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In the 20 seconds of quiet as the voltage changes over, a wave of yelling voices interspersed with gunfire meets my ears. Then the generator kicks on, an intense guitar solo covering the yells.

“What the hell?” Evie looks up from her desk.

“Another protest?” Wyatt glances at the doors and takes the needle off the record.

“This one sounds big. Bigger than before.” Gretchen spins in her seat, her eyes wide.

“Maybe the food banks are running low again?” Evie shifts from one foot to the other. “We had all those riots back in the early days. People shooting each other over a loaf of bread.”

“I haven’t heard anything about shortages.” I throw a guilty glance toward the coffeemaker.

“How could you? We’re living in this bubble. The only thing we know is our work, and beyond that, whatever bullshit your sister feeds us on the government-sanctioned TV.” Aang, his face haggard and unshaven, sits in his armchair.

“Dude, don’t,” Wyatt mumbles.

“Don’t what? Don’t tell the truth? Her fucking sister is killing us. Selling us out to the?—”

“Don’t!” Gretchen speaks more sharply than I’ve ever heard her before. “Don’t do it, Aang.” She wheels over to him, then leans close and they whisper back and forth.

His angry voice rises a handful of times, but after a few moments he sits back and wipes at his eyes.

“He’s just upset. Idrine …” Wyatt shrugs. “He knows it’s not your fault. You’re just in front of him is all. Easy target.”

“I know.” It’s all I can say. I can’t do anything, can’t help, can’t even ask my sister for the whole truth about the camps, about whether the people who go there will ever come out. Until then, we’ll all be imagining the worst possible scenario for them, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“I’ll ask Valen tonight. Maybe he knows—” A boom shakes the building.

We all look at each other, wide-eyed and fearful. Another boom, this one so forceful it sends some of Aang’s piled papers cascading to the floor.

“What the fuck was that?” Wyatt strides to the doors.

“Don’t go out there!” Gretchen yells.

He pulls up short. “Good point. Probably safer in here.”

The gunfire increases, the pops louder now.

“We should go up to my floor. The elevator won’t let anyone?—”

The doors swing open, and the gargoyles appear. “This way!” Their voices—it’s the same hissing sound that the creatures who were looking for me made outside Valen’s door. My skin crawls at the tenor of it, and the others hesitate even as the roar of hundreds of angry voices grows louder.

“Now!” they bark in unison.

Wyatt is the first to move, then the rest of us follow.

“What’s going on out there?” Evie asks.

The gargoyles don’t respond as they lead us through the lobby and toward the elevator. They take a circuitous route, always careful to avoid any direct sunlight. The two soldiers, guns drawn, have barred the lobby doors, stacking furniture and taking position behind it.

“What’s happening?” Wyatt calls.

“Unrest.” One replies, irritation in his tone. “We’ve got this. Get to the basement.”

The gargoyles herd us to the elevator. When I step inside, I realize Gene’s missing. “Wait.” I hit the ‘door open’ button on the console. “We have to find Gene. He needs to come with us.”

“No.” The closest gargoyle swipes my hand away from the button.

“We can’t leave him! It’ll only take a minute to find him. He’s probably in the kitchen.”