Elliott finishes detangling the cord and tosses it in the backseat, then roots around in his pockets. “Let’s take inventory. We have an extension cord that we could use as rope, a pair of surgical scissors, and some general first-aid supplies. Aspirin, gauze, bandages.” He raises his eyes to me. “None of those things will help you fly a plane.”

I set my jaw. “I know that.”

“And you want to go anyway? What’s the point?”

“We’ve got to go somewhere.”

He hesitates. “We could try to sneak back to the island.”

I roll my eyes. Of course that’s his first thought. “And what happens when we get caught again?”

“You’ve got someplace you’re stashing all those mirrors and illegal telescopes, right?” His voice is sharper now. “Why don’t we just hide out there?”

The phosphate mines offer plenty of hiding spots, it’s true. We could lie low there for a while, if we made it all the way back to the island, but before long we’d need to buy food. With rations being carefully policed, there’s no way we could go long without being spotted. And that’s assuming Elliott wouldn’t just give me up to his mom the second we set foot in her city again.

In any case, Cisco Island isn’t where I want to be. “No,” I tell Elliott. “We’re going to the airport. We’ll figure out the next step when we get there.”

“The next step toward getting to London, you mean?”

Silence falls over us. “Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t respond. Then, finally, he sighs. “I’ll fly us.” His tone is tired, stretched, and he’s looking out his window instead of at me.

I blink. “What?”

“I said I’ll fly us.”

“You’re … a pilot?”

He turns, faces forward, looks out the windshield into the fog. “Remember the guards arguing over who would pilot the helicopter and how bumpy the ride was? That was because I’m the most qualified pilot on the island—those guys can barely fly straight. I’ve got a license for single-engine fixed-wing planes, too.”

I spit out a few curses. When my mind is clear enough to answer rationally, I glare at him, incredulous. “You’re a pilot and you’re only telling me now? Are you freaking serious? You could’ve hijacked the helicopter yourself when they were dropping us off! They barely even had you tied up!”

“You should be glad I didn’t,” he answers coldly. “The first thing I’d have done afterward is push you overboard.”

I remember him holding me over the edge of the roof, my hands clutching his fist, the look in his eyes when he said he wished he was like me.

“No. You wouldn’t have,” I say, a little calmer now.

He glances at me sideways, his mouth a flat line.