People flood in around me and press tight, making it hard to breathe. They crowd against me, just wanting to get to the other side, and I’m causing trouble and getting in the way.

I’m drawing attention and attention isn’t good. But I refuse to give up. Already she’s out of my sight. Already I may never find her again. The Recruiter must see the resolve in my eyes the moment before I move, because his muscles tense, ready for me. I’m just about to lunge at him, just about to fight my way through the door, when we both hear the fierce growling and barking of dogs and then the explosion of the alarm blaring over the bridge.

Every door rolls shut, the heavy metal pinning one poor woman’s fingers against the jamb, causing her to howl in pain. The Recruiter forgets about me and leaps for a rope ladder, climbing to one of the lookout posts at the top of each wall.

All around me people press against the side of the bridge, trying to see what caused the commotion, shouting at each other in confusion. I elbow my way through them, keeping low until I can shove my head through the gaps in the railing. The sound of dogs barking, their growls deep and ferocious, underscores the wailing siren piercing my ears.

It’s almost impossible to figure out what’s going on, but there’s clearly chaos at the checkpoint on the island end of the bridge. A few Recruiters gesture wildly and I watch as they push a young man to his knees against the metal wall circling the shore of the island. Dogs lurch at him, their backs spiked with rage.

He pulls something from his pocket—some sort of disk that looks like one of the old Recruiter IDs—and holds it out to them. One of the men snatches it and frowns, disappearing into the guardhouse as the young man kneels, his hands held up as if trying to entreat the guards who pull knives from their belts. The dogs smell the infection—they won’t allow him onto the island. He’s too dangerous.

The siren eats away at the air, cutting off everything except the sound of the woman still screaming as they try to pry her fingers from the steel door. Everyone around me jostles, all of us straining to see what will happen next.

A large man, his Recruiter uniform crisp and clean with a red sash across his chest, storms out of the guardhouse, towering over the young man. The Recruiter’s mouth moves but none of us can hear what he says and the young man keeps shaking his head, his hands raised palms-out.

Just then a blur bolts from the crowd at the edge of the bridge. It’s my sister. She’s running at the large Recruiter, tangling her arms around his neck. He twists, batting her away, but in the split second of distraction the young man lunges to his feet and throws himself against the metal wall, feet scrabbling as he clambers to the top and slides down the other side along the river.

Chaos erupts, Recruiters running to climb after the young man as others on the bridge take aim with their crossbows. Around me people scream and lunge out of the way but I stay kneeling, watching the young man scrabble along the shore while bolts pepper the ground around him.

“Got him!” one of the Recruiters shouts. The young man stumbles, a bright red streak of blood along his arm where a bolt clipped him. He loses his balance and starts to slip toward the river running under the bridge. And with a splash, he’s gone.

Everyone around me holds a collective breath as they wait for his body to break back up to the surface. Except me. I’m staring at the girl—at my sister—the one who is me. Abigail. She’s crouching where the young man knelt just before he ran. Thin lines of blood well along her arm where her sleeve was torn in the scuffle, and she holds her fists to her temples. One of the dogs thrusts his nose against her elbow and she leans on him as if she has no idea what to do next.

Two of the Recruiters slap hands as they walk past her and she raises her head. They must tell her what happened as they haul her to her feet, because she opens her mouth, and even with the havoc flaring around me I can hear her screaming in rage. It reverberates inside my head as if it were my voice and my throat and my pain.

I will her to look at me. To turn her head and glance my way. I beg her with my mind to see me. To know I’m here. But she doesn’t move. Her gaze never wavers from the towering metal wall where the young man just stood.

Below me the ripples on the river die out to a calm smooth glass. The man never comes to the surface.

Chapter III

The siren eventually cuts out and the Recruiters order everyone to line up so they can search us. They go from section to section with the dogs, trying to determine if any of the rest of us might be infected like the young man.

By the time I’m released everything’s in disarray and I’m able to double back toward the Neverlands, but when I finally make it off the bridge I can’t find my sister anywhere. I race to the wall where I last saw her and press my hand against the cold rust-pocked metal, trying to feel her.

Not too far away a group of Recruiters huddle in a circle around a low fire, laughing and passing around a clay jug. I square my shoulders and as I approach, one with a thick white mustache breaks away, stopping me before I get too close. I’m acutely aware of the way they all stare.

“What are you looking for, hon?” he asks, his voice a mixture of warning and stern amicability.

“What happened to the girl?” I keep my chin up, my hair tucked behind my ears. I feel wide open and vulnerable but I have to know if he sees what I saw: if he notices the resemblance or if I’m just believing what I want to. That my sister is still alive. That I didn’t leave her to die in the Forest after all.

But like everyone else, his gaze fixes on my scars and then bounces away again, to the water and the bridge and the wall and the ground. Everywhere but at my face. He’s an older man and a look of kindness still hovers around the tilt of his mouth.

“She was a friend,” I prod.

He reaches down and tugs on one of the ears of his dog, which leans against his leg, tail twitching lazily. “I wouldn’t worry about her.” I can tell this isn’t what he means; he’s telling me I should forget about her. He shrugs and still refuses to look at me directly. “They might let her go, but …”

I don’t want to think about the “but.” I can’t. “Please,” I beg, hating the taste of the word but knowing I’ll do what it takes to find my sister. I even let my eyes water, hoping tears will help my cause.

“They’ll take her to the headquarters on the Sanctuary,” he says eventually. “That’s my guess. I’d also guess you won’t be seeing her again.” He pauses before adding, in a lower tone that doesn’t carry far, “Don’t go looking for trouble.”

It’s clear he’s trying to tell me that hanging around the group of Recruiters any longer will be inviting trouble. With a nod I turn back to the crowd, allowing myself to fade into forgotten people whose shoulders slump and gazes dull as I try to figure out what to do now. How to find my sister, if that really was her.

