Panic tightens my throat. Councilor Avellino wouldn’t hesitate to lock me up just like Hypatia. But I’ve already had exposure to antimatter, and if they put a collar on me for too long, I could lose my ability to conduct Ha’i permanently, when I’ve only just learned to use it properly.

My next words come out as a sob. “Please, let me go.”

Alfie turns away from me. “Don’t act like this is my fault. You brought the enemy here. I will not be the one to take the blame for any of this when I was the one who tried to warn everyone about you!”

“Please call my mother too,” I beg. “I swear no one will blame you.”

But Alfie ignores my pleas, and I know that, this time, no one is coming to rescue me.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I’m going to have to save myself.

I take stock of my surroundings the way Rafe taught me. If I could make a flame, I could burn through my restraints, but Alfie has my sparker, and there’s no way for me to generate static. Where’s a rug when you need one? I fumble my hands behind my back, hoping to feel something, anything that I can use. Weeds and mud and sticks.

Useless.

An idea surfaces. Not anything Rafe taught me, but an old memory from summer camp. We’d studied wilderness survival skills and learned about how to start a fire from the friction of rubbing twigs together. It takes a lot of effort, and I’d never managed it at the time, but I have to try.

I grapple for two sticks, and though I don’t have a lot of range of motion, I rub them together as vigorously as I can while pushing my Ha’i out, seeking any spark to ignite.

Please, help me.

Nothing happens, other than my skin getting rubbed raw. I know that the goal is for the friction to make the wood hot enough that it will burn, so I pause my rubbing and make shiin, focusing all my Ha’i on heating the wood. Once I feel it practically scorching my hands, I again rub the pieces together and pump my Ha’i outward. My Ha’i that is a part of me. Not separate from me.

Ada, help yourself.

A flame whooshes into being. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, burning the skin off my hands as it makes quick work of Alfie’s tie. And the hem of my turtleneck.

At my triumphant cry, Alfie comes rushing toward me, but I throw a fireball in his direction, and he jumps away. “Stay back!” I yell.

My hands are already healing, but not fast enough. I do my best to ignore the pain as I untie the ropes around my ankles. Each movement is agony to my fingers as I disturb the blistered flesh.