“And what will you do when your people find us gone? They’ll know you helped me.”

“I’ll handle it.” He crouches down by the mooring lines before tilting his head back to look at me, his gaze thoughtful, almost troubled. “What do you care?”

He’s going to get himself killed by his own people, and though he’s the reason I’m in this mess, I can’t discount his risking everything to get me out of it. I won’t let him do something this stupid. I find my smile, realizing at the back of my mind that it’s not hard to locate, looking at his face. “Good luck, Cormac.”

I see the recognition dawning in his eyes, but he doesn’t have my instincts. I bring my knee up into his chin—not hard, but enough to knock him off balance. Enough for me to take my time, give him a more measured blow with the heel of my hand that sends him down onto the dock, motionless.

It’s a moment before I register the pain in my side from my ribs and my gash, the price paid for such quick movement. With a grimace, I stoop and feel for Cormac’s pulse. Strong, steady. I stifle my relief and straighten. I could so easily roll him off into one of the waiting boats, bring him back to base, and force him to answer for the crimes of the Fianna. Orla Cormac’s brother would be a powerful bargaining chip. Maybe powerful enough to stop this war without having to rely on Romeo to stand between his people and McBride.

I swear under my breath, hating myself for my hesitation. I drag him a few feet back away from the edge of the dock so he doesn’t roll off and drown. I scan the three boats tied to the post he was kneeling by and choose the one whose gas gauge is highest. I don’t know where I am, but I’ll pick a direction and get as far from here as I can, and pray I hit a patrol from the base.

Unable to resist, I sneak one last glance at Cormac, sprawled on the dock. I peel off the jacket he gave me and drop it beside him—I’ll miss its warmth out in the swamps, but if I do get recaptured, the jacket will be a dead giveaway he helped me. Cormac’s arm is outflung, like he’s reaching for something, and the genetag tattoo there is unmistakable now with his sleeves rolled up. The coded spiral of data would match his sister’s in the database if I scanned it. And yet, it’s clear they’re not the same person. Orla would have killed me in the alley behind Molly’s.

Voices down the corridor interrupt me, and I grab for the boats on either side to start pulling myself toward the exit.

Sorry, Romeo. You’ll be glad when you wake up and you’re still a part of your gang.

Revving the motor, I turn the boat and speed out toward the channel.

He helped me—it’s the honorable thing to do, not turning on him and bringing him in. Honor, payback. He saved my life and I’m doing the same for him, just this once. And if anyone’s voice should be heard among this rabble, it should be the voice of someone whose first instinct isn’t blood and violence. His place is here, and he shouldn’t be cast out for helping me. I keep trying to tell myself it was the logical move.

But I’m struggling to convince myself that logic had anything to do with it.

“Don’t watch that show.” The girl’s father jabs the power button on the holovid, his dark eyes stormy and his jaw tense. “I never want to see you watching that again, you hear me?”

“But Daaaaad, the other kids watch it. Their parents watch with them. It’s just cartoons. And Mom would like it, they’re all Chinese stories.”

“Our family doesn’t.” His voice is sharp, frightening the girl. Her father looks at her again and sighs. “You don’t have to understand, Jelly Bean, you just have to do as I say on this, okay?”

The girl waits, ears straining, until she hears the chime of the shop door opening as he leaves. Then, her little heart dancing with daring, she crawls over to the set and hits the power button. But when the HV comes back on, suddenly she’s not in her parents’ shop anymore. She’s on a military base on Avon and she’s being made to watch interrogation footage. The rebel leader is young, with a long black braid over her shoulder and a proud, unremorseful bearing. She’s been permitted a visitor on this, her last day before execution: a little boy with green eyes and dark, tumbly hair. He doesn’t let go of the woman in the cell for a single second of the ten minutes they’re allowed together. She’s whispering something to him that the microphones can’t pick up.

“Turn it off!” shouts the girl, but she’s the only one there, and the HV is too far away to reach. The video keeps playing.

MY HEAD IS POUNDING. Every shout reverberates inside my temples; every lantern beam slices through my vision. I’m sitting against the stone wall of the harbor, cursing this concussion, waiting to be able to stand without dizziness.

As I fight a wave of nausea, two versions of Sean run past, moving perfectly in sync, their edges blurred. He’ll have two dozen children to watch, their parents all out searching. Jubilee is gone, and with her, whatever chance I had of keeping my people in check tonight.

That fool of a trodaire—this didn’t have to happen. If she’d just waited, just let me take her, I’d have had time to come up with—hell, I have no idea what I’d have done, but at least I’d have had a chance to think. Instead, this. She’s spared me any suspicion from my people that I helped her escape, but at what cost?

By now signal lights, our answer to Avon’s radio troubles, will have spread throughout the swamp, inviting the boats of our allies to peel quietly away from the docks in town to come and help. Half the time when people report seeing wisps dancing in the swamps, it’s actually some distant signal light trying to speak to us. The other half the time…well, not even TerraDyn’s scientists have an answer there.