“Let me drive,” Paige says, putting her hands on the shoulders of the front seats to crawl over the center console.

“No,” the driver answers. After another rough stop and start, he gets moving. For about ten seconds. The car coughs and dies.

“You’re going to strip the gears!” she says, grabbing the hand he has on the stick shift.

There’s a muffled yell outside the car. I turn in time to see the officer slam his baton into the driver’s window. The safety glass fractures but stays in one piece.

The cop raises his baton again just as the car roars back to life. We lurch forward. I turn around, looking out the back window to see the officer running after us with the baton raised again. He swings. This time, he misses.

But we are so not out of danger yet. A car parked beside the crowd of onlookers starts moving, heading toward us with its lights flashing.

I face forward again, see that the street is clear ahead, but I’ve seen enough police chases on TV to know that this won’t end well. We might be in the UK, but I’m sure they have helicopters and cameras the same as we do in the U.S. The only way we might—might—get away with this is with fae help. We need to get to the gate.

The guy driving brakes as he makes a sharp left. The turn goes well, but as soon as he tries accelerating again, the car sputters. Paige sprawls over the console and has to brace a hand against the front dash. I grip the back of the driver’s seat and hold on.

“You’re going to get us killed,” Paige says. “Move.”

“You’re sitting on the gearshift.” He leans his shoulder into her, trying to push her out of the way. Ahead, a patrol car sits at an intersection. It starts to pull out, blocking our street.

Paige grabs the wheel, spinning it. I’m thrown against the door, and I swear we nearly flip as we make a wild left turn.

“Jesus Christ, Paige!” The driver rights the steering wheel, but once again, the car lurches.

“This isn’t working.” I grab the door handle. “We’re going to have to run.”

“Not if this asshole cooperates,” Paige says. She gets her legs underneath her, then somehow maneuvers her way into the guy’s lap. She’s petite enough that she’s actually able to fit under the wheel. From the backseat, I can’t see what exactly happens next, but there’s a grunt of pain from the driver, the gears grind one last time, then tires squeal as we take off.

Sirens blare beside us. I curse when I see the patrol car speeding toward my window. Curse again when Paige yanks the wheel, sending me across the backseat. I’m awkwardly wedged onto the floorboard when I’m flung in the other direction.

Adrenaline surges through me—I’m pretty sure we’re going to crash any second—but when I manage to crawl back into my seat, I see that Paige totally has this.

She’s shifting gears like a pro, dodging pedestrians and random medians in the road. She hasn’t shaken the cops pursuing us, though. At least three vehicles are on our tail.

“You’re on the wrong side of the road,” the guy formerly driving the car says. He’s maneuvered himself into the passenger seat. The tendons in his throat are tight, and he’s holding on to the door and center console as if they’re his only lifelines.

“Seat belt,” I say calmly, yanking on the strap over his shoulder. I still tense with every close call and last-minute turn the car makes, but I keep my breaths steady and force myself to trust Paige’s driving. She’s doing better than I could, which is ironic because I know she doesn’t have a license, and I’m fairly certain she’s never even owned a car.

I grab my own seat belt and buckle in. “We’re not going to be able to lose the cops. We need—”

“We’ll go back to where we fissured in at,” Paige interrupts. “Someone will find us there.”

The someone she’s talking about has to be a remnant. “Paige. We need to talk. What did they tell you? Do you know who they are?”

Her eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you mean what they are? They’re fae. And I’m totally pissed you never told me about them.”

Obviously, they told her about them. I’m grateful for that, though, and if they’ve convinced her that they’re the good guys in the war, then they must not have hurt or threatened her. After seeing what they did to the Sighted humans, I’m grateful for that.

The former driver looks over his shoulder at me. “You know where a gate is?”

“North side of the river near the docks,” I say. Then I add, “Who are you?”

I’m extremely curious. He and Paige obviously know each other. They must have both been with the remnants. They kidnapped Paige because of her connection to me, but I’ve never met this guy. I don’t think he was one of Atroth’s humans.

Atroth’s murdered humans.

“My name’s Lee,” he says.

“He’s the jerk who’s using me to find you,” Paige adds. Then she slams on the brake and spins the wheel.

I brace against the front seat again.

There’s a squeal of tires behind us, then a crash as we lose a patrol car.

Paige sideswipes one of the city’s signature red phone booths and keeps driving.

“Using you to find me?” I ask, a death grip on the back of the driver’s seat.

“I’m just looking for my brother,” Lee says.

“Who you need McKenzie to find.” She makes a relatively controlled turn to the right. “Hey, I found the river.”

“We need to go south,” I say, taking a closer look at Lee. He’s facing forward again. The light from the radio highlights his profile. His eyes are dark, and his black, spiky hair is meticulously styled.

“You’re looking for Naito,” I say, certain I see a few faint Caucasian features in his otherwise angular Asian face.

“You do know him,” he says, peering back at me.

“Yeah,” I say, but I don’t elaborate. I had no clue Naito had a brother. He never mentioned one, but then, he never mentioned his father very much either. Understandably, since Nakano is the person who killed Kelia. Nakano leads the group of Sighted humans who attacked the rebels back when they held me captive in Germany. They loathe the fae and are determined to kill them whenever and wherever they can. We call them vigilantes, and they’re a perfect example of why the fae hide themselves from human society.

“You have the Sight?” I ask. The Sight is supposedly hereditary, but it’s extremely rare for two immediate family members to possess it. For all three to have it, that’s truly remarkable.

We cross to the other side of a bridge before Lee answers, “Yeah. I have the Sight.”

That tells me nothing about his allegiance.

“Have you been with the rem…with the fae for long?” I ask.

“We met them a week ago,” Paige says, swerving onto the road running parallel to the river.

“I can answer for myself,” Lee says.

“Oh, really?” Her blond bangs fall into her face when she swings her gaze to him. “You don’t need to consult—”

“I can answer for myself,” he says again. This time, it sounds like he’s gritting his teeth.