I rush down the last few steps and run toward the water, my arms outstretched. All my muscles are burning, and I’m covered in sweat and dirt, but I did it. And it feels pretty gravdamn good.

Okay, and it was even a little fun.

Rafe is beaming at me with his too-pretty smile, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of having been right, so I turn my face into the salty wind.

Rafe quickly inflates the boat. He sits at the back and has me sit between his legs, my back resting against his chest. Well, this is awkward. I’m super grimy from the hike, and I can’t stop fidgeting because of the particular alignment of my butt and his crotch.

Rafe hands me a canteen, and I gulp liberally as he sets the motor and guides the boat. And then we’re off, and it’s fast. We shoot through the water, white foam in our wake. I sigh and lean my sweaty head against Rafe’s unfairly dry and non-smelly shirt. The sun glares, so I close my eyes.

I wake with my head lolling against a ridiculously hard chest. To my embarrassment, my cheek is wet with drool. If Rafe noticed the offense, it doesn’t seem to bother him. His hands are casually resting on my thighs.

“Good morning,” he says. Then he points his chin in the direction of the coast we’re approaching. “Just in time.”

32

I’m pretty groggy as we land on a beach that a sign informs me is in St. Augustine, Florida. Rafe folds up the boat onto his back and navigates me through a cave entrance to an Atlas station—supposedly the first ever built in the New World when the line was first being constructed.

Though the Arcadia station is locked down, the rest of the train line is still running, and no one who sees us board asks any questions.

“Aren’t you worried that you’ll be recognized?” I ask.

“I never assumed we wouldn’t be discovered,” he responds. “Genesis will soon notice the missing magneto gun and put all the pieces together. Our only rush has been to get to New York before they stop us.”

The trip to the New York station is short, and we’re soon pulling into the familiar platform, the air locks closing behind us.

We exit the City Hall station—the non-fun way, up a simple elevator into an inconspicuous office building where every door needs a separate special code—and then… we’re back in my city. The Brooklyn Bridge towers over a beautiful spring day. I don’t know why this surprises me since it’s spring in Arcadia too, but last time I was here, the city was wearing its winter coat of frost and holiday decorations.