A torch rattles and falls from its sconce, throwing sparks over the floor. A wall ruptures beside us. We shield ourselves as a pipe bursts, spraying water into the hall.

Lixue’s eyes leap to mine. Doug’s already up top. If he evacuated, he must know this place is ready to implode.

“It’s Doug,” I shout across the gap. “He can’t stop this. The more power he takes on, the less control he has. Forget the freed Seasons. They chose their own fates. And they’re safer out there on their own than the ones you’re holding prisoner down here!” I wait for her to hurl fire at me. But she just looks at us, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides as the walls shake. “If you don’t let us fix it, we’re all going to die. I know how to stop this.”

“I can’t let you go!” She shakes her head as if she’s trying to convince herself.

“Then at least let them go!” I point toward the dormitories above us. There must be hundreds of Seasons trapped in their rooms. “There’s still time to save them.”

Lixue gnaws her lip as the Guards wait for her command. They duck as a chunk of ceiling collapses behind them. The auxiliary power flashes and dies. Alarms blast and sprinklers explode to life, raining over our heads.

She shields herself with an arm. “There are too many of them! We’ll never be able to get them all out!”

“Is there a way to disable the locks to all the dormitories from the Control Room?” Chill asks.

Lixue nods.

“Do it,” I tell her. “There’s an emergency tunnel at the cardinal point of each wing. They lead out through the catacombs.” I take Lyon’s map from my pocket and tear it into four sections, one for each wing. I give Winter to Chill and Poppy, Autumn to Amber and Marie, and Summer to Julio. They tuck the pieces under their shirts. I hold out the last piece of the map to Lixue. She hesitates.

“Take it,” I say, shoving it into her hand. “Evacuate everyone from the east wing. Tell them all to find a partner, or better yet, a group of Seasons, as soon as they reach the surface. Tell them to lie low until the quake stops. We’ll find a way to broadcast a message when it’s safe to come back.”

Lixue and the Guards give me one last look as they turn to leave, dodging debris as they race toward the Crux.

50

A Crash of Wood

FLEUR

Doug adjusts the rearview mirror, angling it away from him. He looks ridiculous in the driver’s seat of the tiny Volkswagen Golf, with his blond hair nearly brushing the roof and his legs bent to fit so his thighs touch the steering wheel.

“Where are we going?”