I think about the pill in my pocket. This moment is why the deadman’s switch exists. To keep those who are still fighting for the truth—like Rose and Atlas—safe. I know what I’m supposed to do now, but I can’t. Maybe Scarlett was right about me not belonging in the Stewards. Maybe I’m not brave enough because I can’t make the choice to die.

“Turn around slowly and come with me. No reason to be a martyr for something you can’t possibly understand.”

My heart roars in my chest.

“People are going to know the truth,” I say as the Marshal yanks me out of the doorway. “They’re going to demand answers. You won’t be able to stop them.”

“You want to bet on that?” the Marshal asks.

“I’ll take that bet.” Spine’s voice comes out of nowhere. She spins. Kicks. Her foot connects with the Marshal’s arm. He stumbles, and I reach into my bag for the hard-covered book I used earlier today and slam it into the Marshal’s face. The man screams. Blood spurts from his nose as he lifts his gun toward me. I raise the book again, knowing it won’t stop the bullet, but suddenly the man reels backward as Atlas appears and latches on to the guy’s arm. The sharp crack of the gunshot makes me go cold. It strikes the nearby pavement with a loud bang. The Marshal wrenches his arm away, spins under Atlas’s punch, and rams his head into Atlas’s stomach, sending the two crashing to the ground.

The Marshal recovers first, gun still in his hand. Atlas starts to push up from the ground, but before he can get to his feet or the Marshal can take aim, Spine is there. She spins away from the Marshal’s jab, grabs his arm before he recovers, and jams her foot into his crotch.

“Get out of here!” Spine yells.

I help Atlas climb to his feet as the Marshal gasps. Together we run to the entrance of the atrium. We glance back in time to see the Marshal sink to his knees. Spine lands another kick, then punches his already bloody face before shoving him to the ground.

Eyes bright, Spine steps toward us. She swipes a trickle of blood off her cheek and opens her mouth to speak when three pops echo in the air.

Spine jerks. Her eyes go wide, and she takes a halting step forward.

Someone screams.

There’s another pop. Spine mouths one word—“Go!” Then she drops to her knees.

I spot the female Marshal near the carousel. Her gun is extended as it swings toward us.

Terrified shrieks fill the air. Atlas moves to help Spine, but I grab his hand and pull him toward the atrium entrance.

“She’s dead.” The words stab deep into my heart. Spine is dead, and it’s because of me. My steps slow. I insisted we fight. If I hadn’t pushed, she would be in the Lyceum—safe. Flap wouldn’t have been taken or killed. Dewey—