“No.” I shake my head as the group we were walking with pass over their money and retrieve change. They’ll be leaving soon. “Please . . .” I look up at Atlas. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

“You promised me before tonight started that you wouldn’t be a hero. That when it was time to run, you would run.”

“Yes, but—”

He takes my face in his hands and cuts off my protests with his lips. They are hot and strong, and I grab his arms and hold as tight as I can because I don’t want to let him go. Not now that I have just found him. That we have found each other.

Atlas leans back and just like that, the kiss—our moment—is over. The music on the pier continues to play. The Marshals are still looking for us. The people providing our unwitting cover are collecting their nachos and drinks—getting ready to move on.

“Meri,” Atlas says, his eyes hot on mine, “I’m going to fight like hell to get off this pier and back to you. But to do that, I need you to trust me enough to leave me behind. I need you to do what you promised.”

I pull Atlas’s head down, press my lips against his one more time, and before I can change my mind, I rejoin the laughing, carefree group and walk away. One of the guys notices me and grins. I blink back tears and return the smile as each step puts more distance between Atlas and me.

“Did you go to the concert?” I ask, spotting a Marshal near the waterside edge of the pier.

The music crackles and cuts out, and a voice over the loudspeaker announces, “Due to an electrical problem, Navy Pier is now closed.”

All around, people groan.

“Yeah,” the guy next to me answers. “We were there in the back. How about you?”

“I was up front. It was—”

“Hey!” A uniformed officer comes running toward me. It takes a second to realize he is pointing not at me but at something off to the side—near the water. “Hey! Stop!”

Marshals race by, and I keep pace with the growing crowd heading off the pier. “Stop him!” someone shouts.

Several people crane their necks to see what’s happening. I’m bumped and jostled and I am desperate to stop and look back, but I promised to keep moving forward. So I do.

A woman’s scream rakes over my heart. Four pops crack like whips against the night. I feel each resonate deep in my chest. My eyes burn with tears, but I affix Atlas’s face in my mind and walk away.

Police officers are scattered around the fountain. A dozen black sedans like the one Mr. Webster drives are parked out front, with men in suits milling around. Marshals in their distinctive boots stand near the curb and grab people holding the Stewards’ pages from the crowd. I keep my head down and—

Someone bumps into me hard. The jolt sends the bags I’m carrying sliding off my shoulder. As they hit the ground, the top of the dictionary slides out.