“Sam, I …” I start, but I don’t know what to say.

“I know,” she says. “You’re a good person, Luka. You care, and you want me to be good too, but I’m not, I’m not good. I don’t care, I won’t ever care.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I tell her. “You are good—and you do care. About your friends and about your baby. Every time you were in danger back there on Level Two, your hands went to your stomach, like you wanted to make sure it was safe. Did you know that?”

Sam runs her hands through her hair. “Yeah, whatever, maybe.” She takes a breath and then stands up. “We should get moving, try to get back to the library before you’re too drunk to walk.”

I look to the doorway, to the small crack where light from the streetlamps had been seeping in, and see that the sky is pitch-black. I try to guess the time and figure it must be after 10 p.m.

“Okay,” I agree, and stand on unsteady legs, the world seeming to shift and tilt in front of my eyes. I realize, suddenly, that I am drunk. I had felt okay, a bit overconfident, but it has shifted, very quickly, into full-blown inebriation.

I’ve never been drunk before. When I was twelve, my friends and I shared a single bottle of beer that one of them had stolen from his dad. We all pretended like we were drunk, stumbling around, laughing like Ebb addicts, but this is real. Part of me hates the sensation of being slightly outside of my character—slightly electric, slightly ahead of myself and few steps behind—and part of me loves it.

We move to the door, the ground seeming always to be half a step farther beneath my feet than I’m expecting.

“Getting drunk was not smart!” I announce in a loud whisper. “I mean … I mean, what were we thinking? We’re about to run for our lives and … and we got drunk!”

“You got drunk,” Sam replies, not looking back. “I’m perfectly sober, thank you. Try to focus, Luka.”

“Yep,” I say, and then laugh as I stumble over my feet.

“Luka, will you shut up? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of the city, about to do something very dangerous!”

“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head, trying to clear away the fog. “Yeah, you’re right. What’s the plan?”

“You’ll see,” she whispers, resetting her rifle.

“Shouldn’t I know the plan?” I ask. “I mean, it seems pretty important for me to at least know the basics …”

“Shh,” Sam says, opening the front door until there is just enough space between it and the frame for her to see out.

I fall silent, staggering back one step and stifling a laugh.