Fawkes's brief hiatus from the strike made her very aware of the changes as she joined the teeming mass that was picketing outside the World Building.

Before, her and the boys would squabble with the scabs until the bulls got called.

Now, cops lined the street, forming a barrier between the newsies and the circulation center.

Fawkes's brain analyzed the charges you'd get smacked with if you had the audacity to cross the line. At the moment, she wasn't worried about it. She was wearing Cowboy's hat, the brim pulled low, as she watched the goings-on. Newsies chanted around her. She was standing in a sea of anonymity.

Her brain was focused on the open space between the cops and the gate and what you'd have to do to get there. There was no way to get through and not hit an officer. That would get you an assault charge. They'd also hit you with some form of unruly-was it belligerent? behavior. The word escaped her. Fawkes tried to recall Jack's list of charges. Inciting to riot. That wouldn't be fun.

A wagon carrying newspapers to other distribution centers cut through the crowd. Bodies leaped out of the way to avoid getting trampled.

There was nowhere to go.

Everyone was crammed in close to their neighbor. Kids didn't like being jostled. They shoved. Others pushed back.

Disorderly conduct.

Assault.

The charges flashed through Fawkes's mind as she did her best to quell the fights that were breaking out amongst the strikers. She didn't want to risk them getting out of control.

"We can't be fighting each other. Save your energy for the Man," she chastised them and looked meaningfully at Pulitzer's building. In this heat, she knew it was a rough request.

A rumble went through the crowd as the circulation bell rang. Any moment now, scabs would be walking through the gates.

Fawkes watched the boys begin to assemble in the entryway, newspapers in hand, a smile growing on her face. Not a single one of them had the balls to cross the line. They had protection in the circulation center. They wouldn't once they got out of the square.

If they got out of the square, she amended. That's what they were afraid of. They knew they wouldn't escape without a beating.

As more scabs lingered, Fawkes turned wary. They were waiting for something.

Someone.

Boys backed out of the way as the rotund man who operated the desk (Fawkes faintly recalled the boys calling him Weasel) escorted a youth sporting brand new clothes to the front.

Fawkes barely recognized him without his red bandana tied around his neck, without his torn and faded pants, without the cowboy hat that had given rise to his street name.

Beside her, Spot was gaping and pointing. He was trying to grab hold of someone, anyone, to tell him what he was seeing wasn't real.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Racetrack's cigarette drop from his fingertips, onto the street, unnoticed.

The crowd howled with rage. The reason was obvious. They rejected this reality-the one in which Jack Kelly was a scab for Pulitzer's paper.

Fawkes, alone, was silent.

She'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop since Mackey'd released her.

This was it.

How else could she be free if she hadn't brokered any deal? She'd expected Jack to be long gone after making the deal. He'd always had a strong desire to go to Santa Fe, all he lacked was the money. Why was he still here? There must be a catch.

Did he have to be the face of the scabs so the strikers would see him and feel betrayed? Did Pulitzer think that would drive them to quit? The only thing the crowd wanted now more than their victory was his blood for being a turncoat.

She could hear every newsie who knew him, and more who didn't, promise him bodily harm. Some were enthusiastic in their follow-through. Spot leaped between two cops, his cane raised and ready to strike. The police officers caught him around his midsection and returned him to his feet.

Racetrack made a hearty attempt as well.

Kid Blink and the others spewed hate, though their eyes were wide with disbelief.

Jack refused to look at the crowd. He hated himself, Fawkes could tell. His shoulders were squared against the insults of his former friends, but his head hung in defeat.

His appearance was part of the reason Fawkes didn't speak out against him. The other reason was because she knew he was who she had to thank for being free. She wanted to talk to him. To give him words of encouragement. To tell him to stay strong. She'd see this battle through. She was on the easier side of things. He had to deal with everyone thinking he was a traitor.

Despite the din, Fawkes could hear Weasel mocking Jack. He was living a hellish life. He'd teamed up with evil humans and the only people who cared about him were separated by a row of cops the belief that he'd forsaken all they'd struggled for.

Hadn't he fought side-by-side with them for the past couple weeks? Hadn't he risked life and limb for Crutchy? For any newsie within his power to help? And now, here they were.

"Look at that one there," Weasel was practically gloating. "There's a boy in the crowd that clearly idolizes you. He's even got a cowboy hat just like yours. Let's bring him up to see what he thinks of his turncoat hero now." Weasel turned his attention to the crowd, "Hey Cowboy!"

All the newsies honed in on her.

Fawkes dared a look up. Jack was staring at her with empty eyes. His spirit was gone.

Weasel was smirking, "C'mon up. Come meet the great Jack Kelly. He sure is a hero. He made the smart move by deciding to let bygones be bygones and work for Mr. Pulitzer again. And Mr. Pulitzer, forgiving man that he is, decided to overlook his past transgressions. C'mon Jack, why don't you say some nice words to the kid, see if you can't persuade him that working for us is the smarter choice. You'll get some money in your pockets instead of being penniless and sleeping on the streets."

The surging crowd stilled and parted so that Fawkes could walk to Jack unhindered. The girl felt her feet pressing forward without her permission. The cops clumped together as she reached them but Weasel waved her through.

"What's going on Sullivan?" Fawkes tried for cavalier.

Jack's eyes roved the crowd before landing on Weasel.

Everyone was eerily silent, waiting with bated breath for one of Jack's epic speeches.

