He tugs on my shoulder until I’m facing him, my frosty hair hanging across my cheek. He tucks his finger around a lock, slipping it behind my ear. As he does so, the heat of his skin trails over my busted cheek and I wince.

“Annah, what …?” His touch hovers over the throbbing pain. “What happened?”

I turn so that he can’t see the welt. My breath comes out in puffs of crystalline clouds. The feeling of helplessness wells inside me, spills from my eyes.

“Who did this to you?” he whispers, and I can hear the rage in his voice that someone would hurt me.

I press my lips tightly together. He’s right that the Sanctuary is our best hope of surviving. That the City is gone. I think of the map and all the black pins. “One of the Recruiters,” I finally tell him. “It’s not safe here,” I add. “They’re monsters.”

Catcher trails a finger down my cheek, burning the path of one of my tears. His face is a war of emotions. “I’m going to keep you safe, Annah,” he says. “I promise you.”

I let him pull me to his chest, let him wrap his arms around me. I swallow back the words that choke me: that I’m not sure he can. Not after what I just saw.

Chapter XXI

Catcher leads me toward the north end of the Sanctuary. Most of the Recruiters live in the warren of shorter boxlike structures scattered around the headquarters—the main rambling building that contains the map room and the auditorium with the caged Unconsecrated.

Because almost everywhere else was deserted after the Rebellion, Ox allowed Elias to pick a place for all of us to live. He chose a middle floor in the tallest building, hoping that the effort of the climb would discourage most Recruiters from bothering us.

The rooms are small and dirty, long hallways connecting them. Catcher stands now in the doorway of the bedroom my sister chose for me on the corner of the building—a room with huge windows that open to a view of the fire-strewn Dark City and the curve of the black river.

It’s a cozy room, sparsely furnished with a bed, table and chair likely left behind by the family of some high-ranking Protectorate official who fled when the Rebellion broke out. I press a hand against the glass—a rare luxury in this world.

My reflection stares back at me: scars on one side, a raised red ridge on the other. I let my hair fall over my face as I turn toward Catcher. “I’m going to find a way off this island,” I tell him, raising my chin in defiance.