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determination, to . . . whatever he is now. His posture changes, followed by his expression, but not quickly enough to spare me the expectation there, as though I hold all his answers.
    “How much longer do you think we have to wait?” I ask, because I can’t figure out how to ask him anything else. “Will they turn the alert back to normal so we know it’s over?”
    “Maybe.” He scratches at the bloodstains on his fingers. The bandages he’d worn earlier are gone, lost either in the run or the fight, exposing purplish-black bruises on his knuckles. “Or maybe we died and nobody bothered to tell us.”
    “That’s not funny,” I say.
    “I didn’t mean it to be,” he says. “We have no idea what dead feels like. Maybe we’re there. Death would be simpler. No more mourning, no more waiting.”
    “You don’t really think that, do you?”
    “I guess not.” He shrugs. “If we were dead, someone would have let us out by now.”
    “You think that’s how it works?” I ask. “Easy as opening the door?”
    “That’s what Dad told me when my mom died.” Another shrug, like his brain’s linked the motion to ending a sentence.
    “I don’t even know how my mom died . . . if she’s dead . . . nothing.”
    We’ve become not friends, exactly, but tolerable allies through the bond of common loss and lack of options.
    Tobin shifts again, fixating on Anne-Marie and Jove in the middle of the room.
    “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” He slides to the floor, resting his hands on his knees.
    “I know.” I slide down beside him, using the wall as an anchor for more than my posture.
    “Do you ever wonder why Honoria and the others separate us like this?” he asks. “Why they stick us in a hole while they stand guard?”
    “To protect us.” Obviously. The elders protect the young, like my parents did with me. I have to believe they drew off the Fade so I could reach the Light. They did not throw me away; I refuse to be an outcast to two worlds.
    “They didn’t think it through,” Tobin says. “What happens if they fall?”
    “The locks open at dawn and we do the best we can,” I say.
    “But if the Fade take them, we’re next. They’re gone, the defenses are shot, the ammo’s spent, and we get twelve hours to tick off what’s left of our lives before they come back to kill us. We’re penned in.”
    He stops, like he hadn’t realized he was speaking out loud.
    “Sorry, I’ve been around Annie too long,” he says. “I’m starting to babble.”
    Anne-Marie’s oblivious to our staring, still sitting crosslegged with her mouth going ninety miles a minute, and using her teeth to even her fingernails in the pauses between words. She takes a marker from her pocket and starts coloring them in.
    “Almost makes things feel normal, doesn’t she?” Tobin asks.
    Absurd and normal, a perfect description of Anne-Marie.
    A group of toddlers has Dante subdued, while Silver tries to pull them off. She has one upside down by the leg, which the kid finds hilarious. A boy named Jerome, a mid-year according to his gold name tag and sleeve patch, stuffs another up under his arm while threatening similar treatment for the next one who doesn’t behave.
    “I guess we could sic the babies on them, if it came to a fight,” I offer.
    It’s weird to realize this is the first time I’ve laughed, but it’s true. There’s not a lot of call for humor when you’re sandwiched between the probable massacre of one people and the possible extermination of another.
    “Outfit them with flashlights and we might have a shot,” Tobin says. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh, too, but it doesn’t last long.
    A rolling tumbler and the click of a lock stops everyone short.
    We all stand, braced for whatever waits on the other side of our door. Anne-Marie leans over Jove’s body; the upper-years form a defensive line to guard the babies. Tobin angles himself in front of me, one arm out to hold me back and away