I think back to the death cages I’d seen my first night here. The frightened man they’d thrown to the Unconsecrated. “Catcher’s the one bringing them over,” I admit to her.

She winces. “I wondered.” She doesn’t elaborate.

Which only frustrates me. “I don’t understand how he can do it. How he can bring those people here knowing they’ll likely die.” I push away from the window, walk back over to the bed and stare down at the scarf draped over my pillow.

How can Catcher be both the thoughtful person I care about and the person who gives people a false hope?

“He’s doing what he has to.” She sounds almost resigned.

“Yeah, but what about their survival? Why are we allowed on this side of the wall and they aren’t?”

She shrugs. “I guess we’re lucky.”

Nothing in my life’s ever seemed lucky before, but then again, here I am standing inside with food down the hall while Soulers are out there in the cold keeping me safe. “It’s not fair,” I say, wishing there were something I could do.

My sister crosses the room, takes my shoulders and turns me to her. “It’s not fair at all. We’re going to find a way off this island and we’re going to take them with us.” She tilts her head, meeting my eyes, and I nod.

“Now,” she says, her voice lighter. “Catcher left books about the Dark City from before the Return. I want to see if we can match up the landmarks and figure out if maybe there’s something in there that will help us get off the island and find someplace safe.”

“Good idea,” I tell her. “I’ll meet you up there.”

She smiles and bounds from the room.

It takes me a while before I follow, and when I climb to the roof I find my sister standing by the wall at the edge. She’s holding up a photograph at arm’s length, looking between it and the Dark City spread out before her across the river. Books lie scattered on a blanket at her feet, pages fluttering in the morning breeze.

“What’s that?” I ask, pulling my new coat tight around me and retying the soft scarf wrapped around my neck. It’s a bright morning, the kind that reflects off the ice and snow and burns the eyes.

She turns back to me, a flush across her cheeks. A small breeze teases the hair along her temples as she holds the little card out to me.

Surrounded by a yellow border is a photograph of a city. Gleaming buildings stretch to the sky, an impossible monstrosity of steel bones. Written across the top in thick yellow letters are the words New York City.