There can’t be but a handful of ’em left now, that guy had said a minute ago. He was wrong. There isn’t a handful of us. There’s just me and Sam. As soon as the boy on that bridge meets his fate, I will be the only dealer on Cisco Island. Which means the shadowseekers—the rumored unit of special-ops officers who’ve hunted down all the other dealers—will have exactly one target left.

Me.

“But this is the message we must send to anyone who would endanger our city,” the mayor continues. Her voice arcs over the crowd like lightning looking for something to burn.

Fear is roaring through my blood. I pity Sam, but I’m terrified for myself. After this, every shadowseeker, every beat cop, and every random self-righteous islander with a score to settle—which is most of them—will have all of their attention squarely focused on catching me. I’ve gotten as far as I have by lying low, by staying as far down the mayor’s suspect list as possible. But how long will it take them to find me now that they have no one else to hunt?

“Sam Garcia’s dealings have cost lives,” the mayor goes on. Behind her, Sam is shuddering, hunched over on himself like he’s trying not to scream.

They always scream. Whether it’s a few steps into the fog or halfway across the bridge, they always scream.

“It’s justice that it now costs his own.”

Sometimes, days after an exile, the body will wash back up on shore. Mauled, gnawed till it’s barely recognizable. That’ll be Sam soon. And after that, me.

“Sam Garcia,” Mayor Ackermann says, turning to look at him. He stays bowed over, shoulders straining with his hands tied behind him. “You are hereby exiled from Cisco Island. If you attempt to return, you will be shot.”

He finally raises his head. “How about we just cut out the middleman and you shoot me now,” he says. The words are meant to sound cocky, but they quaver too much and his voice cracks at the end. He genuinely wants her to kill him rather than face exile. I can’t blame him.

The mayor’s mouth tightens. “I can’t allow that.” I listen for any hint of sympathy, of humanity, but all I hear is iron.

She nods at the row of officers. Two of them grab Sam by the arms and start hauling him toward the fog. His eyes are wild. He’s thinking about taking a run at the cops and forcing them to shoot him or going just a few feet into the fog and then jumping off the bridge and trying to swim back.

There’s a chance Sam could escape, I tell myself. There’s a chance I might be able to escape, when it’s me up there.