I glance over the edge and my stomach tilts.

The sound of sirens floats on the breeze and is getting closer.

“You can do this,” Atlas says with conviction.

Not long ago he was telling me to stay in my house and not to go anywhere. Now he believes I can leap tall buildings with a single bound.

“I know,” I tell him as I move several steps back and take a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

Before doubt can take hold, I start to run. Atlas matches my steps on one side. The girl with the blue hat is a step behind on the other. Two steps from the edge of the building, I launch myself into the air. My heart stops. Inside my head, I am screaming at the nothingness of several stories beneath me. Then my feet hit the next roof with room to spare. The other two land right beside me.

I did it.

The Marshals were chasing us. I saw someone die. We could still be found, but that doesn’t stop the pride I feel at getting this far.

“You’re going to take that fire escape to the alley,” Atlas says, leading us to the back corner of the structure we’re standing on. “There’s a dumpster you can hide behind until I get there.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“I’m going to erase any sign that we’ve been here.”

“Do all Stewards know about that place? The one with the sunflower?” I ask as the girl in the blue hat starts down the iron fire escape steps. “Did my mom?”

“Each member is given information on the escape routes closest to their area of operation. We call them switching stations,” he answers. “They were created for just this reason, and people with my job—we’re drilled until we know them all. We have to move.” He turns, and I head down the steps.

When I reach the landing next to the girl, I release the ladder and cringe as it whines and scrapes before it comes to a stop. Hand over hand, foot over foot, I climb down the ladder and drop the last few feet to the pavement behind a dumpster, that by the smell of rotting food, needs to be emptied. I crouch down and wait for the blue hat girl to join me. My knee throbs and my elbow . . . I gingerly touch the scrape and wince.

“I guess I should say thanks,” the girl whispers, coming to kneel on the concrete next to me. She removes her hat, shakes out her long hair, then swipes at a line of blood at the corner of her mouth with a frown. “I’m not sure what all that was about or what those men want, but it can’t be good.”

“You don’t have any idea why you were being followed or why the Marshals were after you?” I ask, willing Atlas to get down here so we can clear out.