“I don’t want to,” she said. “Oliver told me I could have them.”

“Oliver’s not here, and I am, and I’m telling you that we have to go. Right now.” When she didn’t move, he looked back. “Now. Move, unless you want to fry.”

She blew Claire and Shane a mocking kiss. “Yeah. Enjoy the barbecue!”

She followed her brother down. Gina went after, and that just left Jennifer standing there, looking oddly helpless even with a knife in her hands.

She bent over and put it on the floor, held up her hands, and said, “Monica set a fire. You should get out while you can, and run like hell. It probably won’t help, but—I’m sorry.”

And then she was gone. Shane stared after them for a frozen second, then moved over to kneel next to Eve. “Hey. You okay?”

“Taking a nap,” Eve said. “I thought maybe if I stayed down, you’d have it easier.” She sounded shaky, though. “Help me up.”

Shane and Claire each took a hand and pulled her up; she swayed woozily. “Did I get that right? You actually handed it over?”

“You know what? I did. And it kept you guys alive, so there you go. Hate me.” He was going to say something else, but then stopped and frowned and nodded down the hallway.

There was a thin thread of smoke curling out from underneath the door of Claire’s bedroom.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, and ran for it; the knob was hot. She instantly let go and backed away. “We have to get out of here!”

“Like they’re going to let us go?” Shane asked. “And no way am I letting this house burn. What about Michael? He can’t leave!”

She hadn’t even thought of that, and it hit her hard. Michael was trapped. Would he die if the house burned? Could he? “Fire trucks!” she yelled. “There are fire trucks outside—”

“Yeah, to keep everything else from going up,” Eve said. “Trust me. This is their easy answer. The Glass House goes up in flames, along with all their problem kids. Nobody’s going to help us!”

“Then we have to do it,” Shane said. “Yo, Michael! You there?”

“Here’s there,” Eve said. “I’m cold.”

“Anything you can do?”

Eve looked puzzled. “Yes? No? Oh. Maybe. He says maybe.”

“Maybe’s not good enough.” Shane opened the door to Eve’s room and grabbed the black comforter off the bed. “Blankets, towels, whatever, get it in the bathroom and soak it down. Oh, and let Miranda out, will you? We can hate her later.”

Claire kicked the chair out of the way from under the doorknob. The closet door flew open, and Miranda spilled out, coughing. She took one look at them and ran for the stairs.