I can tell Catcher’s uneasy but he does as he’s told and enters the room. Conall shoves Elias in after him.

“Wait,” Elias shouts, rounding on the door. “What about Gabry? You said I could see her!”

“All in due time,” Conall says evenly, slamming the door before either Elias or Catcher can do anything to stop him.

I’m left standing in the hallway with Conall and three other Recruiters. Elias and Catcher pound on the door but it holds firm. I swallow, thinking about what Elias said about why Recruiters would want me on the island.

I refuse to let them see my fear. “What are you doing?” I ask evenly. My pulse hammers through my body as I straighten my back and raise my chin, waiting to see what will happen next.

“We’ve got other plans for you.” Conall eyes me up and down, gaze lingering on my scars with an expression of disgust. “You look nothing like her,” he adds, and then turns back down the hallway, indicating that I should follow. I can’t help it—my face burns with embarrassment, and any fear I may have felt is replaced by a comfortably familiar rage.

I follow him up several flights of stairs, our footsteps echoing loudly in the narrow concrete stairwell. The farther we get from my friends, the more my steps want to falter. I’m used to taking care of myself, I think over and over again just to keep my hands from trembling.

We come to a door leading outside to the roof and my hackles rise when Conall shoves me through it. I stumble and fall on my knees, gravel digging through my pants and stinging my palms, surprise striking me speechless. I scowl at the man over my shoulder.

“Ox wants to talk to you,” he says, nodding toward a figure standing on the edge of the roof facing the Dark City. Conall’s glare traces over my scars again and he shakes his head, lips pursed, before going back inside and banging the door shut.

I get up, slowly, and wipe my hands on my coat. Wind streaks across the river, nothing to block it as it whips against me, invading every seam until my clothes are useless at buffering the cold.

Flames still eat at the Neverlands, and a part of me wishes the warmth could carry this far. I’m so tired of being cold. I’m so tired, period. And hungry. And dirty. And angry.

I stand there, refusing to walk across the roof. It’s the only act of rebellion I have left. The man, Ox, looks over his shoulder, sees me and strides over.

“You must be the sister,” he says. “Annah.”