“Save her first!” said Marcus.

“He’s over there!” cried Woolf, pointing again to the buildings behind the hospital. “The shooter’s in there, somebody circle around!”

Blood pumped thickly through Marcus’s fingers, staining his hands and covering the prisoner’s chest; blood from the exit wound flowed steadily from the man’s back, spreading out in a puddle and soaking Marcus’s knees and pants. There was too much blood—too much for Weist to ever survive—but Marcus kept the pressure on. The prisoner wasn’t breathing, and Marcus called again for help. “I’m losing him!”

“Let him go!” shouted the soldier, loud and more angry. The world seemed drenched in blood and adrenaline, and Marcus struggled to stay in control. When hands finally jutted forward to help with the bleeding, he was surprised to see that they were not the soldier’s, but Delarosa’s.

“Somebody get over there!” Woolf was shouting. “There’s an assassin somewhere in those ruins!”

“It’s too dangerous,” said another soldier, crouching low in the brush. “We can’t just charge in there while a sniper has us pinned down.”

“He’s not pinning you down, he’s aiming for the prisoners.”

“It’s too dangerous,” the soldier insisted.

“Then call for backup,” said Woolf. “Surround him. Do something besides stand there!”

Marcus couldn’t even feel a heartbeat anymore. The blood in the victim’s chest was stagnant, and the body was inert. He kept the pressure on, knowing that it was useless but too stunned to think of anything else.

“Why do you even care?” asked the soldier. Marcus looked up and saw the man talking to Senator Woolf. “Five minutes ago you were calling for an execution, and now that he’s dead you’re trying to capture his killer?”

Woolf whirled around, shoving his face mere inches from the soldier’s. “What’s your name, Private?”

The soldier quailed. “Cantona, sir. Lucas.”

“Private Cantona, what did you swear to protect?”

“But he’s—”

“What did you swear to protect!”

“The people, sir.” Cantona swallowed. “And the law.”

“In that case, Private, you’d better think good and hard the next time you tell me to abandon them both.”

Delarosa looked at Marcus, her hands and arms covered in her fellow prisoner’s blood. “This is how it ends, you know.”

They were the first words Marcus had heard her speak in months, and they shocked him back to consciousness. He realized he was still flexing his arms against Weist’s lifeless chest. He pulled back, staring and panting. “How what ends?”

“Everything.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“I think it was the Grid,” said Xochi.

Haru snorted. “You think the DG killed the man who used to represent them in the Senate.”