The Fate of Ten - DropPDF1.droppdf.com/files/AMHnU/the-fate-of-ten-pittacus-lore.pdf · survived...

THEEVENTSINTHISBOOKAREREAL.

NAMESANDPLACESHAVEBEENCHANGEDTOPROTECT

THELORIEN,WHOREMAININHIDING.

OTHERCIVILIZATIONSDOEXIST.

SOMEOFTHEMSEEKTODESTROYYOU.

CONTENTS

PrologueChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThreeChapterFourChapterFiveChapterSix

ChapterSevenChapterEightChapterNineChapterTenChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteenChapterFourteenChapterFifteenChapterSixteenChapterSeventeenChapterEighteenChapterNineteen

ChapterTwentyChapterTwenty-OneChapterTwenty-TwoChapterTwenty-ThreeChapterTwenty-FourChapterTwenty-Five

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PROLOGUE

THE FRONT DOOR STARTSSHAKING.IT’SALWAYSdonethat whenever the metalsecurity gate two flightsdown bangs closed, eversince they moved into theHarlemapartmentthreeyears

ago. Between the frontentrance and the paper-thinwalls, they are always awareofthecomingsandgoingsofthe entire building. Theymutethetelevisiontolisten,afifteen-year-old girl and afifty-seven-year-old man,daughter and stepfather whorarelyseeeyetoeye,butwhohave put their manydifferencesasidetowatchthealiens invade. The man has

spent much of the afternoonmutteringprayers inSpanish,whilethegirlhaswatchedthenews coverage in awedsilence.Itseemslikeamovieto her, so much so that thefearhasn’t trulysunkin.Thegirlwonders if thehandsomeblond-hairedboywhotriedtofightthemonsterisdead.Theman wonders if the girl’smother, awaitress at a smallrestaurant downtown,

survivedtheinitialattack.ThemanmutestheTVso

they can listen to what’shappening outside. One oftheirneighborssprintsup thestairs,pasttheirfloor,yellingthe whole way. “They’re onthe block! They’re on theblock!”

The man sucks his teethindisbelief.“Dude’slosingit.Thosepalefreaksain’tgonnabother with Harlem. We’re

safe here,” he reassures thegirl.

Heturnsthevolumebackup.Thegirlisn’tsosurehe’sright. She creeps toward thedoor and stares out thepeephole. The hallwayoutsideisdimandempty.

Like the Midtown blockbehind her, the reporter onTV looks trashed. She’s gotdirtandashsmudgedalloverherface,streaksofitthrough

herblondhair.There’saspotof dried blood on her mouthwhere there should belipstick. The reporter lookslike she’s barely keeping ittogether.

“To reiterate, the initialbombing seems to havetaperedoff,”thereportersaysshakily, the man listeningraptly. “The—the—theMogadorians,theyhavetakento the streets en masse and

appeartobe,ah,roundingupprisoners, although we haveseen some further acts ofviolenceat—at—theslightestprovocation...”

The reporter chokes backa sob. Behind her, there arehundreds of pale aliens indark uniforms marchingthrough the streets. Some ofthem turn their heads andpoint their empty black eyesrightatthecamera.

“Jesus Christ,” says theman.

“Again, to reiterate, weare being—uh, we are beingallowedtobroadcast.They—they—the invaders, theyseemtowantushere...”

Downstairs, the gaterattles again. There’s ascreechofmetaltearingandaloud crash. Someone didn’thave a key.Someoneneededto knock the gate down

entirely.“It’sthem,”thegirlsays.“Shut up,” the man

replies. He turns down theTV again. “I mean, keepquiet.Damn.”

Theyhearheavy footfallscomingupthestairs.Thegirlbacks away from thepeephole when she hearsanother door get kicked in.Their downstairs neighborsstarttoscream.

“Go hide,” the man saystothegirl.“Goon.”

The man’s grip tightenson the baseball bat that heretrieved from the hall closetwhen the alien mother shipfirst appeared in the sky. Heinches closer to the shakingdoor,positionshimselftoonesideofit,hisbacktothewall.Theycanhearnoisefromthehallway. A loud crash, theirneighbor’s apartment door

beingknockedoff its hinges,harsh words in gutturalEnglish, screaming, andfinally a sound likecompressed lightning beinguncorked. They’ve seen thealiens’ guns on television,stared in awe at the sizzlingboltsofblueenergytheyfire.

The footsteps resume,stopping outside their shakydoor. The man’s eyes arewide, his hands tight on the

bat. He realizes that the girlhasn’tmoved.She’sfrozen.

“Wake up, stupid,” hesnaps.“Go.”

Henodstowardthelivingroom window. It’s open, thefireescapewaitingoutside.

