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More than anything, I wanted to know what was worth their lives.

If they thought of me at all. If they missed me.

The only person who had answers livedhere.And for some reason, he wanted me gone. Dismissed. My hands curled into fists. I wouldn’t be forgotten again, tossed aside as if I were a second thought. I came here for a reason, and I was going to see it through. Even if it hurt, even if the discovery broke my heart.

No one and nothing was going to keep me from my parents again.

The stranger with my belongings strolled farther down the dock. He craned his neck over his shoulder, his blue eyes finding mine unerringly amid the swirling crowd. He jerked his chin in the direction of the boat, as if it were a foregone conclusion that I’d follow after him like an obedient lapdog.

No, sir.

I took a step back, and his lips parted in surprise. His shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. He rolled my belongings a few inches forward, somehow not managing to hit the person in front of him waiting in line to board. The stranger with no name beckoned me with a crook of his finger.

A surprised laugh burst from my lips.

No,I mouthed.

Yes,he mouthed back.

He didn’t know me well enough to understand that once I’d made up my mind, there was no changing it. Mamá called it stubbornness, my tutors thought it a flaw. But I named it what it was: persistence. He seemed to recognize the decision on my face because he shook his head, alarm tightening the lines at the corners of his eyes. I spun around, melting into the crowd, not caring a fig about my things. Everything was replaceable, but this chance?

It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity.

I snatched it with both hands.

The mass of people served as my guide, leading me away from the tugboats lining the docks. The stranger yelled, but I’d already skipped too far away to make out his words. Let him worry about my luggage. If he were a gentleman, he’d hardly leave them unguarded. And if he weren’t—but no, that didn’t quite fit. There was something in the way he carried himself. Confident, despite the irreverent grin. Put together, despite the alcohol on his breath.

He seemed aristocratic, born to tell others what to do.

Conversations broke out in different languages, surrounding me in every direction. Egyptian Arabic, English, French, Dutch, and even Portuguese. Egyptians dressed in tailored suits and tarbooshes skirted around all the tourists, hurrying to their places of business. My fellow travelers crossed the wide avenue, skirting around horse-drawn carriages and donkeys laden with canvas bags. I was careful not to step on any of the animal droppings adorning the street. The smell of expensive perfume and sweat wafted in the air. My stomach dropped at the sight of the crumbled buildings and piles of debris, a reminder of the British bombing two years earlier. I remembered reading how the damage had been extensive, especially at the citadel where some Egyptians had tried to defend Alexandria.

Seeing the battered port in person was far different from reading about it in print.

A crowd that’d come from the docks ventured to the large stone building adorned by four arches situated in front of a long train track that spanned outward for miles. The railway station. I clutched my purse and crossed thestreet, looking over my shoulder in case the stranger had decided to pursue me.

No sign of him, but I didn’t slow down. I had a feeling he wouldn’t let me go that easily.

Up ahead, a small group conversed in English. I spoke it much better than French. I followed the crowd into the station, sweat making my hair stick to the back of my neck. The square-shaped windows provided enough lighting to see the discord. Piles of luggage were scattered everywhere. Travelers shouted in confusion, calling to loved ones, or running to board the train, while others pushed carts filled with trunks teetering ominously. My pulse raced. I’d never seen so many people in one place, dressed in various degrees of elegance, from plumed hats to simple neckties. Scores of Egyptians dressed in long tunics offered to help with suitcases in exchange for tips.

With a start, I realized I’d lost the Englishman.

“Miércoles,” I muttered.

Rising on tiptoes, I frantically tried to sort through the masses. One person was wearing a tall hat—there.I skirted through the crowd, keeping a watchful eye, and they led me straight to the ticket office. Most of the signage was written in French, which of course I couldn’t read with ease. How was I supposed to buy a ticket to Cairo? My parents warned against speaking with strangers, but I clearly needed help.

I approached them, and broke one of Mamá’s rules.

I leaned back against the plush cushion and sniffed the stale air. A layer of dust coated everything from the seating to the storage shelves on top of the benches. The train had looked sleek from the outside; strong black lines adorned with a red and gold trim, but the interior hadn’t been updated in decades. I didn’t care. I would have traveled by donkey through the desert if it would have meant reaching Shepheard’s.

So far, I had the cabin to myself, despite scores of travelers climbing aboard, effendis heading to Cairo to conduct their business affairs, and tourists chattering madly in various languages.

The wooden door of my compartment slid open and a gentleman witha truly spectacular mustache and round cheeks stood in the entrance. His left hand gripped a leather briefcase, monogrammed in gold with the initialsBS.He startled at the sight of me, and then smiled broadly, gallantly tipping his dark hat upward in a polite salute. An elegant gray ensemble with wide trouser legs and a crisp white Oxford shirt made up his attire. Judging by his polished leather shoes and smart tailoring, he was a man of means.

Despite the warmth of his gaze, a frisson of apprehension skipped up my spine. The journey to Cairo took about four hours. A long time to be enclosed in a small space with a man. Never in my life had I been in that situation. My poor aunt would bemoan the ding to my reputation. Traveling alone without a chaperone was scandalous. If anyone in polite society were ever to find out, there went my unsullied character.

“Good afternoon,” he said as he hauled his briefcase into one of the overhead compartments. “First time in Egypt?”

“Yes,” I said in English. “You’re from… England?”