Fawkes didn't want that. She needed a private conversation with Jack. She wasn't going to get that with a couple hundred onlookers at her back. Fawkes looked behind her, hoping that someone would understand.

She made eye contact with Racetrack. He barely nodded. Immediately, he started jeering and the crowd followed suit.

Fawkes made a face, surprised that had worked so well. She stepped closer to Jack so they could converse and actually hear each other speak.

"I made the deal with Pulitzer to get you out. I sold my soul for your freedom. Don't squander it," Jack told her.

"I didn't know you had a soul to sell, Sullivan. I'm honored." Fawkes grinned.

"Don't smile at me. Look angry," Jack grumbled, shooting a look in Weasel's direction. "Joe promised to wipe both our records clean so long as I scab. He figures it'll break the back of the strike."

"It might've, if I hadn't pretended to be a cop and loosed all those newsies. There's a new hero in town."

Fawkes could see Jack bite down on a smile of his own as Fawkes put her hands down at her sides. She pulled them up like she was releasing guns from their holsters and fired somewhere beyond Jack, blowing imaginary smoke from her fingertips when she was done.

It succeeded in giving Jack a little of his spark back, "Be careful. I'm a company man until this strike ends and they set me free. If I put one finger out of place, they've promised to lock me back up. Maybe you too, for all I know. They told me you should get out of town but I knew you wouldn't desert the guys. If you get picked up again, they won't hesitate to send you back to Wyoming."

Fawkes nodded, "So you're in their pocket until the strike ends? And then what?"

"When it's over, they promised to give me money to get out of town."

"And when this strike doesn't end? What about that?"

"They're going to have to accept that women can be masterminds and then they'll come after you. That'll be their mistake. I know you won't flip for me. You've got the hard job, you have to lead the strike without looking like an obvious leader, because they'll target you once they realize that I'm not the one they want." Jack's glance flickered over to Weasel, "You should deck me. He looks suspicious."

Fawkes wrinkled her nose, "Are you sure? Last time I dropped you."

Jack didn't say anything.

Fawkes reached into her pocket for the crumpled up article Denton had given her. She'd read it every couple of hours just to affirm it was real. It was time she handed it off to someone who needed the inspiration. Hiding it against her palm, she offered her hand out to Jack and said loudly, "Let's agree to disagree."

Jack's gaze narrowed but he didn't say anything. He shook her hand, his brows knitting together as he felt her pass him the paper.

Once he had it in his possession, Fawkes swung with her free hand.

The blow glanced off his jaw and Weasel was there immediately, tugging her back to the picket line.

The boys closed in around her as she was thrown back into the thick of them. Many a youth gave her a pat on the back.

Fawkes ignored them. She was thinking about Jack's words. He knew she wouldn't flip for him. She why had he for her? And how the hell was she going to stay out of harm's way and lead the strike at the same time? That was an impossible request. She had to find some way to make it work though, because he was right.

The thing that filled Fawkes with uncertainty was what they would do with Jack once they realized that the strike would continue without him. Would they jail him then? After he did everything they asked? After he went against everything he stood for? She needed to come up with a plan for that.

Fawkes turned back to the matter at hand and pulled Spot aside, "You aren't going to be able to soak those scabs from here. Have some of the boys follow them-discreetly. Once they're on their route, that's when you can knock some sense into them."

Spot nodded and turned away to assign some of his guys.

Race stopped him, "What about Jack?"

"Leave him alone," Fawkes's tone brooked no argument.

Spot treated the girl to a look that could kill.

"For now," Fawkes amended. "He's got his own problems."

After the scabs and the boys Spot had sent to take care of them departed, he returned, still livid. "I know you and him go way back, but-"

"But nothing," Fawkes cut him off.

Spot dared her to argue the point.

"Jack's only over there because of me," she explained.

"What?" Race's voice cracked.

"It seems like the only thing that kid ever does is save my life," Fawkes shook her head. "Pulitzer offered us both a deal, he was that scared. He'd either see us jailed for an eternity, or, if we folded-flipped and brought this strike to a halt-let life get back to normal, he'd rehire us, plus some, and see us safely out of the city so we couldn't trouble him no more.

"I didn't take the deal. I don't think Jack was going to either, but they baited him…" Fawkes fell silent.

Jack was a good guy. He'd been saving her life ever since they met. She'd been trying figure out why he would do it this time. It had to be a good reason. The murder charge was scary, but even after talking to Pulitzer, Jack had told her wasn't going to flip. He was a man of his word. He wouldn't do it because of what it would mean to the guys. So why had he changed his mind? What had happened between Pulitzer's house and the morning that would do it? The inward shudder as she relived those hours revealed the answer.

Mackey.

Snyder had Mackey escort her to her cell that night. Jack must have heard. He was that much of a brother to surrender himself so she wouldn't have to suffer.

It was the only thing that made any sense. She'd promised Jack that she could handle Wyoming.

She'd hoped that for once in his life, he'd cover his own ass and take the money and go to Santa Fe.

If possible, Spot looked even angrier than before.

Fawkes ignored it.

She knew why. Spot seemed to think this admission was further proof that Jack was sweet on her. That wasn't how it was. Spot was just jealous. She'd already explained to him that Jack was a brother to her. She'd thought she and Spot had reached an accord. That appeared to no longer stand true.

She had bigger problems to worry about. Like: what would happen when the strike continued despite Jack changing sides? It wasn't going to end well for Jack, which meant Fawkes had to be prepared.