“Oh, come on! Quit exaggerating!”

But no one else seems to think Bartie’s exaggerating. They’re all watching Stevy moan and writhe on the ground.

“It’s not that bad,” Elder tells Stevy. “And besides, it should be over now.” But Stevy doesn’t get up. I wonder, is he playing up the pain to get attention, or does it really hurt as badly as it seems?

“We can’t trust you, Elder,” Bartie says, still shouting loudly enough for everyone to hear. He’s drawing a crowd—the spinners have all hopped up from their spinning wheels to see what’s going on. The bakers, covered with flour, are poking their heads out of their shop windows. The butchers walk out, meat cleavers still in their hands.

“When have I lied?” Elder says. “When have I proven dishonest?”

I try not to think about how Elder hasn’t told everyone that the ship’s stopped. It’s not a lie, after all, just . . . not quite telling the whole truth.

“Everything I’ve ever done has been for this ship!” Elder bellows.

“Even her?” Bartie asks, pointing past Elder. At me.

“Don’t bring Amy into this.”

I stand, rooted to the spot, as everyone, even Stevy, turns their gaze on me.

When I first woke up on Godspeed, I went running and found myself in the City—but it was a different City from this. The people had hollow eyes and seemed robotic; they were frightening because they were so empty inside. Now their emotions are boiling over, and the fear and anger and distrust all writhe together inside them, spilling out in narrowed gazes and snarling lips and clenched fists.

“Get out of here, Amy,” Elder mutters, casting a worried glance at me. I reach up and he grabs my hands, giving them a gentle squeeze before releasing me. “Go back to the Hospital. Go to where it’s safe.”

But I want to stay here. I want to show Elder that I’m not another mistake that Bartie can use against him. I want stand behind him and prove my loyalty.

That is, until someone in the crowd moves forward.

Luthor.

Just an anonymous face in an angry crowd. Bartie shouts something else, and Elder snaps back, and everyone’s attention shifts to their argument.

Except Luthor’s.

His eyes are locked on mine. His lips curve in a smile that twists at the corners, reminding me of the Grinch who stole Christmas.

He mouths something, and although I can’t tell what he’s soundlessly saying to me, I can guess the words. I can do anything I want.

I run—I race—I flee.

25

ELDER

I’M GLAD AMY LEFT—I DON’T WANT HER INVOLVED IN THIS argument. I hate how quickly Bartie drew her into it.

And I hate how quickly the crowd has grown.

I touch the wi-com on the side of my neck. “Marae, get down here. Bring your police force.”

She starts to respond, but I cut off the com link. I need to focus on Bartie.

“Oh, calling for backup?” Bartie sneers.