If not for the fear of stepping on someone below me in the darkness, I wouldn’t have waited for Max to help me down—I would have jumped myself. But I couldn’t see where I would land, so I was forced to place my hand in his.

He pulled me toward him and I landed in his arms, my body sliding down the length of his. Suddenly I was aware of everything about him, his strength, the heat of his body against mine, his hands at my hips as he gradually drew me down—far slower, I thought, than necessary for the task. Fire burst from the core of me and shot through my veins as I told myself that none of this mattered. None of it was real.

My hands were at his shoulders, and my thumbs brushed against his neck, and even that simple contact, that stroke of bare skin against bare skin, made me blush all over. A wanting shiver clutched me in its grasp.

When my toes touched the gravel beneath me, a sigh escaped my lips that I fervently prayed he hadn’t heard, although I wasn’t sure how he could have missed it. He was only a breath away from me.

For several beats too long, he continued to hold me pressed against him, his palms flat against my back, and I didn’t move away. I vaguely wondered what we looked like to anyone watching us—to Sydney and Angelina. But still, I stayed rooted where I was, feeling his heartbeat thundering beneath my cheek.

Someone near my feet coughed, and then I heard whispers, sounds that had been there all along, but that I had only just noticed.

I shuffled backward, just one tiny step, but that space between us felt infinite. His hands dropped from my back and mine fell from his chest, and we parted as I went to join Angelina, taking her hand from the other girl.

I was too ashamed of myself to make eye contact with either of them.

Max took the lead again, directing us to the small opening on the ground. It was smaller than it had looked from the platform, but several people moved aside to make a little more room for us. Thanks to their shifting, there was just enough space for one person to lean against the rough brick wall. The rest of us would have to sit up straight in the gravel or lean against one another.

One look at Sydney, and there was no question that she was the one who needed to rest. Dark rivers of drying blood crept down the side of her cheek, and her skin looked gray even in the gloom. She fell into the spot, letting her head collapse back against the bricks. I eased myself onto the crushed rocks with my legs crossed, creating a nest for Angelina, who slipped easily onto my lap. Max sat beside me, his shoulder pressed right against mine.

I could feel every breath he took, could feel the strength in the muscles that rippled down his arms.

On the other side of me, I brushed against a man’s back as he guarded over a woman and three small children.

I shot a sheepish glance Max’s way, feeling suddenly speechless and uncomfortable, neither of which I was accustomed to. Angelina tipped her head back, looking first to me and then to Max, watching each of us silently in turn.

When she was satisfied—and comfortable—she leaned against my chest, and I saw her pull Muffin from her inside jacket pocket. She tucked the doll beneath her chin, using it as a makeshift pillow, and her breathing slowed.

“She’s tough, isn’t she?”

I narrowed my eyes at Max’s statement, a small smile finding its way to my lips. Angelina was tiny and fragile-looking, and she never spoke, but all of that was deceiving. She was whip-smart and took in everything around her. I’d always known that about her, even when everyone else underestimated her.

She never missed a thing, and she was strong. In my mind I thought of her as a fighter, a scrapper. Little, but wily and resilient.

Funny that Max had noticed it too.

“Yeah, she is,” I answered. “As long as we’re together, I think she’ll be okay.”

“I want to thank you.” Sydney’s voice interrupted us, surprising me because I half expected her to be sleeping already. She looked worn, battered. “For back there, at the park . . . when you saved me from being crushed by those people.” She glanced down at her hands, guilt evident on her face. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m not sure I would have done the same if I were you.”

I didn’t know what to say. I still wasn’t sure why I’d done it; it wasn’t as if I hadn’t fantasized about worse things happening to her and the other kids at B th Qids at her school. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything to deserve my sympathy.

Except that she was still a person. Cruel and nasty, perhaps, but no one deserved to be trampled like that.

Not even her.

She turned her eyes toward me, tears making them glisten in the faint glow of a far-off lantern, and somehow I forgot to hate her. Somehow I managed to erase all the terrible things she had said to me in the past, how she’d reminded me, time and time again, that I was of a lower class than she and her Academy friends.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, a tear slipping free and tracing a path to her chin. She swiped at it, frowning. “I hope you’ll forgive me.” Then she leaned forward, her hand extended to me. “I’m Sydney. Sydney Leonne.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to decide if I should respond, but wondering whether there was really any decision to make. Hadn’t I already made my choice when I’d pulled her to safety instead of running away?

I accepted her hand, startled that her fingers felt so much like my own. She was just a girl. An ordinary girl, alone and frightened. “I’m Charlie. And this,” I explained, pointing to the bundle in my lap, “is my sister, Angelina.”