Together, she and the man heaved Wolf away, dropping him onto the concrete.

“Please,” said Cinder. “Your grandmother?”

“She’s in the opera house,” Scarlet said. “She’s dead.”

The girl gaped at her, with pity or disappointment—Scarlet couldn’t tell which. Sitting up, she flattened her palm against Wolf’s chest, relieved to feel it rise beneath her touch. “They were looking for you.”

Surprise quickly stole away the girl’s sympathy.

“Come on,” said the man from behind her, stooping and hooking his elbow beneath Scarlet’s armpit. “Time to go.”

“No! I’m not leaving him!” She scrambled out of his hold and crawled toward Wolf’s unconscious body, tying her arms around his head. The strangers gawked at her like she was mad. “He’s not like the rest.”

“He’s exactly like the rest!” said the man. “He was trying to eat you!”

“He saved my life!”

The strangers exchanged disbelieving glances, and the girl gave a baffled shrug.

“Fine,” the man said. “You take the helm.”

He pulled Scarlet off Wolf while the girl grabbed Wolf’s wrist and hoisted him up over her shoulder, grunting with the effort.

The man skirted behind and grabbed Wolf’s legs. “Holy spades,” he muttered, already breathless. “What are these guys made of?”

Cinder started moving toward the opera house at a pace only barely slower than a jaunt. Scarlet ducked in between them, supporting Wolf’s abdomen as well as she could as they awkwardly stumbled across the square.

Past the woman, the gleaming form of a military cargo ship poked out from the next street.

A howl nearly startled Scarlet into dropping Wolf’s body. She could not imagine feeling more vulnerable, her arms wrapped around Wolf’s torso, leaving her stomach and chest exposed, moving at this snail’s pace, sweating, exhausted, in pain. Blood oozing down her side.

“You better have those tranquilizers ready,” the man said.

“Can only … put in … one at a time…”

The man cursed beneath his breath, then gasped. “Cinder! Ten o’—”

There was a snap and a dart lodged itself into a man’s chest on the sidewalk in front of the theater. He had crumpled to the ground before Scarlet even realized he was there.

“Let’s pick it up,” the man behind her said. “How many more of those do you have?”

“Just three,” the girl panted.

“Gonna have to restock.”

“Right. I’ll just … head down … to the convenience store, and—” She didn’t finish, the strain too much.

Cinder tripped and they all stumbled, Wolf’s body landing on the ground with a thud. Scarlet pulled out from beneath him and her heart lurched to see blood gushing out of his wounds, made worse from the trek. “Wolf!”

An eerie howling rose up all around them. Much closer than it had seemed before.

“Open the ramp!” the girl yelled, startling the man.

“We need bandages,” said Scarlet.

The girl got to her feet and grasped Wolf’s wrists again. “There are bandages on the ship. Come on.”

The man ran ahead, screaming, “Iko! Open the hatch!”

Scarlet heard the clicking of gears and the humming of electricity as the hatch began to open, revealing the welcoming interior of the ship. Pulling herself onto her feet, she’d just grabbed Wolf’s ankles when she saw a man loping toward them at a sprint, his nostrils flaring, lips pulled taut against his fangs. He was one of the men who had first taken her to her cell.

A ping, a thunk, as a dart buried itself in his forearm. He roared and increased his speed for two steps before his anger faded and he fell forward, face slamming onto the pavement.

“Almost there,” said Cinder through her teeth, picking up Wolf’s dropped wrists.

More howling greeted them from the roads and alleys and shadows, great loping figures appearing out of the darkness.

Scarlet’s back and legs ached and her palms were slick as she struggled to retain her grip on Wolf’s ankles. “They’re coming!”

“I noticed!”

Scarlet fell, crashing onto her knees. She looked up at Wolf’s unconscious face, at the panicking girl, and frustration welled up inside her. She forced herself to stand again, though her legs were no stronger than unbaked dough.

Then the man was back, shoving her toward the ship. “Go!” he yelled, and grabbed Wolf’s ankles.

“Thorne! You’re supposed to be flying the ship, you dunce!”

Scarlet turned toward the ship’s open hatch. “I can fly! Just get him inside!”

She ran, though her mind screamed at her for leaving Wolf behind. Her muscles burned, her head pounded with the rush of blood. She could only focus on putting one foot in front of another. Ignoring the burning. Ignoring the sharp stabbing pain in her side. Blinking away the sweat. One. More. Step.

Something sliced across her back. She heard the rip of fabric, a loud thump, and then something grabbed her ankle. She screamed and collapsed at the bottom of the ramp. Fingernails buried themselves into the flesh of her calf and she cried out in pain.

Whistle. Thud.

The hand released her.

Scarlet kicked the man in the jaw before scrambling up the rest of the ramp, into the gaping hull of the ship. She flew into the cockpit and stumbled into the pilot’s seat. They hadn’t bothered to stop the engines and the ship rumbled and purred around her. Her motions were automatic. She could barely see for the salty sting of sweat in her eyes. Her heartbeat felt like horse’s hooves trampling her chest.

But her fingers knew what to do as they breezed over the panel.

“Captain? Cinder?”

Startled, she spun back toward the door, but there was no one there. “Who’s there?”

A momentary silence, then: “Who are you?”

Scarlet swiped the sweat from her forehead. The ship. The ship was talking to her.

“I’m Scarlet. We need to get ready for takeoff. Can you—”

“Where are Thorne and Cinder?”

“Right behind me. Is this ship equipped with auto lift?”

A series of lights lit up on the panel. “Auto lift and auto magnetic stabilizers.”

“Good.” She reached for the thruster output control and waited to hear the sound of footsteps on the ramp.

A drop of sweat slid down to her temple. She gulped, harshly, failing in her attempt to wet her sandpaper throat.

“What’s taking them so long?” Swiveling the chair around, she threw herself toward the cockpit entrance and peered past the cargo bay.

Wolf’s prone body was laid out not a dozen steps from the end of the ramp, and there were Linh Cinder and her friend, standing back to back.

They were surrounded by seven Lunar operatives, and the thaumaturge.

Forty-Two

Cinder sensed the thaumaturge before she saw him, like a snake slithering into her brain. Urging her to stop running. To stand still and be captured.

Her right leg obeyed—her left kept going.

With a yelp, she crashed to her hands and knees. The unconscious man—Wolf?—nearly crushed her before his body rolled away. Thorne cried out and tripped, barely able to catch himself before falling.

Cinder jumped back to her feet and spun around.

The men came out of the shadows, from the alleyways, around corners, from behind the ship, each with their glowing eyes and sharp canines bared. Seven in all.

She spotted the thaumaturge, handsome as they always were, with curly black hair and a chiseled face. He wore a red coat—a second level thaumaturge.

Backing up, she collided with Thorne.

“So…,” he murmured. “How many more darts do you have?”

The thaumaturge’s dark irises sparkled with moonlight.

“One.”

She doubted the thaumaturge could have heard her, but he smiled serenely and tucked his hands into his maroon sleeves.

“Right,” said Thorne. “In that case.”

He snatched the officer’s stolen gun from his belt and spun, aiming for the thaumaturge. Then froze.

“Oh no.”

From the corner of her eye, Cinder saw Thorne’s arm curl back, change direction, until the barrel was aimed at her temple instead.