Rowan stirred first. “Being worth the risk doesn’t justify a risky plan.”

“This plan will work,” said Tovar fervently. “Farad has the codes, and our informants in the city have fed us the full rundown of hospital security. We can get them in, and we can get Madison Sato out. We’ll take her to the eastern farms, she can deliver there, and the baby will live.”

“I’m going to split the cure into three separate doses,” said Kira. “One stays with Tovar, here in the back lines, to be used on Madison’s baby Arwen. The second goes with us, just in case Arwen has already been born; depending on how advanced the virus is, we have to inject her on-site.”

Tovar pointed at Rowan. “The third goes with you, east to Flanders or Riverhead or somewhere the Grid presence is weakest. Inject every newborn you can find.” He looked at the syringe in Kira’s hands. “The cure is too important to risk on a single mission.”

Kira nodded, but a niggling voice in the back of her mind posed the question: Do I have the pheromone? If I’m really a Partial, can I cure RM too? She almost didn’t dare to consider it—didn’t dare to hope—it would be too easy, and nothing so far had been easy. As soon as I get the chance—as soon as I have the right equipment—I have to test myself.

Gianna whispered reverently. “We’re pinning an awful lot of hope on this.”

“I know,” said Kira.

“So that’s the team,” said Rowan, “Gianna, the new guy, and these two medics.”

“And us,” said Jayden. “Madison’s my sister.”

Xochi nodded. “And Kira’s mine.”

Kira felt a pang of conscience, as stark as if she’d willfully betrayed them all. What would they do if they knew what I really am?

The car died two miles northeast of East Meadow. Gianna and Farad spent nearly an hour under the hood, cursing and banging and trying to get it started; Kira and Marcus sat by the curb and planned their route through the hospital: where to go, how to get there, and what specific medical phrases to teach Gianna to help get Madison out of the nurses’ sight. Kira had kept the syringe in her own gear, carefully wrapped and cushioned and strapped to her waist. She touched it reflexively, making sure it was safe. Farad walked over tiredly and dropped a chunk of oily black metal on the road beside her.

Marcus looked at it. “Bad gas?”

“The gas is the cleanest I’ve seen in a while,” said Farad. “This is the starter—it’s not cracked or bent or gummed up, it’s just … old.” He flopped down on the curb beside them. “Of all the things that could have gone wrong, I never would have guessed this.”

“But you can still get us in,” said Kira, “right?”