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Logan without her.”
    “And, wait—I’m sorry,” Eddie said sarcastically. “Could someone, anyone, please remind me why , exactly, we’re still risking everything for that traitor? Because I’ve forgotten.”
    “It’s not about Logan anymore,” Jo said, no less annoyed. “It’s about Lily. Peck and Logan are obsessed with saving her.”
    Dane sighed. “She was Peck’s best friend, Jo. And she’s Logan’s sister. It’s hard to blame them.”
    But Eddie just laughed. “He’s out there again, isn’t he? Peck. Right now. Leaving yet another message for Hailey.”
    “Yeah.” Blake rolled his eyes. “Right now.”
    “ Man ,” Jo said. “Night after night after night! What will it take to get through to that tightwad? He’s gonna get us all caught—or worse!” Jo shook her head as an awkward silence settled over the stable.
    “Hooooooo- wee , are we in trouble!” Tyler laughed abruptly. “Welcome to the big leagues, kiddies!” He rolled out from his spot in the hay and lay flat on his back, arms folded over his stomach. “And all thanks to our good ol’ friend, Logan Langly! Three cheers for that guy! Wherever you are, ya skinflint! To good health! To long life! To happiness!” He looked around playfully.
    But no one else was laughing.
    2
    Logan waited with his hood up and a scarf over his nose and mouth. He waited at the farthest edge of the huddle. He didn’t let a single tightwad out of his sight.
    He’d spent the whole day this way, scared and indecisive. He knew it was a risk to show his face anywhere downtown. He had planned to see his aunt and uncle, to visit their safe, public, well-lit bakery, to ask them for help because he simply didn’t know where else to turn . . . but what if Bridget was right? What if the Mark really did trump family? What if they turned him in no matter what?
    And yet, how much safer was it to stay where he was now? Bridget had returned that morning, just as Andrew said she would, shortly before the huddle began waking for the day. No DOME officers in tow, no magnecuffs, no “Gotcha, ya filthy, stinkin’ beggar!”
    But she wasn’t exactly forthcoming, either. Logan had pretended to be asleep when she arrived. He had pretended not to notice when she slipped silently under her blanket before making a big show of waking up after “a great night of sleep.” But he had noticed, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Bridget was hiding.
    For the moment, Logan decided to risk it and stay at least one more day with the huddle. He needed the rest anyway, and time to plan. But he kept his distance all the same.
    “You’re quite the social butterfly,” Bridget joked, walking over to Logan. “Making lots of friends, I see.”
    “Just, uh, don’t wanna be in the way,” Logan said.
    Bridget smiled. “You’re not. Here—let me show you around. It’s not much, but it is our home. And it’s yours now too, if you want it to be.”
    She brought Logan to a pillar at the edge of the huddle’s space in the underpass. At its base was a row of boxes, each labeled with something along the lines of “Fiction A–F,” or “History O–Z.” The flaps of each box hung open invitingly.
    “Books?” Logan asked. “Printed books?” Outside of museums, this was only the second time in his life that Logan had seen so many.
    “You bet,” Bridget said. “Gotta keep the mind sharp somehow. And we Markless sure ain’t gonna be reading off tablets and plastiscreens anytime soon.”
    “But where’d you get them?” Logan asked. “ How’d you get them?”
    “There’s been a book circulation for years now among the Markless in New Chicago. Who knows what the source was. There’s rumors it was this kid Peck . . . but people say a lot of things about that guy.” Bridget shrugged, looking over the collection. “Anyway, this is what’s left after all the raids. We all took what was most valuable to us and ran.” Bridget smiled. “Usually, that was our huddle’s