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My uncle and I spoke at once.

“Wait,no,” I said. “Por favor, no—”

“Stop! I’ll tell you—”

Whit lunged forward.

Mr. Burton fired. The sound carried to every corner of my body, filled me with so much despair, I screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

Blood and bone splattered across my face. Elvira slumped to the ground in a pool of red. Tears stabbed my eyes as I rushed to her side, my vision blurred and tinted red. Anger inflamed my blood. Her beautiful face was unrecognizable. Destroyed in a second. Her life snuffed out from one moment to the next.

I gripped my hair, unable to keep quiet. Unable to stop screaming. Grief distracted me. I didn’t realize the danger I was in until I caught the scent of Mr. Burton’s expensive cologne. He knelt beside me, his gun cocked and ready, aimed for my heart.

The bullet would shatter it. I’d never survive.

Whit turned his anguished face toward me. Despair carved deep lines across his brow. I moved my hand, my fingers hovering above my pocket.

“Ricardo,” Mr. Burton murmured, his attention on my uncle. “She’s next. The location? And you better not lie.”

Slowly, I pulled out my uncle’s necktie. Whit tracked my movement. I met his gaze and he subtly dipped his chin.

“Por favor,” Ricardo said, his voice hoarse. “I can only make a guess.”

“Fine,” Mr. Burton said. “Let’s have your guess, then.”

“I think she could be in Amarna,” my uncle said.

“Why?” Mr. Burton asked, his voice cold.

“She might be after a hidden tomb,” he said. When Mr. Burton didn’t lower his gun, my uncle added quickly, “Nefertiti.”

“Nefertiti,” Mr. Burton repeated. “Was she the one—”

I wrung out the necktie at Mr. Burton’s face, scalding water covering his brow and cheeks and eyes. He fell back, screaming, covering his face with his hands. Boiling water dropped to the ground, sizzling on the hot sand. I whipped the fabric again and more water flung in his direction, drenching his dark pants and shirt. Behind me, the sounds of fighting reached my ears: fists smacking flesh and bone, grunts and muffled cursing. I turned around in time to see Whit throw a punch at one of the men.

The burly man approached Whit, his gun raised—

“Watch out!” I cried.

Whit dropped as the shot zipped past his head. His hand reached for the rifle and he flipped onto his back and fired at the burly man’s stomach. The man dropped hard and heavy to the sand. I swayed on my feet, the scent of metal thick in the air. Sweat dripped down my back. I tried not to look at Elvira’s still form, her yellow dress bunched around her thighs.

“You bitch,” came a gargled voice.

Mr. Burton yanked me backward, pressed me close to his damp chest. He clapped a hand hard across my mouth. His skin was blotchy and red, angry blisters forming up and down his arm. Whit jumped to his feet, lifting the rifle at eye level, and peered through the peep sight. In a blur of motion, he slid the gun forward and back, and fired.

The sound deafened me for one long, terrifying moment. A burst of wind brushed against the side of my face.

Mr. Burton flew backward.

I turned to find him on the ground, spread-eagled, a single gaping hole between his brows.

“I warned you,” Whit said coldly. Then he raced forward and pulled me into a tight embrace. “Are you all right?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question. My words came out hushed. “I’m not hurt.”