I struggle to add more fuel to the fire to refill the balloon, but my fingers fumble as the basket whips and jerks around. Hot air rushes into the envelope but we’re still dropping. Sweat pours from our faces, every inch of our skin glistening from being so close to the flames.

The lightness I’d felt earlier solidifies into something dense as panic teases my mind. I force it away, needing to focus.

“Weight,” I shout. “We have to drop everything we can.”

My sister scrambles for the bags at her feet—supplies for the journey ahead—and tosses them over the side. Our descent slows but we’re still not rising and the wind’s taken over, shoving us faster in the wrong direction—toward the shore of the Dark City.

Elias cranks the propeller, trying to steer us away from the ragged buildings, but the balloon is too heavy and it’s difficult to control. We might not even make it over the first one. “Maybe we can just land and repair the seam,” my sister says, pointing to a long rooftop ahead. I glance up at the envelope, at the way it strains.

“We’d never find enough fuel to fill it again,” I shout as I shovel more wood onto the fire.

Recruiters bellow in the distance. I look back and see them scrambling into the cable car, and slowly it starts to move across the river right underneath us. But the shore at the other end still teems with Unconsecrated: It’s suicide for them to come after us.

“Look.” I point down at them as Elias shifts the propeller, trying to turn us away from the tallest buildings. Heat billows into the balloon from the fire, a trail of smoke seeping out from the tear.

My sister heaves the last of the supplies over the side and then stands there with a book held in each hand, staring at the covers. I’m sick knowing she’s willing to throw away things that mean so much to her.

She glances at me trying to fill the envelope with as much hot air as possible, and at Elias, who’s trying to steer us, but there’s just too much weight.

We’re blown over the edge of the City, buildings passing by so close we could almost touch them. She tosses the books, watching them fall to the roof just below us, pages fluttering like broken wings.

But it’s still not enough. We’re still not rising.

In that moment I’m thrown back in time. I’m standing on the path and staring at Abigail, who’s crying and begging Elias and me not to leave her behind. She’s scared and alone and bleeding. I’m back in my little girl body, trying to decide what to do.

Except this time I can’t choose between them. I don’t have to choose between them.