The better choice is to walk out the door like normal people. Well, not exactly like normal people.

While I stand in the corner, she pounds on the door, gripping the breakfast cart with white-knuckled fingers.

My gun’s in my hand, but my finger’s not on the trigger as I don’t plan on shooting anyone. Not yet anyway.

The lock clicks. The door arcs open, right toward me.

“What do you want?” a voice growls from outside.

“I finished breakfast,” Tristan’s mother says.

“Congratulations. If it wasn’t for the president’s strange obsession with you, I’d shoot you for making me come all the way down the hall just for you to tell me that.” The door starts to close.

“Aren’t you going to take the cart?” Jocelyn asks. She’s doing a fair job of acting. If that door closes, we may not get another chance for hours, when someone comes to take the cart.

The shiny black barrel of a rifle pokes through the doorway. Aimed right at Jocelyn’s head. She backs away, her hands over her head. I don’t think she’s acting now. “Do I look like kitchen staff?” the man says.

My muscles tense. Just a little bit further…

Jocelyn retreats another two steps, until her legs hit the edge of the bed and she sits down. “I’m just lonely,” she says. “Borg’s always busy.”

“He’s kind of in the middle of a war, stupid woman,” the man says, his gun creeping half a foot inside. I can see his hand now.

Take one more step, you bastard…

He does, his foot moving forward, his head coming into view.

My hand lashes out like a whip, clubbing the hard steel of my pistol on the crown of his skull with a vicious CRACK! that makes me cringe even as I’m following through and watching him slump to the floor.

Jocelyn’s eyes are wide as she stands. Things got very real all of a sudden. “Help me,” I say, adrenaline shooting through my veins.

Together, we drag the guard away from the door and shove him under the bed. He’s bleeding heavily, but we manage to wipe up the spatter with a pillow case, which we kick out of sight. With any luck, it’ll be hours before he awakes and someone finds him. Either Lecter or we—or maybe all of us—will be dead long before that.

I hold a hand out to keep Jocelyn behind me as I peek out into the hallway. Clean tiled floor, bare, white-painted walls. Lecter’s the poster child for minimalist living.

Moving out into the hall, I can feel Jocelyn behind me. I glance left and then right. Jocelyn motions left and I tiptoe forward, holding my gun in front, chest high. I’ll shoot if I have to, but it’s better if our approach is silent.

We’re halfway to the archway in front of us when an alarm shrieks. Not possible. No one’s even seen us yet. Well, no one who’s still conscious and able to press an alarm button. I whirl around, surprised to find Jocelyn smiling. “It’s our lucky day,” she says. “That’s a citywide alarm. The New City is under attack.”

Siena

The wooloo non-human screaming continues even as we stare at the dome, frozen. Is a new Glassy weapon ’bout to be unleashed on us?

Red lights flash through the glass, almost like torches but without the orange and yellow parts.

One of the Riders thunders back toward us. The huge man—their leader. “What is that?” Gard asks.

“A warning,” Wilde says.

“A warning to who?” I ask.

“Us. Or the Glassy people.” Wilde shrugs.

“We can’t stop now, can we?” I ask.

Wilde looks at Skye. Skye looks at me. “We ain’t stoppin’ for nothin’,” Skye says.

Gard smiles wickedly and wheels his horse ’round, charges back toward his warriors.

Wilde faces the thousands behind us. “Today we fight!” she yells and a roar starts up, rolling ’cross my people like a storm country thunderstorm building in the clouds.

Just as we charge toward the Glass City, we see ’em:

Dozens and dozens of fire chariots tearing ’round the curved arc of the dome, packed with mask-wearing Glassies, their fire sticks poking out every which way like prickler barbs.

Heading right at us.

With a thousand screams, we race toward ’em.

Tristan

After an hour of walking, we see them. Soldiers. Many, many soldiers.

“Subchapter two,” Anna says. “There are more than I expected.”

“No…” I say, thinking. “That’s more than one subchapter.”

She glances at me sharply. “They’ve already started combining?”

I nod. “That’s got to be at least four groups.” A thousand soldiers. Suddenly our small band doesn’t seem so inadequate.

A cheer rises up from the soldiers in front of us. We yell right back, me included, energy pouring through my bones.

I jog ahead with Anna, meeting the leaders of the other groups in the middle. Two men, two women. “Subchapters two through five,” one of the women says. Her blond hair is cut short and dyed with strips of blue. A sun dweller, no doubt.

“Good,” I say. “Any sign of the Glas—I mean, the earth dwellers?”

“Not yet,” she says. “Based on the maps, we should only be an hour out.”

“Then let’s move,” Anna says. If possible, her expression is even fierier than usual, perhaps a trick of the red sun cooking us from above.

As we march onward through the desert, we run into more groups from more subchapters, until our numbers climb above five thousand. The rest will meet us from the south.

Sweat-soaked and dry-lipped, we finally see it. The Dome. The New City. A fortress of shiny glass, so out of place amongst the yellow-white sand and brown rocks of the desert that it should be a mirage.

With renewed vigor, we march on.

Adele

There are shouts ahead of us, but they’re moving away, declining in volume with each step we take.

“Will Lecter leave?” I ask.

Jocelyn shakes her head. “Not a chance. He’ll let his army do the dirty work while he hides here. In the end, all he cares about is preserving his own life.”

“Where will he be?”

“He doesn’t let me out that often, but when he does he always takes me to his command room, where he can control the entire city.” She motions down the hallway. “Straight ahead, down the stairs, and around the curving atrium wall. It’s the room with the huge wooden doors. There will be guards.”

I nod. “Stay close behind me,” I say, turning away.

On a whim, I start to run, the blaring alarms masking my footsteps. I can’t even hear Jocelyn behind me, but I know she’s there. Where else would she go?

At the end of the hall, there’s a staircase, just as she said. I pause for a quick second to listen. I can’t hear anything except the continued shriek of the headache-inducing alarm.

Taking the steps two at a time, I reach the bottom in five seconds flat. A path curves away from me, glass on one side and a white wall on the other. Outside the glass there are a half-dozen guards running away from the building. Are they going to fight whoever is threatening the city? It has to be Tristan. Tristan and the Tri-Tribes. Can’t think about that now. Tristan’s giving me a chance and I have to take it. No, more than that. I have to grab it and squeeze it until it pops. Until it dies. It being Lecter.

Head facing forward, watching for any signs of movement, I sprint along the wall, gun trained on the space coming into view in front of me.

Crap! I slam on the brakes a split-second too late. The big wooden door rises up, flanked by two guards, one of whom has already seen me and is raising his gun, shouting, shooting…

I fall back, hoping gravity will be quick enough to save me.

A bullet whines over my head, shattering the window-wall behind me, sprinkling my face with shards of glass that prick and sting.