“Where is—you are—” Benn releases the next few words in German. “You are not an officer of the law, armed forces, United Nations—”
She holds up what looks like a small identification card. I can’t read what it says, but it looks official. Mia watches the girl with wide, wondering eyes.
Benn is still holding the card when she snatches it back and gestures toward us. “Get moving, girls.”
I don’t need to be told twice. The door slams shut behind us, and I don’t risk looking back at the wreckage we’ve left.
“What’s going on?” I whisper. “How did you get us out?”
She narrows her eyes and slides them over to us. “Someone called in a favor on your behalf, so don’t jack this up, hear me?”
Someone? Who?
The girl doesn’t cut our hands free, and keeping up with her long, steady strides means jogging on a leg that’s hurting badly enough for me to want to cut it off myself.
“What about my brother? Where is he? Are you getting him?” Mia asks the second we reach the door, when the spell of silence from the hallway finally wears off. The blast of damp air and gray skies is so at odds with the dry, white glare of the new building, it’s staggering. I have to limp slowly down the steps to keep from falling.
“Treating you like you’re fucking animals, the assholes, God—come here,” she says, tugging Mia over to her. I’m right, that is a knife poking out of her boot. The girl makes quick work of the zip ties around Mia’s wrists, then mine. By the time she’s finished, the door to the other building hisses open and a tall, lanky teen appears, his silver-framed glasses fogging up from the sudden change in temperature. He’s wearing something my dad would have worn—nice slacks and a dark fleece to keep out the cold.
I recognize him, too. This is the one who was at the press conference. The kid that spoke up.
The numbing hit of confusion takes away all of my words. I fumble for them, for the question screaming across my mind, and come up with nothing but a gasp.
He looks at the girl and shakes his head. “It’s like we thought. They already moved him out.”
“Lucas?” Mia asks. “Are you talking about Lucas?”
The girl throws a quick glance around to the soldiers moving between the construction site and the building. “Shit, girl, can you try a voice level under screeching? Let’s go.”
“I’m not leaving without my brother!” Mia leans back, digging in, nearly red with the effort to keep from either screaming or crying, I’m not sure which.
“You want to stay here?” the girl challenges, squaring her shoulders. “You want back in that jail cell?”
“Vi”—the boy tries to step between them—“we don’t have time for this.”
Mia raises her hand, and my mind blanks again.
The girl only arches her brow. “Try it. I’ll break both of your fucking legs and you walking out of here won’t be a goddamn question, will it?”
I feel like she’s reached in and ripped away my shock. My hackles rise, and no one is more surprised than me to hear a sound like a growl come tearing out of my mouth. If she so much as touches Mia—
“Look, we’re running out of time,” the boy says. “I checked the other building. Wherever your brother is, he isn’t here—but none of us are going to find him if we don’t get moving.”
Mia is breathing so hard it steams the air. She looks to me for an answer, and I hope I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life when I nod.
“Follow the road out—see that SUV? That’s our ride.” The girl jerks her thumb toward the car parked across the lanes, about a half mile down the road. “We’ll be right behind you. But for the love of God, hustle.”
It’s raining in earnest now; the clouds pelt us with cold, fat drops that do more to clear the haze of exhaustion than the growing disbelief that we’re out, that we’re with other kids, that this is happening.
“Who are these people?” Mia whispers. “How does she know who you are?”
“They’re friends…I think,” I say.
And I know I’m right a second later, when the back door to the car opens and a small figure climbs down, awkwardly trying to swing a heavy walking cast out without slipping. I don’t realize I’m moving faster, hobbling forward on my own