The lake was Nudge’s favorite place in the caves, and she came here in the early mornings while the Aquatics were out hunting. The limestone walls reflected the light through small openings, making the shadowy water glow green. It was eerie and beautiful, like a place where fairies would live. Plus, no huge, kid-eating lampreys. A definite plus.

The other kids didn’t know what to make of her, so they kept their distance. She had gills, but no fins or webbed feet. But Nudge was strong, and by swimming lap after lap every day, she was getting stronger.

Her arms cut into the lake again and again with smooth, confident strokes. Her wings were folded tightly behind her. She stayed just below the surface of the water and opened her mouth like she’d seen the Aquatics do, letting in a little water so she could focus on filtering the oxygen through her gills instead of relying on her lungs.

They would call her the Flying Fish by the end of the summer.

She kept her eyes open and watched the fish swimming below her. It was so calm here, undisturbed by all the nightmares that were happening outside the caves. No snapping Cryenas, lampreys, Flyboys, or Erasers. She hated Erasers.

Nudge cherished the calm, even if it meant she got lonely. Even if it meant she would never see beyond these walls again.

“Don’t you want to know?” The memory of Max’s question nagged at her, and Nudge felt the smallest flicker of doubt.

She pushed it down as she always did, and got lost in the rhythm of her strokes until somewhere, as if in a distant world, she heard the barking.

Then a splash sent the whole lake rippling, and Nudge saw leather-booted feet wading toward her. She took in everything at once: Something was off.

The Aquatics don’t wear boots.

They don’t wade—they swim.

Nudge flipped, kicking hard against the wall, shooting away from those boots like a torpedo.

Her swimming had gotten quick, but he was quicker.

A gloved hand clamped around her foot, yanking her back. She felt the leather against her skin and thought of the scientists who’d tested and poked her—people always wore gloves to do dirty work.

That was when her panic really set in—the understanding of what might happen. What was about to.

No! Nudge’s brain railed against the possibility. I’m stronger than that!

She twisted in his grasp, thrashing fiercely, but iron hands closed around her throat. A heavy booted foot pushed her down, pinning her against the lake floor.

Don’t give up! a panicked part of her said. You’re the Flying Fish, and fish don’t drown!

But even flying fish need to breathe… and the hands were cutting off her gills and her windpipe. Her arms and legs felt weightless. The hands felt like an iron vise.