The girl hates when themancallsherstupid.Evenso,for the first time she canremember, thegirldoeswhather stepfather tells her. Sheclimbs through the window

thesamewayshe’ssnuckoutof this apartment so manytimes before. The girl knowsshe shouldn’t go alone. Herstepfather should flee, too.She turns around on the fireescape to call to him, and soshe’s looking into theapartment when their frontdoorishammereddown.

The aliens are muchuglier in person than ontelevision. Their otherness

freezes the girl in her tracks.Shestaresat thedeathlypaleskin of the first one throughthe door, at his unblinkingblackeyesandbizarretattoos.There are four aliensaltogether, each of themarmed. It’s the first one thatspots the girl on the fireescape. He stops in thedoorway, his strange gunleveledinherdirection.

“Surrender or die,” the

aliensays.A second later, the girl’s

stepfatherhitsthealienintheface with his bat. It’s apowerfulswing—theoldmanmade his living as amechanic, his forearms thickfrom twelve-hour days. Itcaves in the alien’shead, thecreature immediatelydisintegratingintoash.

Before her stepfather canget his bat back over his

shoulder, the nearest alienshootshiminthechest.

The man is thrownbackwardsintotheapartment,muscles seizing, his shirtburning. He crashes throughthe glass coffee table androlls, ends up facing thewindow,wherehelockseyeswiththegirl.

“Run!” her stepfathersomehowfindsthestrengthtoshout.“Run,damnit!”

Thegirlboundsdownthefireescape.Whenshegetstothe ladder, she hears gunfirefromherapartment.She triesnot to think about what thatmeans.Apalefacepokeshishead out of her window andtakes aim at her with hisweapon.

She lets go of the ladder,droppingintothealleybelow,right as the air around hersizzles.Thehaironher arms

standsupandthegirlcantellthere’s electricity coursingthrough the metal of the fireescape. But she’s unharmed.Thealienmissedher.

Thegirljumpsoversometrash bags and runs to themouth of the alley, peekingaround the corner to see thestreetshegrewupon.There’sa fire hydrant gushing waterintotheair;itremindsthegirlofsummerblockparties.She

seesanoverturnedmailtruck,its undercarriage smokinglike it could explode at anyminute. Farther down theblock,parkedinthemiddleofthe street, the girl sees thealiens’ small spacecraft, oneof many she and herstepfather saw unleashedfrom the hulking ship thatstill looms over Manhattan.They played that clip overandoveronthenews.Almost

as much as they played thevideo about the blond-hairedboy.

John Smith. That’s hisname. The girl narrating thevideosaidso.

Whereishenow?thegirlwonders.Probablynotsavingpeople in Harlem, that’s forsure.

Thegirlknowsshehastosaveherself.

She’s about to run for it

whenshespotsanothergroupofaliensexitinganapartmentbuilding across the street.They have a dozen humanswith them, some familiarfaces from around theneighborhood, a couple ofkids she recognizes from thegrades below her. Atgunpoint, they force thepeopleontotheirkneesonthecurb.Abigalienfreakwalksdown the line of people,

clickinga small object inhishand, like a bouncer outsideof a club. They’re keeping acount.The girl isn’t sure shewants to see what happensnext.

Metal screeches behindher. The girl turns around toseeoneofthealiensfromherapartment climbingdown thefireescape.

She runs. The girl is fastand she knows these streets.

The subway is only a fewblocksfromhere.Once,onadare, the girl climbed downfrom the platform andventuredintothetunnels.Thedarknessandratsdidn’tscareher nearly as much as thesealiens.That’swhereshe’llgo.She can hide there, maybeeven make it downtown, tryto find her mother. The girldoesn’t know how she’sgoingtobreakthenewsabout

her stepfather. She doesn’teven believe it herself. Shekeepsexpectingtowakeup.

The girl darts around acorner and three aliens standin her path. Her instinctmakes her try to turn back,but her ankle twists and herlegscomeoutfromunderher.Shefalls,hittingthesidewalkhard.Oneofthealiensmakesa short, harshnoise—thegirlrealizeshe’slaughingather.

“Surrender or die,” itsays, and the girl knows thisisn’t really a choice. Thealiensalreadyhavetheirgunsraised and aimed, fingersnearlydepressingthetriggers.

Surrender and die.They’re going to kill her nomatter what she does next.Thegirliscertainofthis.

The girl throws up herhandstodefendherself.It’sareflex.Sheknowsitwon’tdo

anything against theirweapons.

Exceptitdoes.The aliens’ guns jerk

upwards, out of their hands.They fly twenty yards downtheblock.

They look at the girl,stunned and uncertain. Shedoesn’t understand what justhappenedeither.

