Vale won.
A headache throbs behind my broken nose. I close my eyes, trying to push back the pain and fatigue. I sink to the floor, my back to the wall. I let Carla’s backpack rest beside me.
“Augusta?” Eames’s voice is nearer than I expect. I open my eyes and find him crouching in front of me.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say. “I’m sorry.” My voice breaks on the second word and the kitchen blurs. “I’m so sorry.”
I’m not just apologizing to Eames. I’m apologizing to everyone I’ve failed.
There’s no one stopping Hannah Vale from taking Piper. Vale will vanish—she’s good at that. Maybe she’ll even activate the fire system just to ensure no witnesses can identify her. She’ll sell her hacks. And then some very bad people will be able to shut down power and water and sewer and communications. Vulnerable people will suffer. People will die.
I am not a hero. I should never have tried to be one.
Something stings my eyes and it’s only then that I realize I’m crying. I scrub a hand under my visor, wiping away my tears.
“Augusta,” says Nonna.
A warm hand falls on the back of my neck. Her skin is worn and soft and so familiar that it makes my throat ache. “It’ll be all right,” says Nonna quietly.
“It won’t be, but thanks.” I rub at my eyes.
Nonna clears her throat. She plucks a tissue from a box on the table and hands it to me. “How’s she going to get out of the building?”
Eames rocks back and forth on his heels. “Mom’s paranoid. She’s always got an escape planned. We lived off the grid in some rich guy’s apocalypse bunker. There were all these underground tunnels. We could’ve survived a nuclear blast in there.”
I sit up straighter. Something in his words sparks an old memory.
Tunnels.
“Oh my god,” I breathe. “Tunnels.” I thump my fist against the floor. “The Portland Underground.”
Nonna gets it immediately. “Oh.”
“What?” says Eames, confused.
“The Portland Underground,” I say. “Or you might know them as the Shanghai tunnels. They were built over a century ago for smuggling, opium, gambling dens, that sort of thing. Now some of them are preserved for tourists. I visited them when I was nine. Businesses in older buildings lock the entrances or cover them up, so people can’t use them to break in. This place used to be a hotel, right? I bet you anything there’s an entrance in the basement.” Even as I speak, I know I’m right.
“That’s her way out,” I say. “She’ll have a way to get into the tunnels. With the blackout, all the tours will be shut down. She can make her way out of the area unseen.”
Prefect and his ISD team will never find her. Prefect isn’t a Portland local; he won’t know about the Underground. It’ll never occur to him to cover those tunnel entrances.
Which means I have to do it.
I push myself to my feet. They ache in protest and every muscle in my back is threatening to seize. But excitement burns away my pain and exhaustion.
“They’re headed back to the basement,” I say.
Eames takes a step toward me, his expression torn between longing and hesitation. It hurts to hope, I know. To get so close to the thing you want and then have it yanked away. “I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t,” I say. “The stairs will be covered, I’m sure. But I have another way down—and there’s a weight limit.” I flick Matthew’s ringware from my thumb and hold it out to Eames. “This will unlock any door in the building. Butonly one at a time. While I’m down there, you find us a place to hide after I get Piper.”
Eames takes a breath. “Are you sure you’ll be able to get her?”
For the first time in a while, I feel a surge of hope. “They won’t see me coming.”
“What can I do?” asks Nonna.
“You stay here,” I say. “Sorry, but that’s what I need from you. We already have one hostage to deal with. I don’t need another.”
