Safe, somewhere else.

Morgan had pushed past Jess, and now she put a hand on the center of Queen Elizabeth’s statue; it triggered a hiss, and the statue moved aside to reveal a short corridor. It was smoky, but the flames hadn’t reached it yet. Brightwell plunged in first, followed by Brendan, and Morgan followed, reaching back for Jess’s hand. The hall opened into a rounded room with a couch and helmet. The same as in all the other chambers he’d seen.

Smoke was already beginning to filter in and fog the air with a thick, chemical reek, and Jess coughed and began to realize that there wasn’t time to send all of them, even if his father intended to keep his word.

He’s going to kill them, Jess realized with a jolt of real horror. Everybody but me and Morgan. He needs Morgan. It was plain to him, the way that his father’s men were positioned, isolating Thomas, Glain, Wolfe, Santi, and now Khalila and Dario.

“There’s not time to send all of you!” Morgan shouted. The Burners had crowded in behind them and were pushing forward now.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said the woman who led the Burners, and she nodded to her men and women. “There won’t be as many as you think.”

At her signal, her people quickly, efficiently, and brutally swung into motion . . . and caught the Brightwell bullies by surprise. Ten men were quickly taken down with blows from behind. Fast deaths, so fast Jess hardly even comprehended them. Now it was just the eight Burners who’d survived—plus Brightwell, Brendan, Jess, and his friends.

“Kate, you backstabbing piece of—”

“Manners, Master Brightwell. We’re all friends here,” the woman said. Kate. It sounded too nice a name for her. Jess heard a crash from overhead; something had collapsed. The fire would get to them soon, and the smoke was already thickening. Harder to breathe. “I’m sparing your lives. Get out. Now. Run. You’re resourceful. And I’m giving you your son as a bonus.”

“I have two,” Brightwell said. “I’ll be taking both.”

She put a knife to his throat. “The Library rebels belong to us,” she said. “Go or die—I don’t care which you choose.”

Jess’s father hesitated for a long moment, then turned his head and said, “Good luck, Jess.”

“Da! No!” Brendan shouted, and tried to break free. Callum Brightwell held him tight. “Jess—”

“Kill them,” Kate said, “if they don’t leave now.” One of her Burners pulled a weapon and pointed it, and Brendan finally stopped fighting. He and Jess’s father ran.

Jess tried to acknowledge that it was the smart thing to do, the Brightwell thing, but all he could think was, You left us. You left me.

And it hurt.

Kate sat on the couch, put the helmet on her head, and looked at Morgan. “Take us to the Philadelphia Serapeum,” she said. “We are going to the City of Freedom.”

Philadelphia. The stronghold of the Burners.