Atlas sighs. “You didn’t force me into anything.”

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better. You said—”

“I know what I said.” He shifts his backpack on his shoulder and starts walking. I fall in step next to him. “And I meant it. I would have walked away from her and the Marshal had you not insisted on going off on your crusade. But I’m glad we did it.”

“Why?”

“Because now I don’t have to wonder whether that girl is dead and whether I could have saved her.”

Shades of regret and smudges of frustration shadow Atlas’s face. It makes me wonder how many others Atlas has watched walk away oblivious to the Marshals he knew were on their heels.

“You could have been killed.” My heart goes still at the thought. “They had guns.”

“Did you think they’d be carrying knitting needles?”

“No. I’ve just never seen one, except in movies.” No one I know of has, either.

There used to be a time when gun deaths in the country totaled in the tens of thousands every year. People didn’t know how to make it stop. After years of debate, Congress changed the laws that governed firearm ammunition. Every bullet from a manufacturer had to be stamped with a unique identification number and registered each time it changed hands. Bullets used in a crime could then be tracked back to the person who last registered them and that person charged as an accessory.

After a few years of arrests, most people were no longer interested in the risks associated with owning a gun. And those who kept their firearms took more care with how they used their guns and stored their ammunition. Between the Ammunition Registration Act and the City Pride Program, crime plummeted in Chicago. Now the city was one of the least likely places to hear a gunshot. Any gun-related death was a huge story.

At least, that’s what I’d been told to believe. Now I have to wonder if that is true or if there is another explanation for why Marshals and police officers have guns and few others do.

As we walk down the block, Atlas explains, “The Marshals can get away with firing their weapons as long as they do it in places where few people see. It’s why the Stewards try to stick to busy streets and methods of transportation where we’re rarely alone. The more witnesses, the less chance the Marshals or the government has of covering up a shooting. Panic is something they want to avoid.”

I picture the Marshal swinging the gun toward Atlas and the way Atlas fought him. He moved so fast. “How did you learn to fight like that? I thought the Stewards were all about books.”

“Just because people like to read doesn’t mean we can’t fight. All Stewards who spend time on the street are trained to handle themselves,” Atlas explains. “More than a few of us are hoping someday our training will be good for more than running from the Marshals. I can teach you what I know after the lockdown. The way you clocked that Marshal tells me you’ll be . . . What’s wrong?” he asks as he realizes I have stopped walking.