I was so close to leaving. So close to saying good-bye to all the pain and misery this place has caused me. A tension pulls along my neck as I realize everything’s changed again. I can’t go—not yet. Not when my other half might be here.

There’s no point in searching for my old village in the Forest if my sister’s here on the island.

Letting my hair fall back in my face, I thread through the crowd as it thins, people wandering different directions. Most of them will stay in the Neverlands, the broad swath of crumbling neighborhoods that comprise the north end of the island.

I make my way south toward the Palisades—the thick layer of walls and defenses that separates the Neverlands from the Dark City. It used to be that the Dark City was the safest place to live other than the Sanctuary, where the Protectorate was housed before the Rebellion. But now the City’s just as barren and worn down as the rest of the island. Without the Protectorate there’s no authority to control the Recruiters, to manage the formerly vast array of patrols that secured the Dark City’s borders and kept the streets clear of infection. Now there’s no check on the Recruiter power.

Those with connections fled in the wake of the Rebellion. Others seeped into the sprawling underground network of black markets in the Neverlands. The rest of us remained out of some sort of desperate hope that maybe one day things would right themselves and we could go back to living life the way it was before.

But of course we’re only deluding ourselves by staying. Between the Unconsecrated and what’s left of the Recruiters, the City’s not safe anymore. And there are only two options for a girl with no connections like me: Figure out how to take care of yourself, or find someone in the black markets to take care of you.

I’ve never liked the kind of protection they’ve offered, so I’ve spent the last three years completely on my own.

As I walk toward the Palisades, clouds gather over the mainland, wind rushing along the river and twining through the narrow alleys, whistling against windows busted out so long ago that weeds spill over the ledges and trail down broken facades.

In my mind I keep replaying the moment on the bridge when I noticed my sister; I keep picturing her face. Her expressions and the way she carried herself. But the farther I move from the river and the bridge, the more I begin to doubt what I saw.

I left my sister alone in the Forest, and I’ve spent the last decade of my life alternating between assuming that she got lost like Elias and me and died or that she somehow made it back to the village and has lived there safely ever since. Either way, I can’t imagine how she could have ended up here on the island.

Could the girl just be someone who looks like me? Who merely has hair like mine? It’s not like it’s rare to have blond hair. It’s not like I have any extraordinary features that make me stand out in a crowd. Other than my scars, of course.

Laughter trails down the alley behind me, snapping me from my thoughts. I cross my arms over my chest and pull my coat tight, hunching my shoulders. It’s colder here in the shadows, the pinch of winter settling between the cracks.

Someone calls out and I walk faster, staring at my feet and trying to train my senses behind me. Just as I reach the corner there are more shouts and the sound of feet running.

I spin back into a broken doorway and fumble for the knife in my pocket. There’s a group of three men down the road circling a bone-thin girl who barely looks old enough to be a teenager and a tall lanky boy who doesn’t seem much older, both wearing dingy gray tunics that flutter around their knees. One of the men lunges at the boy, throwing a punch, and they tangle. The girl backs away, her eyes wide and lips trembling.

In the shadows of the alley our gazes connect. She’s shorter than I am, petite with slim shoulders and a pointed chin. One of the men reaches for her, wraps a hand around her upper arm, and she cries for help. Her gaze pleading for me to do something.

I grip the knife so hard my fingers ache. The men can’t see me here, huddled against an old concrete pillar just out of their line of sight. The girl fights against her attacker’s grip, screaming now. The boy reaches for her but he’s on his hands and knees on the ground, the two men alternating kicks to his ribs.

My teeth hurt, I’m clenching them so tight, and my heart pounds furiously. I should help them. There’s no one else around and it’s not hard to see that the boy and girl are severely outmatched.

I could sneak along the edge of the alley and try to surprise the men. I could run and search for someone else. I could throw something.

But none of these things would really help—they’d only serve to draw attention to me as well, and I know better than to invite trouble.

I’m rooted in place, unable to make up my mind to help, when two Recruiters stumble past me, their focus on the scuffle down the road rather than on me, crouching in my ragged clothes.

“What’s going on?” one of them shouts in a booming voice. The men scatter away from the pair, leaving the girl shaking, her companion on his side on the ground, groaning as he clutches his abdomen.

She looks at the Recruiters as if they’re her saviors. My stomach turns.

“Thank you,” she starts to say as the two Recruiters split apart, one moving to either side of her. “Those men, they told me they know about a place to buy fresh meat, but …” Her voice trails off as one of the Recruiters places a hand on her shoulder, his thumb curling over her collarbone.

“You two Soulers?” he asks. He and his fellow Recruiter trade a look as if they’ve just found treasure at the bottom of a garbage bin.

The girl swallows, wide eyes dancing between the men. Her chest rises and falls, sharp and quick like a bird. Reluctantly, she nods, and the Recruiters grin widely.

“We’ve been looking for some of you,” he says. “Man in charge has a few questions he wants answered. Though I don’t see there being any rush.”

A rage burns inside me. There used to be a time when the Recruiters were worth something. When they actually protected the people rather than preyed on them. The smart thing would be for me to fade back into the shadows and sneak away. It’s safer for me to just forget this girl and boy who were stupid enough to trust a stranger.

I’ve never been anyone’s savior—I’ve barely been able to keep myself alive, much less anyone else. But then I think about my sister and how I left her in the Forest.

Shifting my weight, I start to move away from the group, when one of the Recruiters reaches out and flicks at the girl’s stringy ponytail, then wraps it around his fingers and tilts her head back.

She doesn’t scream. She probably understands there’s not anyone she could call for help, not anymore. The boy on the ground tries to crawl to his feet but the other Recruiter just places his foot on his back, pushing him down.