I turn back, my mouth already open, though I’m not sure what I’m going to say, when a scream rises up from the back of the crowd. The mob shifts—everyone’s focus moves from Fridrick and me to the woman on the other end of the block, kneeling on the ground next to a man’s body.

I squint.

That’s Stevy’s body.

Chapter 26

26

AMY

I’M OUT OF BREATH BY THE TIME I MAKE IT BACK TO THE Hospital. I’m not as in shape as I was when I ran track back on Earth. Kit stops me at the door.

“What’s going on?” she asks. “Doc just commed me from the City.”

I shake my head. “Some people were causing trouble. Bartie and Luthor and some of the Feeders.”

“Doc says it’s getting pretty bad,” Kit replies. My face must have shown my worry, because she very quickly adds, “But some Shippers are with Elder, and I’m sure everything will be fine.”

She rushes over to help when a nurse calls to her, leaving me with my worried thoughts. I start to head to the elevator—I could go to my room, but I remember Orion’s words from the last video: “Go home. You’ll find the answers there. Go home.” And while I don’t know for sure what he means, I do know one thing: that little square bedroom in the Ward may be where I sleep every night, but it is not my home.

Instead, I head back to the Recorder Hall. Maybe Elder’s right and the clue is hidden in an atlas, but I don’t think Orion would have done something that simple. Still, now’s probably one of the safest times to go, especially since Luthor is busy in the City.

As I mount the stairs to the Recorder Hall, I notice that the little cubbyhole where Elder’s painting once hung is empty. I glance behind me. From here, it’s impossible to see what’s going on in the City, but I don’t like the way Kit assured me that everyone was fine. When people say that, they usually mean that nothing is.

There are fewer people than normal in the Recorder Hall, and most of them aren’t watching the wall floppies or heading to the book rooms. Instead, they’re gathered in clusters, talking in low, anxious tones. Several look up at me as I enter, and I realize that I’m not wearing my head scarf or my hood. I move to cover my hair, but it’s too late. One of the men near the door approaches.

“Were you in the City?” he asks.

I nod. He looks more curious than threatening, but my leg muscles still tense, ready to run if I need to.

“Is it true what they’re saying? That there’s a riot?”