Jess crawled to his knees, then his feet. He was bitterly aware of seconds slipping by and pursuers catching up as he lunged forward. Half a block to go—hardly anything; just a few steps. Go. Just go.

Another half-strength bullet (he thought they must have been half-strength, or he wouldn’t have been able to get up the first time) raced past him, so close he felt the heat of it score his cheek. The hot desert sand hissed up into his face as if the street itself tried to hold him back, but he plunged on, only half coordinated now, step after pounding, uncertain step. He was leaving a trail of bloody drops behind him, and for a panicked second he was back in the streets of London, worried about leaving a trail for the Library lions to follow . . .

Focus.

He put his head down and forced his muscles to ignore the pain and managed one last, desperate burst of speed.

He made it to the closed gate at the end of the street where they’d entered and collided with the wood. His fist pounded weakly on it, but his lungs still felt too traumatized to shout.

Exposed. Pinned like a bug to a board. This was his greatest moment of vulnerability; he was a perfect target for anyone who cared to aim a well-placed shot.

Jess pulled in a painful breath and shouted, “On the gate! Open! Open now!”

To his sweet and unexpected relief, it swung wide in the next few seconds. He nearly toppled out, but the centurion who’d let them in caught him. The man barked, “What in Ra’s name is going on in there? Did you idiots start a war?”

“Santi,” Jess gasped out. “Captain Santi. Get him. Now.”

“Look, recruit, you don’t request the presence of an elite captain of the High Garda just because—”

Jess grabbed the centurion’s collar and yanked him close enough to smell his morning breakfast. “Get him! We have wounded, and our Scholar will be killed if you don’t shift your arse right now!”

“Scholar? What Scholar? You don’t give orders, you little—” The soldier stopped talking. Jess had pulled his utility knife and now it pressed gently on the man’s abdomen, right where it could do its worst.

“Someone betrayed us,” Jess said. “Tell me it wasn’t you.”

The centurion’s face was hard to read, but he seemed more angry than guilty. “You’d better use that toy if you think I’d put baby soldiers at risk. Betrayed you how?”

“Greek fire. Real bullets. You heard it. That was no exercise.”

The centurion’s expression didn’t change, but something did around the edges of Jess’s awareness; a slight shift of his feet, tightness around his eyes. “Drop the knife, boy. Before my comrade gets upset.”

Comrade. Jess felt the movement at his back and knew the other soldier was there, ready to shoot.

“Tell me you’re not with them,” Jess said quietly.

“I’m not.” The centurion looked past him and nodded. “Stand down.” His gaze locked back on Jess. “You, too.”