Impossibly, he’s there.

My half-brother and best friend.

Roc, staring up at me with the most surprised eyes ever.

And beyond him: Tawni, breaking into the biggest smile in the world, a flash of blond hair framing her face under the torchlight.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Adele

I’m tired. Which isn’t a surprise. Sleeping in a cold, metal drawer meant for dead people doesn’t lend itself to the most restful kind of sleep.

At the same time, however, I’m energized. Even as my eyes are trying to close and my feet are screaming at me to “Sit down!” my blood is running hot and fast through my veins. Because things are going so right at the moment. I’ve got my chip, my new name, a friend named Avery cleaning a street somewhere, and, most of all, a chance. A mission that was originally meant to be bordering on suicidal is suddenly full of possibilities.

And I can’t fail. I can’t. I don’t know how.

The first step is to get my bearings. And who better to help with that than my new friend. My stomach growls as I make my way back the way I came, down twenty-sixth street, left on J. I’m hungry, but not desperately so. I clench my abs and try to swallow the dry, thick spit in my mouth. Another seven blocks and I’m back where I started, where I first met Avery and got the directions. I head in the direction he went with his cleaning machine, stopping at each intersection to look both ways, see if I can spot him.

I reach the army medical building, past which the city ends at the main gate, the one with the double doors and airlock system. The edge of the dome rises up from the desert floor. Thick glass separating me from Tristan.

I turn around, retrace my steps, and pick a random road to turn onto. People move down the streets: some wear white like me, which I’m starting to realize means they’re from the Lower Realms, moon dwellers and star dwellers; some wear camo uniforms, the army obviously; and others wear gray and black. What is their role, I wonder? Most of the people enter glass-walled buildings, and I watch as they scan their wrists on a transparent plate before pushing through metal turnstiles, almost like scanning your ticket at the underground train stations in the Tri-Realms.

I come to a long line of people, waiting patiently to enter a door. The hearty aroma of cooked food wafts out. My stomach grumbles again. I stop to watch.

Every so often someone exits, and another person is allowed to enter, scanning their wrist on the glass plate at the door. A red light flashes and then turns green. The man at the door gestures them inside. Red light flashes. Turns green. One out, one in.

I’m about to move on—my main goal is still to find Avery—when I see something different happen. Red light flashes. Stays red. “You’ve already received your ration for today,” the burly man at the door says.

“C’mon, I’m still hungry,” says the kid trying to get in. He’s younger than me, maybe fourteen.

The big guy looks at a screen in the side of the scanning machine. “You’ve tried this before. Twice.”

“No,” the kid says.

The man points to the machine, taps the screen. “Two warnings in the system. And you’re supposed to be in school.”

“No,” the kids says again.

“There are no third warnings,” the man says.

“Stay away from me,” the kid says, backing away. “I’m just hungry. I just want more food.”

“Everyone shares equally,” the man says.

And then I hear them. Heavy footsteps from behind, running. I glance back. Two soldiers, dressed differently than the others I’ve seen so far, still in camo uniforms but in shades of blue. Carrying guns, but even their weapons look different. And yet so familiar…

My father slumping to the floor, the Taser having sent a shock of electricity through him.

The Enforcers turning on me, on my mother. Taking her. Taking them. Taking us.

The beginning of everything.

“No!” the boy screams behind me, and when I turn to look, he’s already halfway down the block, charging away. He’s got a good lead on the…I don’t have any other word for the soldiers than the one I know from before…Enforcers, about to turn the corner. Maybe he’ll be able to find a place to hide, to escape…

He looks back as he cuts sharply to the right…

Slam!

Another Enforcer comes out of nowhere, cracking something long and thin over his head—some kind of a stick. The boy flops to the ground, still. So still.

The other two Enforcers catch up, lift his rubbery body, and carry him away.

No one in the food line even turns to watch. None of them say a damn thing.

Where are they taking him? To a place like the Pen in subchapter 14, a kid prison for troubled youths? All for what? Asking for more food when he’s hungry, skipping school? If those offenses warranted imprisonment, every kid I grew up with would’ve been hauled away.

What kind of city is this? Rations, food lines, bland colors representing your standing…

“Hey,” a voice says from the side, jerking me around.

Avery. Thank God. “Hi,” I say.

“Did you get your chip malfunction sorted out?” He leans on his cleaning machine.

“Yeah, yes, thank you,” I say, still too shocked at what I just witnessed to think of anything more.

“That happens sometimes,” he says, motioning to where the boy had just been beaten. “Your first time seeing it?”

I nod. “How often?” I ask.

“Once, twice a week,” he says. He lowers his voice. “Usually to moon and star dwellers, since our rations are less than the others. Every so often the hunger makes someone snap, but most of us just learn to tighten our belts and ignore it.”

“Less?” I say.

He doesn’t answer, just looks at the food line. “Haven’t you eaten since you’ve arrived?”

I’m getting into dangerous territory. “Uh, yeah, but I guess I, uh, just never noticed.”

He looks back at me and I do my best to meet his gaze. Try to look honest. “My daughter’s over there, in line,” he says. “She’s on her break. Do you want to meet her?” He motions to a girl wearing white like me and Avery. I only now realize she’s watching us closely.