She pulls the lantern closer to her lap and picks up where she left off, focusing on her hands guiding the needle in and out, in and out. Everything about this moment feels so content, so right.

“I think they’re ready across the river,” Catcher says. We’re standing on the roof in the darkness before sunrise, the clear air frozen around us. Catcher came back from the Dark City a little while ago after helping the remaining survivors put together the necessary materials. He stands beside me, gripping my hand as Elias buzzes around a crudely constructed box he built from wood from the walls of one of the abandoned flats. It’s open on the top, a thin metal cauldron in the center to hold the fire and bags of fat-soaked wood strung around the sides.

It’s tiny—we’ll have to squeeze together inside—but it looks sturdy enough. Lying next to it is a simple-looking propeller attached to a hand crank that can be shifted to any side of the box to steer us.

My sister flutters around attaching thickly braided ropes reinforced with wires to the box and making sure they’re secured to the fabric of the balloon, which is folded at the edge of the roof.

Once we start the fire and direct the smoke into the balloon there’s no turning back. If the Recruiters see us before we can get it inflated enough, we’re in trouble.

I stand by the wall around the roof with Catcher, watching the Sanctuary below to make sure no one sees us. It’s frigid outside and I lean against his body for warmth as he goes over the last-minute details.

“The survivors I found were able to pull everything together pretty quickly. They’ll be looking for the signal just before first light. There’s also a group of Soulers at the other end of the Sanctuary—they’ve been working on one too. It’s going to be harder for them: I’ve been smuggling supplies to the shore but they said the Recruiters might have found them and confiscated everything.”

I press my lips together, rocking back and forth on my feet to keep the blood pumping through my body as dread boils in my stomach. “Is this going to work?” I ask, probably for the hundredth time.

Catcher squeezes my hand in his but doesn’t answer because the reality is we don’t know. “Did I tell you about the night I climbed the roller coaster back in Vista?” he asks, trying to distract me from all the ways I imagine this whole thing failing.

I frown at him, trying to remember, and shake my head.