“No!” She turned around and wrapped her arms around Ampersand’s midsection, gluing her front to his back, wrapping one hand around his head and the other around his neck, holding him tightly, bracing for a struggle, bracing to get shot.

The body of the man with the gun was seared into her mind’s eye, the way it jerked with each bullet entry. Of course he’d shoot. He enjoys shooting. They all do. Monsters, monsters, pugilists, flesh-eaters, militarists, militarists, militarists.

“Get on the ground now or I will fucking shoot you!”

The officer was still screaming at her, and she continued to hold on to Ampersand, not moving, not looking up. She could feel them on all sides of her now, policemen surrounding them with their guns trained. If any one of them moved—Enola, Ampersand, or Cora—the police would fire on them, fire on them like they had the man with the white hair. One movement from any of them, and it would be all over.

It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Again, the command to get on the ground. She didn’t move, held on tighter. She crushed her eyes closed, tried to keep herself still, but she couldn’t control her breathing, which was now coming in rapid, jerky bursts. She heard more voices, more yelling. Police officers barking commands at each other, more people surrounding them.

“Don’t move,” she said to Ampersand between breaths. Each pore of her skin felt as if it were tearing into a canyon, her lungs were on fire. “Don’t move, or they’ll kill us. They’ll kill us.”

It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Then, a familiar voice. “CIA! Back the fuck off!”

She felt a hand on her back, and she flinched at the contact. “It’s okay,” said the voice. “It’s okay. We’re here. Let go of him.”

She didn’t move. Her heart had been replaced with a hummingbird’s, her breath like a mouse on a wheel. It was like night paralysis brought to the waking world. She couldn’t move.

“Fucking back off! CIA! Let me handle this!” Sol’s voice. “Get these fucking amateurs out of my sight.”

Again, the hand on her back. “We’re going to get them out of here. This has happened to them before, right? They’ll pull out of it. You need to get up or we can’t get them to safety.”

She tried, but she was no more capable of breaking her hold on Ampersand than she was sprouting wings. There was still so much noise, still such a loud din of confusion—people talking, people yelling, violence, police officers screaming, people in the crowd screaming back at them.

“Come on, I know you can do it,” said Sol. “Get up.”