There is another crack of gunfire. The bullet clangs against the doorframe beside me, and I pull myself together and get moving. Spine gave her life to save mine. I won’t let that be for nothing.

People swarm off the carousel in panic, moving between us and the Marshal.

“This way!” I yell to Atlas, who gives one last look at Spine’s unmoving body before turning to follow me into the atrium. Crystal water sprays in dozens of fountains. Lights glisten off the water and make the flowers look otherworldly as people scream.

“There are Marshals in the next building. Go for the emergency exit!” Atlas yells.

“It’ll set off an alarm.”

“That’s the least of our problems.”

A Marshal appears at the other end of the atrium, and the discussion is over as we run to the emergency exit. A shrill, incessant siren echoes in the stairwell as we pound down the steps to the hallway below.

“Now what?” I pant. We’ve left the public part of the pier. I’m no longer sure where we are or where to run next, but we’re going to have to make a decision—fast.

“There are at least a dozen Marshals swarming the pier,” Atlas says as we head down the hall to who knows where. “They’ll be guarding the exits, and they won’t leave until they have checked every inch of this place.”

So we can’t simply stroll outside, and we can’t stay here. “What about the boats?”

Somewhere above us a door slams open. Footsteps sound as I dump the book I’m still holding in my bag and race to keep up with Atlas. He shoves open an exit door, and we head out into the night.

I can barely catch my breath as we fall in step next to a group of five guys and three girls who appear to be only a handful of years older than us. I force myself to walk as if we belong with these people, who are currently talking about whose house they are going to next. To pretend Spine didn’t just die before my eyes and her killer isn’t in pursuit.

In my head I am screaming that we should run, but I keep my pace unhurried and stay close to the others. Only the nearer we get to the end of the pier, the more Marshals and police officers I count. Some are picking up fluttering papers from the ground or ripping them from people’s hands. Others are stopping tourists and asking questions. A Marshal pulls a man out of a group and marches him over to the side where another waits with his arms behind his back. Neither arrested man looks familiar, but both have rich brown skin and short hair. Something that isn’t lost on Atlas.

He pulls me around the side of the concession stand and puts his hands firmly on my shoulders. “We have to split up.”

“What?” My heart jumps. “No. We have to stay together.”

“They won’t look twice at you as long as you walk through the exit with this group,” Atlas whispers. Nearby a speaker blasts upbeat music about the feeling of freedom.