But Elliott is ready for me. His left hand stays on the gun while his right snakes out, grabs my shoulder, pinches some nerve there. The flash of pain makes me flinch, just long enough for Elliott to get behind me and shove me toward the door. Another blue-clad cop strides across the boardwalk in front of us, talking into a walkie. They’re breaking out their walkies for me, using up precious batteries for this op. It’s the worst possible sign of how important my capture is to them.

My pulse kicks up to somewhere around heart-attack level as I stumble forward. I’m going to die. This is it. I’m a goner—and all because of my determination to find a big brother I’m not even sure is still alive. A brother I can now be absolutely positive I’ll never see again, because even if he’s not dead, I’m about to be. I close my eyes.

“I’m scared,” eight-year-old me whispers in the dark. Lightning flashes outside and thunder rattles the plywood that’s nailed over my bedroom window. The wind is screaming. It sounds like a panther I heard at the Miami zoo once—high and wild, shrieking like a dying thing.

“Of the hurricane?” Ty rubs my head with a grin. “It’ll have to go through me first.”

I open my eyes. Fury snarls in my veins. I won’t give up on Ty. Not till I take my very last breath. I’ve still got the second mirror in my pocket. I would never actually use one, not when I’m close enough to be a victim myself, but Elliott and the cops might not be willing to bet their lives on that. And if I can get Elliott to come one step closer with that gun, I might be able to take it away from him—and that’s a weapon I am willing to use.

My hand is still in my pocket. As we move toward the door I pull it out, keeping the small mirror hidden in my fist. This one has sharp edges. They cut into my palm. I barely notice.

I reach the door. I lower one hand to push the bar, ignoring my compulsion to tap on the door frame, though it’s harder this time than it was earlier. The muggy island air smacks me in the face—it’s gotten more humid in the last few minutes, the cloud cover simmering over almost the entire sky now. It turns the boardwalk into a sweatbox, steaming us with the smell of rotted fish and algae.