I don’t dare look down.

As the dust and smoke from the tires settle, no one moves or makes a sound.

Then Ava unleashes a single low chuckle, audacious and infectious, and soon we’re all releasing our tension in a bout of cathartic laughter.

I throw open my door, pressing my shaking fingers to my chest, trying to slow my still-racing heart.

“You are all crazy!” Ciro shouts down at us.

“Crazy is just another word for brave,” I shout back, squinting to make out the faces of those marching toward me.

“I have to say,” Kano’s smiling voice reaches me through the dark. “My feelings are a bit hurt my name didn’t make your mission list.” The black metal studs in his ears glint off the headlights, so does his mischievous grin.

“You’re not here to stop us, then?” Ava asks, the hint of a challenge spiking her words. She steps up to my side, Lucía moving to stand on my left, gun still in hand.

“We’re here to join you,” Barend answers, head to toe in black military gear.

“If you’ll have us, of course,” Ciro adds.

“Does Emery know?” Haven asks behind me.

All three men look to the ground, and I take their silence to mean no.

This must have been a grueling choice for them. To go against our leader’s wishes, to follow mine and Ava’s. Their allegiance feels heavy on my shoulders, but I can’t help but smile.

Our old mission mates, back together and united.

We really can win. I feel my hope flutter and expand, powerful enough to ignite the blackness around me.

My elation proves short-lived.

The hulking figure of Alexander Roth slinks out from behind the vehicle, his glare aimed straight at me. He, too, wears all black, except his outfit appears hodgepodge, like he slapped on whatever he could find. Like his was a last-minute decision to come on this mission, and he’s not sure if it was the correct one.

“We are standing targets up here,” Alexander proclaims, like anyone asked for his opinion. “We must move if we want to find cover before sunrise.”

He’s already trying to take over.

I turn to Ava to see how she is taking Alexander’s far from desirous presence, but her attentions are directed elsewhere.

Owen emerges from the driver’s seat, a black hat and a checkered bandana veiling the majority of his face. He shakes his head, staring first at his stolen car, then at Ava.

“Act first, apologize later,” Ava yells to him, lifting her chin as I cross my arms, narrowing my stare.

He’ll get no apologies from me. Apologies don’t belong in rebellions.

In this world, I remind myself, you must take what you want.

I turn my back on Owen’s sparkling golden eyes, which are still aimed at my sister, and move for Duke’s driver’s seat.

“I’ll take the wheel now,” I say, but Ava’s not behind me. She’s stomping toward Owen.

Toward the Whiz Kid, who has suddenly appeared at his side.

OWEN

“Seeing me sooner than you thought, huh?” I remark, all upbeat, making a point to keep on my black bandana and trucker-cap combo. I don’t want Ava to know how pissed I am. Riled up, even.

Hurt is the right word, you could say.

Not about her stealing my car—that, I hate to admit, was a good move. Masterly, really.

Hurt that she didn’t wait for me.

Second thing I hate to admit: Blaise was right. It’s nice sometimes to hide beneath a disguise.

Especially where I’m headed.

“Nice driving skills,” I say when Ava stops in front of me. “Must’ve had an awesome instructor.”

Ava shrugs away the banter, moving straight to business. “You brought the Whiz Kid . . .”

I keep a secure handful of the kid’s shirt, making sure he doesn’t try to make a break for it, and tuck down his own black hat, covering his extremely wanted face.

We might be forty feet up on this bridge, but Guards and falcons could be anywhere. Anything. I throw a suspicious glare at the jumbo mosquito winging its way toward me. Drone or insect?

“You brought Skye Lin, looks like,” I say, taking a detour from my inner dialogue to watch the members Ava had deemed worthy getting back into my car.

I’m fine about it all. Really.

“What’s that saying?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Fool me once . . .”

The mosquito flitters between us for a beat before Ava slaps her palms together, solving my debate. Her hands pull away to reveal blood and goo. Definitely insect.

She gestures to the kid, wiping the entrails away with one clean flick. The Whiz, dressed in one of Blaise’s oversized hoodies, stares up at her with his newfound zombified nonexpression. If he recognizes her at all, he doesn’t show it.

“I’m assuming you didn’t come here to join with us?” Ava asks like a mind reader.

I wish, I want to say, but my pride gets the better of me. “No,” I reply instead. “My gut is pulling me to take a different course.”

“He told you where it is, then?” she asks, knowing not to say the word servers out loud. She eyes another mosquito flapping in our direction.

“In a way . . . ,” I answer.

It was more like I did all the talking and he shot me a few telling looks. But a look is worth a thousand words, right?

And the look Ava’s shooting me right now is piercing. It’s laced with disappointment. Whether it’s aimed at my particular self-appointed mission or my stubbornness to see it through is open to debate.

I tug the kid closer, patting his shoulder like he’s the one who needs reassurance.

Standing next to the four-foot Whiz is like hanging around a nuclear reactor—the info this kid’s storing in his mind is powerful and dangerous and everything could all blow up in a flash—but there’s a job to be done and I know I’m the one to do it.

I have to locate those servers before a falcon locates us.

Find the servers, find Roth.

End of story.

“Sorry to interrupt this private tête-à-tête . . . but it’s go time!” Blaise comments from the SUV’s passenger window.

I become aware of the fact that Ava, the Whiz, and I are the only ones left loitering on the road. Ava nods a welcome to Blaise before she turns away, scanning the highway below with those cat eyes of hers, like she can see everything in the dark.

“Transients,” Ava says, jutting her chin to the two dots of blue LED lights moving at glacial speed on the highway under our bridge.

On instinct, I shove the kid back into the front cab of the SUV, crossing all my fingers and toes that he doesn’t start up his shrieking again. “Stay put,” I tell him. I’m mostly positive those trekkers down there aren’t sicarios or Guards—they wouldn’t be kind enough to let us know they’re coming—but at this point, everyone is suspect.

“Haven knows a safe house in the old capital,” Ava says, turning away from the walkers with their bulky turtle-shell silhouettes, rucksacks so thick it looks like they’ve got everything they own strapped to their backs.

I wonder if Ava’s musing back on her stint as a wayfaring transient, or if it’s more that she’s picturing the hellish trek that awaits her down south.