ZORA, TAAVI, AND THE Macazi disappear toward Yiyo. When they’re out of sight, Jue, Bri, and I head south, toward Quake Street. Julius’s hands are stuffed in his pockets, like he understands how serious this shit is, I guess. He’s not even wearing his fedora anymore. Something ’bout it being impossible to keep clean. His poor shoes are still fragments of what they were, but I promised him if we make it out of here alive, I find a way to buy him some new ones.

We pass shells of homes in abandoned neighborhoods, desecrated buildings, boarded-up shops, and on the front step of a government building, a pile of bones with giant Ls painted on them. Zora said they didn’t look human, but still. The message is clear. The Loyalists intend to see the Chancellor back in power, whatever it takes.

“It’s too quiet out here,” Julius says.

I feel it too.

But, despite the horror and fearing we’ll be discovered as we round each corner, the trip is kind. We make it within a hundred yards of Quake with no more than sore calves and feet. The area is covered in fresh-fallen debris; some rotting smell lingers in the air.

The intersection Zora’d hipped us to is on the edge of the street where Bon and his band used to sit out and play for coins. This street used to be a tapestry of music, spicy sweet smells, and bright jewel tones graffitied all over buildings. Now the colors on the walls have faded, much more than even age explains. As if Patrol took a torch to this block. How can one person be filled with so much hate? Wind whips through shutters of a building that used to ring with life.

I spot the rim of a raised door in the ground. The access point is barely distinguishable in the cracked, paved sidewalk.

“What we walking into, fam? Gimme the scoop.” Julius is always cool as a cucumber, but I catch his eyes darting around, his hands tugging at the loop on his jeans.

“What, you scared?” I tease, running a palm over the ground, feeling for a hook or insert, some sort of handle.

“Never that.” He rubs his hands together and I can see his muscles flex beneath his zip-up. I avert my gaze quickly. My fingers curve into a divot and I tug, lifting the door.

“Hurry.” I lower myself inside the tunnel and they follow. The iron door slams into place when he slides it closed.

The labyrinth of tunnels underground is more daunting than I remember. The air hangs with dirt from the floor, like someone just rolled through. The walls are lined with fire orbs. Who keeps them lit, I wonder. The thought slithers over me and I shudder. Something tells me these passageways are well known and used.