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the power grid has been shut down for all but the very rich, so people have been pulling down whatever they can to heat their homes. There aren’t enough people to put out the fires. Homes like ours—high fenced, set far back and away from our neighbors—are life preservers on an endless, burning ocean.
    Still, we aren’t completely sheltered. It’s not unusual for us to run across bodies in the street even though Dominion has gangs of people who go around collecting and burying as many as they can. Most of the corpses are dead of Plague, but a good number bear marks of violence. Jagged valleys ripped into chests; faces blown apart. In their blue HAZMAT suits, white handkerchiefs covering their faces, the cleanup crews look like soul-stealing bandits as they rove the streets looking for pickups. The city pays them by the body, and plenty say this has turned good men into murderers. But mostly the Rovers take the job for the pocket treasures they score from the Lasters. Even so, there aren’t enough of them, we’ve heard—not enough Rovers, and not enough dead richies to feed them. We are paying attention. But there’s nothing we can do to stop any of this. An image of the boy holding up his Evolve or Die message flashes through my mind. He was so rebellious and hateful as he made his stand on top of a car and held his sign. But then, why wouldn’t they hate us?
    “What do you think they want?” I’m curious to hear what Mr. Storm will say.
    His eyes flatten me with a look. “Power.” It’s so simple it feels inescapable. “Whoever doesn’t have it wants to take it away from those who do.” Storm’s eyes shift to our father, then back to me. I nod slightly. Mr. Storm knows exactly what’s going on out there. And we’re sitting ducks.
    I glance at our father, who frowns at Storm as though he’s said too much. My eyelashes quake with effort as I try not to look too long at the magnetic young man standing behind Storm. And fail. Which reminds me…. Not taking my eyes away from the blond merc I ask, “Mr. Storm, may I ask what ‘remote security’ means? Are you going to tail us?”
    Storm shakes his head, his mouth a firm line. “No, I’m going to give you these.” He fishes two flat objects out of his pocket, handing one to Margot and one to me with long, calloused fingers. I touch the screen and the display flutters to life. It’s a pre-prog, but I see no apps and only one number. “Memorize the number in case you lose the phone. If you ever think you’re being followed, call the number and don’t ditch the phone.”
    I stare at Storm over the blinking display. “There’s no name. Whose number is it?”
    He doesn’ t answer. “Someone will pick up, day or night. Tell whoever answers what’s happening, if you can. We’ll extract you.”
    “Who are you really?” I ask, not sure which of the strange men I’m asking, and surely not quietly enough. My father’s quick intake of breath is enough to know I’ve crossed the line.
    He graces me with a crooked smile anyhow. “Right now, sweetheart, all you’ve got to know is that I’m your friend.”
    We’re dismissed a few moments later. I stop in the hallway, pressing myself against the wall.
    “You all right, Lu?” Margot asks.
    I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Hot streaks of… something …jitter through my veins, and for the first time I recognize what until now I’ve only ever known secondhand from my sister. It feels as though my safe and perfect life is crumbling down around my ears, and I’m deaf to all but the roar, blind to all but a pair of indigo eyes. Eyes belonging to a merc , I remind myself, whose name I don’t even know.
    ...
    It’s the waiting that gets to us—the endless waiting for explanations and answers that never come, days that feel a lot like holding out for some mythical Plague cure. Days after our meeting with Nolan Storm, Margot and I pack our school bags, go to school, come home again. Sunrise,