“Gracie!” Alexei pulls me to a stop. “Do you know who that was?”
Slowly, almost numbly, I nod. But I don’t tell him that the woman Ms. Chancellor was talking to is currently the most powerful politician in Adria. I don’t dare mention that the reason that she has the job is because Ms. Chancellor shot her predecessor, or that the world is living a lie. I don’t want to say the words society or conspiracy or treasure. No. I’m not going to give anyone else any more reason to think I’m crazy, because I know how it sounds — I know how it feels. And right now I don’t know which is more dangerous: what Ms. Chancellor did to protect me, or what these women might do to protect something else.
I won’t tell Alexei any of the things I can’t figure out, so I just stand there. Because when you can’t lie, sometimes that means you can’t say anything at all.
But Alexei, being Alexei, reads my silence.
“Wasn’t your mother’s name Caroline?” he asks.
The words are too much, too loud, too clear.
What harm did it do Caroline?
I’m sweating again, too hot and tired. The air around me feels like steam, and my side burns, a pain so intense that I’m afraid the fire of three years ago might still be raging, burning me from the inside out.
“Gracie —”
“Noah and the others are going to be looking for us. They’re going to be terrified. Now, please. Let’s go. Let’s just get out of here. Let’s —”
“Okay, Gracie.” Alexei takes my hand again. “Okay.”
A summer shower must have started while we were gone because water runs down the sides of the tunnel in places. Rain trickles down the corridor. I can actually see Ms. Chancellor’s wet footsteps up ahead, leading the way.
“This can get you back to Iran,” I tell him.
“I’m not leaving you. After what we just heard, I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again.”
“I’m okay, Alexei. I’m fine,” I say, pulling him along.
“No. You’re not. You’re … beeping?” Alexei looks as confused as I feel.
“I’m what?” But then I feel the vibration coming from my pocket. I’d almost forgotten about my brother’s phone until I reach inside and pull it out, look down at the screen. We must be inside cell range now, because the phone is vibrating constantly, downloading text after text. Notice after notice of voice mails and missed calls.
“They’re from Spence, the night of the murder,” I say as the texts keep coming. Over and over and over. Dozens of them. “They’re all from Spence.”
You’re not gonna believe this.
Bro, call me.
Where R U?
Call me ASAP.
I think I’m in trubl.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be able to make calls from the island,” Alexei says, and a cold realization dawns.
“You can’t.”
Finally, Alexei raises an eyebrow. “So if Spence was calling and texting your brother after the party but before he died, then …”
“Spence didn’t die on the island.”
By the time I reach Embassy Row I am absolutely drenched. But at least Alexei isn’t behind me — or at least, he’s not supposed to be. He should be back in Iran by now. He should be dry. He should be safe, invisible and protected from the manhunt that no doubt still blankets the city. I look back, but with the fog and the rain I can’t be sure that I’m not being followed.
Rain has driven the protestors back, and the mob is smaller, but police barricades still line the streets. At the newsstands, headlines blare in three languages about the vicious fugitive who is still on the run. The rain is heavy and the sky that was utterly cloudless a few hours ago is now dark and gray. It matches my mood.
And yet, I can almost swear that I hear music. In the distance, there’s a procession of people dancing in the street, and I know it’s part of the festival. The War of the Fortnight ended when the sky decided to rain and end the drought that plagued Adria. I’d almost forgotten this tradition — that the people will dance in the rain as long as it lasts. Longer.
But not me. I’ve got better things to do.
I’m not certain how much time has passed, but I know that Alexei and I have been separated from our friends for hours. I have to find a boat and go back to the island, to tell Noah, Rosie, Megan, and Lila where we’ve been — that we’re okay. But first I have to go to the embassy. I have to see Grandpa and Jamie. I have to give them Jamie’s phone and tell them that Spence made it to the mainland. I have to make sure that they know I’m okay.
But when I burst through the gate and onto US soil, no one notices. No one cares. And that’s when I realize that absolutely no one in this building has had time to miss me, time to worry. It’s almost anticlimactic, I think as I rush inside and up the stairs toward Grandpa’s office.
Jamie’s phone is in my hand, and my brain swirls with Spence’s final words, with the fact that he didn’t die on the island. I feel vindicated and alive and nothing can make me stop.