I smile at the thought, just a little. It’s been a long time since I let myself fantasize about what it would be like to have my family back. That’s what Ty and I have always been: our own family. Dad died when I was little, and Mom was barely present even before she left for good, but my brother and I always had each other.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that your first thought is extortion,” Elliot says, jarring me out of my fantasy.

“What?” I say, frowning at him. His hands are tight on the steering wheel, and the speedometer’s needle is ticking upwards of forty now. I can barely see out the rain-slicked windshield.

“If the fog can be used to resupply cities, we can’t hold that information hostage for money. That wouldn’t be ethical.” His voice is flinty.

I go stiff. “What did you think we were gonna do with it? Just hand it over without asking for anything in return?”

I can practically hear him grinding his teeth. “We should give this information to the cities, and then after they have it, trust them to express their gratitude.”

I laugh in disbelief. “Trust? Really, Ackermann? This could be our golden ticket! Look—when we land in London, there’s no way it’s not going to be a huge deal. We’ll be the first people to travel through the fog and actually make it anywhere. Sooner or later the folks in London are going to mention us in one of the transmissions they manage to get through to Singapore and to your mom, and then the London officials will find out we’re exiles. What do you think they’ll do then? Throw us a parade to ‘express their gratitude’?”

“We could ask for asylum in exchange for the information,” Elliott says, his wording oddly careful. “Making a plea for refuge wouldn’t be unethical.”

I ball up my fist. “I don’t want asylum. I want to be safe, and rich, and with my brother. That’s why I’ve spent the last thirteen months selling mirrors. Not so I can get locked up in a jail, trying to be grateful that at least they didn’t toss me back out into the fog!”

“Look,” Elliott snaps, his voice suddenly loud, “London is—”

Something gray in the road ahead catches the corner of my eye. I slam my hands on the dash and shout, “Look out!”