The silence stretches. Finally, Dad says, “Okay. I’m going to the alley now. But, Meri—”

“Leave your phone at home so they’ll think you’re still there.” I make sure the police are looking the other way and hurry toward the bus. “I’ll explain everything when I see you.” I hit End and let my phone drop to the ground. Then I climb up the metal step and remain standing like Atlas taught me as the bus drives away.

I take calming breaths that do nothing to ease my worry as I navigate my way back to the cross streets where I told my father we would meet. And when I see him standing near a streetlight . . . I’m tired and sore, but, once again, I run.

He smells of alcohol, but I don’t care. I hug him tight, pull him toward the station, then go through the process of entering the code. “Get in, quickly,” Index says, moving to let us inside.

“Who’s this?” Dewey appears at the end of the hall. His pants are ripped, and there’s a bruise on his cheek, but his hat is still firmly on his head. “We expected you back before now. What happened?”

“This is my dad. I had to bring him,” I say, watching the doorway, hoping to see one person who doesn’t appear. “I was recognized,” I admit, and it all comes rushing out. Spine’s death. Flap being carted away. Atlas and the gunshots and finally escaping from Mr. Beschloss, who saw the book and has most likely sent people to my home.

“Index will make arrangements for both of you.” Dewey sighs and holds out his hand to my father. “Your wife was a fine lady. Merriam is a lot like her.”

“Who is Merriam?” my father asks. “What are you doing with my daughter, and how is it that you knew my wife?”

“Not the questions I would ask, but I suppose we all have to start somewhere,” Dewey answers. When my father blinks, Dewey shakes his head. “Why don’t we go somewhere and talk. I promise I’ll do my best to speak slow.”

“I should—”

“You should go upstairs,” Dewey instructs as Index leads my confused and annoyed father down the hall. “There are others who have returned and are waiting.”

The grief that I’ve kept at bay until now swells. As does the guilt. “I don’t know if I can face everyone. Not after Spine and Flap and who knows how many others.”

“There was always going to come a time when we took a stand. We all knew going in sacrifices would be made.”

“Yeah, but I was the one that picked the locations. I—”

“Just because you lit the match doesn’t mean you control the flame. Think about that before you wallow in guilt.” With that, Dewey wanders off to speak to my father and I steel myself and go upstairs.

Two screens flicker in the dimly lit room. Over a dozen faces turn toward me, but it all fades when I spot the one I most needed to see, limping in my direction. He has a gash on his forehead and a bloody, makeshift bandage on his arm, but he is steady and strong, and I realize his clothes are wet when he puts his arms around me and holds me close.