Because that’s what Ty does. He tears himself into pieces and then gives them up, one by one, for me. He’s been doing it since even before Mom ran out on us, and he’s not about to stop.

Not unless I make him.

I formulate the words he needs to hear and then force them out. If I do a good enough job I can even convince myself they’re true. “Nah, I’ll be fine,” I say lightly. “Just do me a favor.”

“What?”

“When you come back from your precious fancy-ass London next year,” I say, pointing out the window at the antenna in the rearview mirror, “we climb that. Together.”

He laughs. “Deal.”

One month later, the day after Ty leaves for London, the Fracture happens.

I open my eyes. The helicopter banks violently, pushing me against the window. The antenna fades into the distance.

I don’t know how far inland we’re going. But sooner or later, they’re going to drop me into the city below and I’ll be alone in a vast sea of fog and Beings. If I want to survive longer than thirty seconds, if I want to have even the slightest chance at finding Ty again, there’s only one option.

I swallow. I glance at the guard; he’s got his back to us, both hands on his rifle, as he talks to the pilot. He turns around to check on me every few sentences, I guess in case I manage to slip my zip ties and try to hijack the helicopter with my bare hands. Or do something similarly stupid—like team up with the ex-shadowseeker I just attempted to shoot.

I glance at Elliott. “Ackermann,” I say, barely loud enough to be heard over the noise of the rotors, “listen. We’re going to need to work together.”

“Shut up,” he says tonelessly, not even looking at me. I practically have to read his lips to decipher the quiet response. The fight that drained out of him earlier is still gone.

The helicopter shudders, and my stomach twists in a way that tells me we’re descending. Panic slices through my scattered thoughts. I need Elliott. Two people together have a better chance at survival, plus he’ll have training and skills that might actually give us a shot. If he’s already given up before they even dump us down there, though, we’ll be eaten before we have a chance to run.

I need to find a way to jar him into action. A thought leaps into my mind, something I learned back at the dartboard booth: Anger is better than fear.

And I know only one way I could make Elliott Ackermann angry.

“Your brother,” I say.

He looks up.