“I’ll handle it,” Valya says. A static roar engulfs him, but then he yelps, and the roar dissipates. His jaw tightens as he looks between Larissa and me. “He’s too strong. It’s like he’s … amplified himself somehow.”
A vein dances on Larissa’s forehead; her eyes are bloodshot. She’s grinding the heels of her hands into her temples like she’s trying to squeeze Rostov out. “Yul, I have to stay here. Keep him focused on me so you can escape.”
“No.” My chest constricts. “We’re almost there, I promise. Come on, we can—we can carry you if it hurts—”
“You don’t get it!” she screams. “If I go with you, those possibilities that I see, the branching choices you make—they’ll be that much clearer. And Rostov will be right there in my head, watching them being made. If I stay behind, at least I can give you a head start.”
I clamp my hand on her wrist. “Please, Lara, you haven’t come all this way not to leave with us!”
But she shakes me off. “I can see my future, right?” She smiles. “I can play their games and be just fine. It’s the ones like you and Valya—the ones who won’t play by the rules—who fare the worst. I’ll be all right. I swear.” Tears quiver in her eyes. “Besides, I owe you. For helping them catch you … I think I can buy you a few minutes more.”
“You always were the stubborn one,” Valentin says, offering her a rueful smile. “Ivan loved that about you.” He tugs on my shoulder. “We have to go.”
“Are you sure this will work?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from wavering.
“Rostov wants to see the possibilities of the future.” Larissa manages a half smile. “I think I’ll let him see just what I see.”
Larissa slinks to a sitting position in the alley and closes her eyes. Her music stops; her mind opens wide. My hand hovers over her shoulder. The images spiraling off of her make me dizzy—hundreds and hundreds of scenarios, all overlapping, some strong and others weak. A sentence being spoken over and over with each word tweaked. People jumping in front of cars, getting crushed—and then the same people stepping back onto the sidewalk at the last moment.
“It’s working,” Valentin says, though his mouth is grimly set. “Let’s go while we can.”
“Be careful, Larissa,” I whisper. I want to hug her, but I don’t dare break her concentration—her icy blue eyes are squeezed shut, tears eking through her lashes. She looks so young, yet so accepting of her heavy burden. I only wish I could show such strength. I twist away, shaking my head, and dash across the street with Valentin.
The doorway to the wrecked building is intact, save for an actual door—a stacked-stone archway leads into nothingness. We step through the arch and onto a waterfall of rubble. Peeking through the debris is a black-and-white checkerboard floor, scorched and scarred.
“Where now?” Valya slides down a shattered stone heap and onto the checkered floor. It sags dangerously to one side.
I’m afraid of what memories this miserable ruin might hold, but Papa’s melody is gone. Valya watches me expectantly, keeping his head low. His music is all knotted up, and I have no interest in untangling it to hear how little he’s trusting me right now.
I sink down onto the floor beside him. The stone creaks underfoot. I crouch down and drag my hands through the dust and snow along the tiled floor—
Sirens whirring overhead. She wears two fur coats and a heap of pearls and gems around her neck. The first mortar shatters the ballroom, stripping the hanging red banners to ribbons.
Now or never. The leather suitcase straps cut into her satin-gloved hands. Clattering tanks in the distance draw nearer. Her heels ping across the checkered floor as she counts the tile—one white, one black up; one white, one black, one white across. She drops to her hands and knees, brassy blond hair falling across her face, and digs at the tile’s edge.
The black chasm beneath the tile yawns at her with musty stench.
I jerk back into the present. “There’s a passageway. Under the floor. She used it to escape the Allies when they captured Berlin—” I shake my head. “Never mind. Let’s just look for an opening.”
To his credit, he doesn’t call me crazy, and drops to his hands and knees to search. “Over there.” He points to a chunk of debris where the snow has frozen over its edge, spilling onto the stone floor. “It could just be dirty snow, but it might be a hole.”
“Only one way to find out.” I kick the ice squarely with the heel of my boot.
The ice squeaks together as it compacts. I smash it a few more times; rocks shower down on me from the remnants of the upper levels. One last kick—and my leg goes clear through into a pit. I sink into the hole up to my thigh.
“No!” Valya locks both hands onto my arm. “Pull with me, Yul—”
But he slips and crashes against me. The last of the ice frozen over the hole gives way. I tumble down, practically doing the splits as my other leg comes through the hole, and Valya crashes on top of me on a bed of jagged stone.