“He is serious,” calls another cop from farther down the boardwalk as she advances on us, her own gun held out even though her tone sounds oddly apologetic. The name tag above her badge reads DIAZ. “Do as you’ve been ordered.”

A note of impatience threads through Elliott’s prior calm. “I’m Elliott Ackermann,” he says to Diaz. Something about his name tries to catch at my attention, but the adrenaline is too strong, the panic too loud. Elliott is still talking but I barely hear him. “I’m the one who tipped you off. This is my op—”

“We know who you are,” Ginger says, cutting him off.

Elliott tenses up, his knee digging a little harder into my spine. “Then how about you put the guns down? We’re on the same side here. Cops,” he says, gesturing at them with his free hand—and then, gesturing to himself: “Shadowseeker.”

Shadowseeker. The name arcs through me like electricity. Not a snitch. Not a cop. He’s much worse than that.

The bastard. The bastard. He knew the crowd was going to the bridge this morning, because he was the one who’d helped put Sam up there. He must’ve planned to attack Ginger to win my trust. He dangled information he knew I wouldn’t be able to resist, used my own brother against me. Then he closed the trap.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Ginger warns Elliott—the same thing he said to me earlier. I bare my teeth, appreciating the irony.

Elliott goes still for half a heartbeat as he takes the situation in. Then, in one quick motion, he takes his knee off my spine, grabs me by the back of the collar, and yanks me to my feet so I’m standing in front of him. He puts my body between him and the cops. The cool metal of his gun brushes against my left shoulder blade.

There. He’s taken that one step closer that I was needing. Maybe I can get myself out of this without a mirror after all.

Someone shouts below us, one of the cops lurking on the beach beneath the boardwalk. It’s the best distraction I’m gonna get.