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There’s no way Dimitry would have used that reference by accident.

Mickey must be with him.And if Mickey is there, then Roman is too.

Hope surges inside me, fierce and dangerous.

I seem to remember that Mary Poppins was pretty lethal, in her own way.I type the words then sit back, my eyes glued to the screen as the three dots appear, barely daring to breathe.

The dots disappear.

From what I remember, Poppins had a lot of help from her friends.

“Oh!” I don’t realize I’ve exclaimed aloud until I see the guards frowning at me.

Friends? I slump in my chair, almost weak with relief.

Maybe, I think,just maybe, we have a chance.

I spendall day chatting with Dimitry, but when I push “Otis” to invest, he goes coy, then drops offline. The guard gives me an oily smile.

“Loop for you,” he says, clearly enjoying his power.

But I’m not dreading the Loop. Dimitry knows what happens if I don’t make target. He was supposed to invest today and didn’t. There has to be a reason.

I join the huddle of sad faces at twilight in the courtyard. The guard pokes my ribs with the muzzle of his rifle, deliberatelygrinding it into the worst of my bruises. Oddly enough, Rodrigo didn’t hit me nearly as hard as I know he’s capable of. In fact, although I came back with a very impressive array of cuts and bruises, they’re mainly surface level and hardly painful at all. If I didn’t know Rodrigo’s proclivity for causing pain, I’d have thought he was actually trying to spare me. His blows were brief and precise, almost surgical in the damage they caused. And he barely looked at me at all during the chopper ride to SK, just stared sullenly out the window.

Still, having a rifle muzzle pressed into bruised flesh isn’t fun by anyone’s standards. I wince, and the guard steps back with a satisfied smile.

What is it with men and causing pain?I lower my head obediently and get ready to run.

The rifle cracks, and we set off.

Usually I head for the front of the pack, eager to set my own speed and have some space. But today I clutch my ribs, wincing, and set off slowly, much to the amusement of the guards, who catcall me as I stumble away from them.

I let the runners gain some distance, maintaining my slow pace, eyes peeled along the fence line. The first mile passes, then the second. I head into the stretch that passes close to the fence. On the other side of the wire looms thick jungle, dark and impenetrable.

Darkness has fallen as I pass the guard tower. The next one gleams up ahead in the distance, a quarter mile on.

A low whistle comes from behind the fence.

I stumble, my heart racing, and slow my pace, my eyes darting sideways.

“Abs.” Luke’s low, reassuring voice comes through the fence, though I can’t make him out amid the foliage. “Keep running. I’ll keep pace with you.”

Luke? Here?

Isn’t he supposed to be in Australia—with my parents?

My mind races, every bad reason for his sudden appearance gripping me in terror. I run deliberately slowly, stumbling on every other step.

It isn’t hard. Horror is clutching at my heart.

“My parents?” I whisper.

“Safe.” This time I get the merest glimpse of a blackened face, there and gone as Luke slips silently through the jungle. “You?”

Weak with relief, I nod, fighting tears. “All good.” My voice is hoarse, rasping painfully in my throat. I have a thousand questions and no time to ask them.

“The Otis profile is being watched.”