“Where have you been hiding?” I ask.

“Underground. The Web. Just the other side. The entire island is full of tunnels. But they don’t all connect.” How does she know all this? I want to ask, but they’ve been searching for a way to break us out for months, she said, so it makes sense.

Kai nods at the girl with the nose ring. “Be vigilant. It’s a war zone.”

“Zora,” the girl with the nose ring says, introducing herself.

“Rue.”

“Pleasure.” She gestures for me to go first.

Last I remember, the Central District was under fire, buildings toppling, burning, chaos when the General’s betrayal was aired on screens everywhere, thanks to me. Half the people were enraged by his lies and betrayal, ripping the City to shreds, while the other half fought against them in the name of treason.

Then, my people had a chance. Then, I was free. I take the rung on the ladder and climb, my stomach twisting in anticipation of what I will see. The salty, humid air slaps. I pull myself out of the tunnel. The world aboveground is a pile of rubble. The others pull themselves out of the hole behind me. The door in the ground we came through is sectioned off with barbed wire in an alleyway near an abandoned warehouse. If you were to drive by, the clutter and trash would completely camouflage it like a sewage drain back in East Row.

We emerge from the alley and most buildings in the Central District—or what’s left of them—are half collapsed. The Chancellor’s tower looms a mile or so away, a pillar of alabaster stone. Its windows are broken on the bottom floors and TRAITOR is painted across its facade in big red letters. We keep moving through the narrow block, careful to stick in the shade.

“I’m going to have your head,” I say under my breath before turning my back on his stone tower. We hurry through the main artery of the island, which is like a mini downtown. Where stores and screens once were on every corner with bewitched storefronts trying to lure you in, sits rubbish, piles of broken concrete. Storefronts are boarded up or burnt. Some of this is new. It was sort of like this when I left, but the destruction must have continued. New buildings are burned, way more than before. The Chancellor’s own people have turned on him; shattered glass and spray-painted messages scream of the unrest. Goose bumps skitter up my arm, mixed with a bubble of pride. The demand for justice hasn’t dulled; it’s amplified.

“It’s a disaster up here,” I say, and Kai nods.

“Who’s responsible, you think?” I ask Bri.