He winced away from my hand and slumped back, eyeing me like I was the last person he expected. “Oh. Den rat.”

“Right the first time.”

“Where . . . ?” His gaze swept back and forth. “Fuck . . . you mean I made it?”

“You did. Welcome to Yankee Stadium.” I held the mug to his lips. “Drink.”

He took barely a sip. “I need . . . where’s Dan? . . . is Dan okay?”

“He’s fine.”

Daniel had stepped away to dump the wash water. “Right here, Jules.”

Julian squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, man! It was so . . . I didn’t . . . I couldn’t . . . !”

“Easy, Jules. You’re in shock. You need to rest.”

I offered the mug again, but he turned away from it, his bruised face twisting. “You should’ve been there, Dan! If you’d been there, it would’ve gone down different!”

Daniel hesitated. “How did it go down?”

“You would’ve have talked it right!”

“Probably not.”

“No, no, with you there, she wouldn’t have . . . oh, man!”

Out in the corridor, sharp cracks rang out as the floor shook and a sudden updraft hurled loose objects against a wall. Glass shattered somewhere. A thundering of waves echoed through the tier. Julian recoiled, searching about wildly, like for the nearest escape hatch.

“Easy, easy. You’re safe now.” Daniel rested a hand on his brother’s knee. “What happened, Julie? Where’s Hannah?”

“I can’t . . . you’ll think . . .”

“Can’t think anything till you tell me.”

“I know, I know . . . I . . .” Julian pressed blood-caked palms to his eyes.

Whatever it was, it was bad, and he was seeing it all over again. I knew how hard it was to talk about terror. When his hands came away, I urged the water on him again. This time, he drank most of it down, dripping onto his bandaged ribs.

“Was there trouble at the ferry terminal?” Daniel prompted.

“Shit, Dan, we never got that far!” Fear and outrage surged across his face, loosened his tongue. “We got to the marina to tie up Sprite and the whole waterfront was swarming with uniforms! Not even military. Nothing you’d recognize!”

“Private security?”

“Militia, patrolling the wharf.”

“Mainland militias?”

“Who the fuck knows! Big guys with big guns! And they’re looking at us like we’re trash under their feet. ‘Marina’s full,’ one says. ‘Ferry’s closed,’ another yells. ‘For good. Go back where you came from!’ ” Julian grabbed at a deep breath, stopped when it hurt. I held up the mug. He drained it and looked for more. I spread empty palms regretfully.

“And then . . . ?” Daniel asked.