It was dark on the other side, with none of the light from the city finding its way through.

“Get out of the way,” I called down to Angelina, not sure exactly where she was.

I leaped from the wall, landing heavily on my feet and crouching low, my hands splayed in the damp grass in front of me. Angelina scrambled forward, finding me in the darkness, her small hands reaching for me Bgaim">dinjust moments after I hit the ground. Behind me, the sirens never relented.

I didn’t waste any time; I reached around her waist, ignoring the fatigue in my arms and the fiery pain in my cheek, and I hauled her up again as I raced toward the mines ahead of us.

Brush and vines that grew around the mouth of the shaft looked like the shadowy outlines of jagged teeth. I barreled forward, not bothering to glance around to see who might be watching us. I needed to get inside, to find cover.

In the shaft, the blackness was almost complete, but I didn’t slow. I reached out, using the chiseled walls to guide me. I knew these tunnels; Aron and Brook and I had passed many long days inside these passageways as children, exploring and setting up camps and pretending that the mines were our own private queendoms.

And now I prayed they would provide shelter for me and my sister.

We stayed hidden within the caverns long after the sirens had stopped screaming. My cheek continued to throb, finding rhythm with my pulse until I knew my eye would soon swell shut.

I let my lids drift closed, fatigue settling through me. I felt fingertips brush over the bruise that was already forming—Angelina’s fingertips—and before I could stop her, her lips brushed over it too, kissing it lightly. So much like a mother might do.

My own fingers closed around hers, my eyes wide now, alert. But it was too late. Already I could feel tingling in the wake of her touch. Already I could feel the ache beginning to fade.

“Don’t,” I whispered, thankful it was dark in the cavern, and that no one could see us. “You can’t do that. Never. Do you understand?”

She stared back at me, and I hated the flash of hurt I saw on her face in the gloom. I didn’t mean to frighten, or even to scold her. I just wanted to protect her and keep her safe. But her touch reminded me of why I was here, of why I’d been injured in the first place, and it forced me to forget about the sirens, the panic, the pain.

We couldn’t risk exposing our secrets in front of anyone. Ever.

“It’s okay. We’re safe now,” I soothed, squeezing her until I felt her relax again in my arms.

Eventually, Angelina drifted into a fitful sleep, but there was little chance that I would sleep tonight. I was tired—exhausted even—but the fear kept creeping back in, keeping me vigilant. That, and the nagging discomfort.

Beneath my jacket, my thin nightdress provided little warmth; Angelina provided the rest. I squirmed against the unyielding wall, trying not to disturb my sister, but my arm was cramped and my back and shoulders ached.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what my father had said, about staying behind to stop an advancing army from searching for me and Angelina, and I wondered why it felt like something was lacking in his explanation.

It was a lantern’s flame that shattered the darkness, casting a painful glow that scorched my eyes. But in that moment I saw Aron, and he saw me, and suddenly Angelina and I were no longer alone.

I could see the others now too. There were families who clung to one an Bgai haxhauother for support, and people who had no one. Some I recognized, some were strangers. But we were all united now, seeking asylum within the cavernous underground walls.

Aron grinned as he scurried away from his family, rushing to where my sister and I were huddled. His father was too busy gossiping with those around him to notice his son’s absence, his stepmother too meek to point it out.

“I was hoping you’d come here,” I exhaled gratefully when Aron reached us. I scanned the darkness behind him. “What about Brook?”

Aron shook his head. “She’s not here. Her father probably took her to one of the city shelters.”

“Speaking of . . .” I glanced dubiously at Aron’s father. “How did your dad get outside the city’s walls?” I tried to imagine Aron pushing his father over the wall, the way I had Angelina.

“You’d be surprised how spry he can be with the threat of war at his heels.” His eyebrows were raised, but I could see he wasn’t kidding, and I was mildly impressed.

Aron settled down beside me and I leaned heavily against him, more relieved to have his company than I could possibly express.

“How is she?” he asked, nodding toward Angelina.

I bristled, even knowing that there was no underlying meaning behind his words. I knew that if I looked into his eyes I wouldn’t see the unspoken questions about why she was always silent, about why Angelina couldn’t speak the way other children her age could. Questions that always worried me, and made me wonder if maybe they suspected something more, if maybe they’d realized she was different in other ways as well.

“She’s fine,” I said a little too harshly. And then with less hostility: “Just tired.” I knew Aron would understand that.

We stayed quiet, listening to the hushed voices around us that speculated on what might be happening in the city beyond the walls. There was no class division in those moments, yet I could distinguish variations in voice, in tone, in language. And even though I couldn’t share what I heard with Aron, I understood every word of it.

People wondered aloud about the possibility of an all-out assault on the city. Others spoke of a malfunction in the city’s defenses.