“Hopefully, the men notice I’m gone first,” Jost says, his hands white knuckled on the steering wheel. “They’ll probably assume I’m out somewhere killing Erik. It’s actually a fantastic alibi.”

“Yeah,” Dante says, from the backseat. “Because it’s very believable.”

“To be clear,” Erik says, “you probably won’t kill me though?”

“The night is young.”

“Let’s get to the island before we kill each other,” Dante suggests in a mild tone that grows weaker as the adrenaline wears off.

We collapse into silence after this, the somewhat good-natured threat still hanging in the air. Although it’s clear now that everyone knows about the drama between Jost, Erik, and me.

Now that we’re off the estate, the road grows wild the farther we get from the inhabited Icebox. I turn around, hoping to stem the rolling nausea from our ride. “Dante,” I call, leaning my chin against my seat, “do you think Jax will be okay?”

We’d left him at the estate to deal with the fallout of the explosion. Dante grins. “He’ll be fine. He’s headed straight to the Agenda to let them know what’s happened so we can rendezvous with Falon later.”

“That night when I caught you in the cells,” I say, hoping this question doesn’t destroy Dante’s mood, “did you get my mother out?” I’ve been wondering since I found him strapped to the exam table, not knowing when or how he’d been taken.

Dante swallows hard and nods, but he doesn’t give me any details.

Her freedom means she’ll come after me again, but I have new enemies to worry about. The woman I knew as my mother is already dead. Even if I alter her I don’t think I can erase what’s happened. Would she remember what she’s done? The people she’s killed? I’ve spent enough nights contemplating how my own actions have led to deaths: Enora, my father, the nameless threads I ripped in cold blood. I was passive in those actions but I feel their blood on my hands like the sticky, black substance that coated my feet on the night of my retrieval. I can’t dismiss the past, it lives in my head and infects me. Even with her soul back, her morality intact, would my mother be able to calm the bitter truth of what she’s done?

And I know one thing for certain, my mother would want me to push forward, to find the Whorl, to get to Amie. I haven’t given up on that yet. I won’t let Arras and Earth be severed without reaching Amie first and removing her from Cormac’s control.

But Loricel’s words the good of the many whisper in my mind. I can’t sacrifice a world for a sister as much as I can’t sacrifice an opportunity for my mother. If I did, the groans of the dead would haunt me, calling to me, slowly driving me insane. Loricel asked me to think about my choices. At a loom to help others she made decisions. I have no loom now—merely passion swelling up inside me like a flooding dam ready to burst into action. Sometimes the only way to serve the greater good is to fight.

We pass along the coast in silence, weaving through abandoned metros, past service stations crawling with vines, tiny saltbox homes, and an endless series of unlit relics. No signs of life appear. I wonder what lies at the heart of the Interface. Someday, when this is over, I will explore and rebuild Earth. If I find nothing, I’ll build my own world.

I look behind me. Erik rides silently. Even if Jost knows nothing happened between Erik and me, it’s meaningless. I didn’t kiss Erik, but I wanted to. I ripped a deeper void between them than can ever be patched.

Erik didn’t kiss me that night either, because he loves his brother despite everything that’s passed between them.

Now that we’ve driven beyond the Interface’s boundary, overhead a sprinkling of stars peek out and the moon perches in the gray night sky. In Arras, a Spinster moves the time along, determining how the light will fade, whether the sunset will be orange or rose or purple. She places a false moon in the sky. Earth is a world born from nothing but potential. I think of the books in Kincaid’s library. The ones that contain theories on Earth’s origin, positing everything from a cataclysmic spasm in the universe to a creator placing it here, placing us here. I’ve seen in Arras what comes of the idea of a creator; I like the idea of randomness better. That we are born of infinite possibility and fade back into the fabric of the universe to feed new life. That the moon perches overhead simply because, and nothing more. I don’t want to live my life at the hands of another, I want to live my life now, deciding my own fate.

Whatever lies ahead of us on Alcatraz could change everything, but I choose the path of self-determination. Whether we find the Whorl—if we accomplish the separation of the worlds—I will listen to myself. My fingers find the techprint on my wrist.

I’m not meant to remember who I am. I have to discover who I am.

* * *

Alcatraz Island is full of men and women with scarred skin that shimmers and shifts. It’s not the decrepit old facility we expected. It’s full of white light that bounces off metal tables and blank walls. There are no bars on the cells, only thick glass. The prisoners beat against it, lick it, scratch at it, leaving bloody streaks from deeply torn nails behind, but we can’t hear them. We hear only a low hum from the energy powering this place. It must take so much of it, I think. The hum grows louder until it’s pulsing thick in my ears and I can feel it there in my head, under my skin, behind my eyes. I try to shake it out but it won’t fade. I tug on Dante’s hand. He’s closest to me, but he keeps walking forward, down a hall toward the black doors at the other end. He can’t hear me in here either. I cry out, but I can’t hear myself over the pounding in my ears. Around us more Remnants gather at the transparent walls of their cells, and they start thumping against the glass. Their faces constrict into masks of ferocious concentration. Their hands are balled in fists. I don’t have to hear them, because I can feel it. The ground beneath me shakes and concrete pillars spit dust over us as though the prison will collapse at any moment.