Down on the sand, Pete came to the side of the rocky jetty. He looked back at me, his eyes wild, and started to climb. Finally I reached the stairs down to the beach. I took the turn at a sprint, and my feet nearly went out from under me, so I jumped down to the sand, vaulting past the eight or ten steps. I landed in a crouch, but thanks to the soft, wet ground, the impact was hardly jarring. From the corner of my eye, I saw Fisher running toward us.

Pete was climbing the rocky slope. His foot slipped and his knee went down hard. I climbed after him, gritting my teeth as my sneakers squeaked against the jagged rocks. Sweat prickled down my back, mixing with the relentless rain.

“Fisher! See if you can get down on the other side!” I shouted. “Cut him off!”

“On it!”

Fisher ran ahead, then disappeared from sight. In seconds I was so close to Pete I could make out the pattern of the treads on the bottom of his shoes. Then he jumped to his feet and started carefully across the expanse of the jetty. Suddenly he froze in his tracks.

“Nowhere to go, dude!” I heard Fisher shout. “Give it up.”

“Yes,” I said under my breath. We had Pete trapped. I climbed to my feet. He turned around, took one look at me, and started to run—toward the ocean.

“What the—”

I took off after him. The terrain was uneven, wet, and pocked with puddles. Dead jellyfish clung to one angled rock, their bulbous bodies torn and limp. I slipped once and my hands came down atop a pile of broken crab shells, pincers, and legs. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up again. Somehow, I was still gaining on Pete, but it no longer mattered. He’d reached the end of the jetty. His back was to me, and his shoulders rose and fell as he heaved in breath after breath.

“There’s nowhere to go!” I shouted. “You can’t hide from us forever.”

He turned around, his knees like jelly, and looked me in the eye. “I can hide from you long enough.”

I blinked. “Long enough for what?”

“For me to get what I want,” he said, turning his palms out. His eyes flicked past me, and I turned my head just enough to see Fisher clambering up the rocks nearby. “Listen, Rory. In case something happens, I want you to know, it wasn’t my idea.”

“What?” I asked, my heart pounding anew. “What wasn’t your idea?”

“To take your family,” he said quietly. “Or to pin it on you. I was just the muscle.”

My brain felt about as steady as the roiling waves behind him. “I don’t understand. You’re saying you were involved? With Tristan and Nadia? With the ushering?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t them. It was never them.”

My head went weightless, everything I had believed, obliterated in one breath. If it wasn’t Tristan and Nadia, then who the hell was it? How had they done it? Where had they gotten the tainted coins, and why had they set up Tristan to take the fall?

“Who?” I demanded as Fisher approached me from behind. “Who are you working with?”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Pete,” he said, his voice rumbling like thunder. “You know better than anyone that we’re not immortal. Not anymore.”

Pete chuckled. “That’s a chance I’m gonna have to take.”

Then he took a step back and turned.

“No!” I screeched.

But it was too late. Pete launched himself off the jetty and disappeared beneath the ink-black waves.

Tristan’s chest rose and fell under the crisp blue sheets folded across his body. After we’d left the night before, the mayor called in Teresa Malone, a Lifer who had been a nurse in the other world, and it seemed as if she’d taken good care of him. His head was now wrapped in white gauze and positioned flat against a slim pillow, his arms straight down against his sides. I stood next to his bed while the wind whipped outside, pelting the windowpanes with a smattering of fat, relentless raindrops.

It was Friday morning. Thirty-six hours since my sister had been taken and almost eight hours since Fisher dove into the water after Pete and came back empty-handed. Pete had disappeared. He’d either drowned or somehow managed to get away. I hoped like hell he was still out there somewhere, because if he was dead, we’d never get our answers. If he was dead, all was lost.

Dorn was supposed to radio everyone if and when Pete was found, and I’d been waiting on pins and needles throughout the night. Until, that is, I’d finally passed out from utter exhaustion in the bed next to Krista’s. When we’d woken this morning, we found two brand-new, shiny gold coins on her nightstand. With Pete on the run, did that mean they were clean? Was it safe to start ushering people again?

The only thing I knew for sure was that we needed to find Pete. He was the only one who would know how to save my family. I checked my walkie-talkie to make sure it was on, and of course it was. Radio silence had become my enemy.

I turned the volume up, just in case, and sat forward, staring at the well-worn leather Lifer bracelet clinging to Tristan’s thick wrist. I looked at his profile, his normally tanned cheeks seeming sunken and waxy. He moaned softly, and I wondered if he was dreaming of when Pete had attacked him. Had he seen who was working with him?

I pulled the desk chair over and sat next to Tristan’s bed. My hand twitched to take his, but I hesitated, suddenly confused. Tristan was innocent, wasn’t he? He was just a victim. Like Darcy, like Dad, like Aaron. And if it could somehow help…tether him to the here and now…I had to try.

Placing my hand over his, I looked at his face. His skin was warm. That had to be a good sign. Especially after how cold he had felt yesterday. He was improving. Tears welled in my eyes.

“Tristan?” I said quietly. “It’s me, Rory. I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can…we’re here. We’re here for you, and we want you to get better.”

My voice cracked and I took a breath. “I’m so sorry I thought you were guilty. I should have known. I should have believed.…I was just so upset about my dad and now Darcy.…” I paused, hearing myself, and cleared my throat. Was I really sitting here trying to make excuses to a guy in a coma? “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

My head popped up. Joaquin stood, perfectly framed by the bedroom doorway, wearing a blue-and-gray baseball T-shirt and jeans. Even with the purple bruise in the center of his forehead from when he’d been knocked out earlier, he looked, in a word, gorgeous. And also concerned.

“Nothing.”

I slid my hand away from Tristan’s, across the sheet, and into my lap. I lifted my eyes to meet Joaquin’s. “Just that I thought he was guilty.”

“Everyone did, at some point or another,” Joaquin said. He stepped into the room and hovered on the other side of the bed. “How is he?”

“The same. Teresa from the bike shop was with him through the night, and he hasn’t woken up.”

I shrugged feebly as more raindrops pelted the window behind me. The wind whistled through the gutters and eaves. As the silence between us went on, I started to sweat. Yesterday I had kissed this guy. I had wanted nothing more than to be with him. To let him help me forget the rest of this stupid universe existed.

“Rory…” Joaquin said.

I looked him in the eye. “What’re we going to do, Joaquin?” I said simply, without thinking.

His shoulders dropped half an inch. It might have been imperceptible if I wasn’t so totally in tune with his every movement.

“I have no idea.”

Suddenly our walkie-talkies crackled to life. “Rory? Come in, Rory. It’s Dorn. Over.”

My breath caught, and I fumbled the radio off my waistband, pressing down firmly on the talk button. “What is it? Did you find him?”

There was a beat of silence. A beat too long. “I…well, we’re not sure yet. Over.”

I looked up at Joaquin, and I could feel our panic rising together. He lifted his walkie-talkie to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine. “What the hell does that mean?”