Sergio lets go of my hand and shoots at something. I spin to run, but I underestimated Sergio’s ability to react to a real threat, and he grabs me by Amara’s updo. I pull against him. My foot slips on the foam of Father Martino’s brain, then both lose their connection to the earth.

“No!” I grip his arm to get it off, but he’s tangled, pulling me toward the nearest exit. I can’t get my legs under me.

Raymond waits under the small arch of one of the rear exits. His gun is out too, but he doesn’t seem to know where to point it.

“What’s going on?” Ray asks Sergio when I’m pulled close enough to hear him.

“Lucari’s out,” Sergio answers, yanking my hair so hard I trip.

Or maybe I lose my footing because of what he said.

Lucari’s out.

How does he know? Is he sure? Am I allowed to hope that Dario’s free without the trade? That my life won’t have to forfeit for his?

“How do you—?” Ray starts.

“Logic!” Sergio shouts over the din. I get on my feet, managing runaway hope. “Now get out of the way!”

“I got orders.”

Even I can see his orders are a moot point. The screams and gunshots bouncing around the Dome erase anything Massimo said to him before the ceremony began.

“No one leaves until you guys are cut,” Raymond continues.

Sergio raises his gun. I think he’s going to use it to inspire Ray to move out of the way. But he shoots him without another word. Ray’s chest explodes, and he falls back, heels up, arms forward, gun detaching from his fist, as he’s thrust into the room beyond.

“Let’s go.” Sergio pulls me into the dimly lit gallery.

I pull back, clawing at his arm. He reaches back to grab me, but I trip on Ray’s twitching leg. My elbow takes the impact of my weight on the stone floor. It would hurt if I had a minute to feel pain, but the sight of the black L of Ray’s gun lying harmlessly next to him, like a cherished familiar, fills me with too much hope to feel hurt.

I reach for it. Touch it. Fingertip against the handle, it spins at my touch.

“Nice try.” Sergio grabs my ankle and pulls me away.

My dress rides up. I try to catch hold of the grooves between the stones, as if there will ever be enough space for me.

“Let her go!” A man’s voice booms in the gallery. It’s not Dario. That’s the only thing I can tell about it. “She’s not yours.”