I step inside Elliott’s reach. I duck under the gun. I ram the heel of one hand into his wrist, lock my other hand around the gun, and wrench it sideways. I’m at a weird angle because I’m used to practicing this for right-handed people and he’s a lefty, but I manage to get the gun almost away from him before he reacts. He curses, his eyes widening. I have milliseconds before he gets over his surprise and fights back, and he’s brawny enough for me to know he’ll win if that happens. I twist inward, lift my right foot, and kick hard at the inside of his knee. He crumples to the deck. I have the gun … for exactly one second before Ginger knocks it out of my grip.

The gun clatters and skids a few feet away. I start to dive after it, but Ginger grabs my arm, uses my own momentum to twist me around and knock me to the ground right next to Elliott. Something cold snaps around my wrist. My heart takes a nosedive. Handcuffs. I’ve been cuffed. Which means I’ve been captured, which means I’m dead, dead, dead.

Bodies. Gnawed to pieces, shredded like they ran through an acre of barbed wire, nothing but scraps left to wash up on the beach. It’ll be me soon. Will I die on the bridge, or will I get to the mainland first? Maybe there’s a way I can make it to the airport there. But the nearest one is dozens of miles inland, through the fog, and I won’t have a pilot, won’t have anything but the clothes on my back.

Elliott is on the ground too now, shouting something. “—telling you, check with the mayor!” he yells. “I’ve apprehended the last mirror dealer on the island! She’ll make an exception for me—”

Ginger stands back up. “You know she doesn’t make exceptions,” he says tightly. “She’s already scheduled your exile.” He aims his gun at Elliott, who goes silent, frozen in shock.

It’s then that I realize only one of my hands is cuffed. I roll to my side, glance down at the matte black metal ring around my wrist, and follow the chain to the other cuff—which is locked around Elliott’s wrist.