Pete? The name sounded too ordinary for him. Anyway, while it was useful to finally know his name, it wasn’t really what I’d been asking.

I wanted answers. “No.” I said it firmly, placing a stiff period carefully at the end of the word. “Who are you meaning why are you here? Meaning, what do you want with me? Meaning, how did you get in here? Meaning, who the fuck are you?”

Without meaning to, I was screaming. I hoped the Overhears were long gone by now.

Pete rolled onto his heels, taken aback by my outburst, but he answered my questions calmly.

“I’m Pete,” he said again. “I’m here because I know that you can go crazy down here with no one to talk to, and I don’t want you to go crazy. So I lifted a key. I work in the palace.” Pete glanced nervously over at Star, who glared at him from underneath the bed. She didn’t trust him either. “I’m here to keep you company. For as long as I can, at least.”

Nothing about this story made any sense. How had he found me at the exact moment I’d landed in Oz? How had he found out I was down here? If I was in a magicked prison cell with no door, how had he just “lifted” a key? He was definitely not telling me everything. Which led me to my next question: Was he really on my side?

“You work in the palace?”

“I’m a gardener.”

“So you work for her then.”

He might as well have been the window, for all the good he did me. Simply another thing to torture me with false hope.

Unless he wasn’t here to give me hope at all.

“I’m just a gardener,” he said. “I work for the head gardener. The head gardener works for the royal steward. I’ve never spoken to Dorothy.”

He was lying. There was no question in my mind: his eyes were too big and luminous. You couldn’t hide anything behind eyes like those.

And yet . . . he had already saved me once. Why would he have done that if he was working for Dorothy?

Pete slumped against the wall. I hadn’t moved from my defensive position in the corner. “Should I go?” he asked. He looked, in that moment, just like a little kid. “I really didn’t mean to upset you. I thought it would help.”

“If you go,” I said, “I’ll kill you.”

I only said it because I was angry. But it gave me an idea.

Without warning, I lunged for him and grabbed him by the throat before he could react. I shoved my knee into his groin. Pete’s mouth widened into a perfect O of shock. I didn’t think I would be able to take him in a fight, but he might not know that. If I scared him enough, maybe he would think I was more dangerous than I really was.

It worked, I think. At least, he didn’t resist.

“Give me the key,” I said.

“You can take it, if that’s what you want,” he said. “I’ll give it to you. But it won’t do you much good. It’s not just the lock that’s keeping you down here. The moment the cell’s unoccupied, all the alarms will sound. They’ll know you’re gone; they’ll catch you before you can make it three feet, and they’ll throw you right back in here. That’s if you’re lucky. More likely, they’ll skip the trial and just send you straight to the Scarecrow. Trust me—if you think this is bad, that’s worse.”

I cocked my head. I thought about loosening my grip on his neck. Instead, I tightened it and nudged my knee forward an inch. He grimaced, but didn’t say anything.

“If I take the key and leave you here in my place, the cell won’t be unoccupied. No alarms, then.”

At that, Pete raised his eyebrows in surprise. Maybe he hadn’t expected me to be desperate enough to trade my freedom for his. Honestly, I was a little surprised myself.

Still, that was all the reaction I got. “You could,” he said calmly. “If that’s the way you want to play it. It still wouldn’t do you any good. We’re deep underground here, and the entrances to the dungeons are always guarded. You might get out of the cell, but you still have to get past the guards.”

“It’s worth the risk.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

He was right, of course. I felt defeat seeping in through every pore. It was useless. I dropped my hold on him and walked over to my so-called bed where I perched myself on the edge and buried my face in my hands.

“Hey,” he said. I felt his hand on my shoulder and looked up to see him standing over me. “If it means anything to you, I’ve been trying to think of a way to get you out of here. I can’t find one. You’re too important to Dorothy—it’s a miracle I managed to get the key and sneak down here at all. But I’ll find a way, okay? I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Why?” I asked, my eyes suddenly pooling with tears. “Why are you trying to help me?”

He flipped his palms to the ceiling as if to say, Why not? “Because it’s the right thing?”

He sat next to me on the bed, keeping a safe distance between us.

I rolled my eyes. “No one does anything because it’s the right thing,” I said.

“You do.”

“I do?”

Maybe that was true, but even if it was, how would he know it? We’d known each other for all of twenty minutes total.

“You do,” Pete said, this time with emphasis. “Except when you threatened to kill me, that is.”

I had to laugh at that.

“But I didn’t actually kill you, so it doesn’t count.”