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The crowd surges past, paying no attention. Spots dance before my eyes as I try to force my lungs to work before my grip gives out.
    I can’t have fallen more than a floor or two, or surely I wouldn’t have  been able to catch myself without jerking my shoulders out of their sockets. Below me stretches a drop that will shatter my body beyond any surgeon’s ability to repair it.
    A ragged cry tears out of me as my lungs finally expand and contract, but nobody hears. The people around me are a blur of color and sound, the smell of sweat and fear, the feel of hips and elbows connecting with my face and arms. They’re too terrified to even dodge the girl clinging for her life to the railing—much less help me. “Swann!” I scream, trying to make my eyes focus on anything long enough to recognize faces, but it’s all moving too quickly.
    And then a voice snarls at them to keep back. Not Swann. A male voice.
    Strong hands wrap around my arms, pulling me from the railing back onto the catwalk. Someone hurries me down the walkway, moving with the flow, his body between mine and the screaming people scrambling for safety. My feet don’t even touch the ground.
    He jerks me into a side corridor free of traffic and sets me on my feet.
    All I can see are brown eyes staring into mine, stern, urgent. With an  effort I recognize him.
    “Major,” I gasp.
    “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
    My shoulders are shattered. My tongue is bleeding. I can’t breathe. I gasp for air, fighting the surge of nausea that threatens to overcome me. “I’m okay.” Major Merendsen leans me against the wall like a sack of laundry and goes to the mouth of the corridor, where the crowd whizzes by in a blur. As we watch, a man in an evening coat goes down, pushed by someone behind him; in an instant he’s gone, before the Major can even reach for  him.
    This isn’t a crowd—it’s a riot. And a deadly one. Swann might be able to take care of herself in this chaos, but—“Anna!” I cry out abruptly, lurching away from the wall. I lunge for the crowd. I only know I need to find them.
    The Major grabs my arm with an iron grip. I beat at his hand, but he pulls me away and swings me around before letting me go, sending me staggering backward, heels skidding. “Are you insane?” he gasps.
    “I have to find them.” I raise a hand to my lips, wiping away the hint of blood from my tongue. I recognize where we are now—a maintenance corridor, one of the many that thread through the private areas of the ship. “They’re out there—I need to make sure they’re—”
    Major Merendsen blocks the way between me and the torrent of people rushing for the lifeboats. The ship lurches again, the floor buckling and heaving beneath us, throwing us both against the wall. The sirens start up, and we have to raise our voices to make ourselves heard over the urgent wailing.
    “There’s nothing you can do for them,” he says, when he’s regained his balance. “They’re two decks up and half a klick away by now. Can you walk?”
    I inhale sharply through my nose. “Yes.”
    “Then let’s move. Stay between me and the railing. I’ll try to keep  them from flattening you but you have to keep your feet under you.”
    He turns toward the crowd, squaring his shoulders.
    “Wait!” I stagger forward and grab his arm. “Not that way.”
    He sucks in an irritated breath, but he stops. “We have to get to an  escape pod. Much more of this shaking and she’ll tear herself apart.”
    I’m still struggling to breathe, and it takes me a moment to get enough air to reply. “I know this ship,” I gasp. “There are pods for the crew nearby.”
    He stares at me a moment, and though I know he must be debating, struggling, none of it is written on his face. “Then let’s go.”

    The service corridor is empty, only the emergency lighting strips along the walls to tell of any problem. The crew must be at their stations, assisting the passengers into