But she can feelsomething different inside

her.Somethingnew.It’sasifshe’s a puppeteer, withstrings connecting to everyobject on the block. All sheneeds todo ispush andpull.The girl isn’t sure how sheknowsthis.Itfeelsnatural.

Oneof thealienschargesand the girl swipes her handfrom right to left. He fliesacross the street, limbsflailing, and slams throughthe windshield of a parked

car.Theothertwoexchangealookandstarttobackaway.

“Who’s laughing now?”sheasksthem,standingup.

“Garde,” one of themhissesinreply.

The girl doesn’t knowwhatthismeans.Thewaythealien says it makes the wordsound like a curse. Thatmakes the girl smile. Shelikesthatthesethingsrippingup her neighborhood are

afraidofhernow.Shecanfightthem.She’sgoingtokillthem.Thegirlthrowsoneofher

hands into the air and theresult is one of the alienslifting up from the ground.The girl brings her handdown just as quickly,smashing the airborne alienontopofhiscompanion.Sherepeats thisuntil they turn todust.

When it’s done, the girllooksdownatherhands.Shedoesn’t know where thispower came from. Shedoesn’tknowwhatitmeans.

Butshe’sgoingtouseit.

CHAPTERONE

WE RUN PAST THE BROKENWING OF AN EXPLODED jetfighter, the jagged metallodgedinthemiddleofacitystreet likea shark’s fin.Howlong ago was it that we

watched the jets scream byoverhead, a course set foruptown and the Anubis? Itfeels like days, but it mustonly be hours. Some of thepeople we’re with—thesurvivors—theywhoopedandcheered when they saw thejets,likethetidewasgoingtoturn.

Iknewbetter.Keptquiet.Onlya fewminutes later,wecould hear the explosions as

theAnubisblewthosejetsoutof the sky, scattering piecesof Earth’smost sophisticatedmilitaryallover theislandofManhattan.Theyhaven’tsentanymorejetsin.

Howmanydeathsisthat?Hundreds.Thousands.Maybemore. And it’s all my fault.Because I couldn’t killSetrákus Ra when I had thechance.

“On the left!” a voice

shouts from somewherebehind me. I whip my headaround, charge up a fireballwithoutthinkingaboutit,andincinerate aMog scout as hecomes around a corner. Me,Sam, the couple dozensurvivorswepickedupalongthe way—we barely breakstride. We’re in lowerManhattan now. Ran here.Foughtourwaydown.Blockbyblock.Tryingtoputsome

distance between us andMidtown,wheretheMogsarestrongest, where we last sawtheAnubis.

I’mexhausted.I stumble. I can’t even

feelmyfeetanymore,they’reso tired. I think I’m about tocollapse.Anarmgoesaroundmy shoulders and steadiesme.

“John?” Sam asks,concerned. He’s holding me

up.Itsoundslikehisvoiceiscomingthroughatunnel.Itrytoreplytohim,butthewordsdon’t come. Sam turns hisheadandspeakstooneoftheother survivors. “We need togetoffthestreetsforawhile.Heneedstorest.”

Next thing I know, Islump back against the wallof an apartment buildinglobby. I must have gone outfor a minute. I try to brace

myself, try to pull myselftogether. I have to keepfighting.

But I can’t do it—mybodyrefusestotakeanymorepunishment.Iletmyselfslidedown the wall so that I’msitting on the floor. Thecarpet is covered in dust andbroken glass that must’veblowninfromoutside.Thereare about twenty-five of ushuddled together here. These

are all we could manage tosave. Bloodstained and dirty,afewofthemwounded,allofustired.

How many injuries did Iheal today? It was easy, atfirst.Aftersomany,though,IcouldfeelmyhealingLegacydraining my own energy. Imusthavehitmylimit.

Irememberthepeoplenotbynamebut byhow I foundthem or what I healed.

Broken-Arm and Pinned-Under-Car look concerned,scared.

A woman, Jumped-from-Window, puts her hand onmyshoulder,checkingonme.I nod to tell her I’mall rightandshelooksrelieved.

Rightinfrontofme,Samtalkswithauniformedcopinhis fifties. The cop has driedbloodalloveronesideofhisface fromacuton topofhis

headthatIhealed.Iforgethisnameorwherewefoundhim.Their voices sound far away,like they’re echoing down amile-long tunnel. I have tofocus my hearing tounderstand the words, andeven that takes a colossaleffort.Myheadfeelswrappedincotton.

“Word came in over theradio that we’ve got afoothold on the Brooklyn

Bridge,” the cop says.“NYPD, National Guard,army . . . hell, everyone.They’re holding the bridge.Evacuating survivors fromthere. It’s only a few blocksaway and they say theMogsareconcentrateduptown.Wecanmakeit.”

“Then you should go,”Samanswers.“Gonowwhilethe coast is clear, beforeanotheroftheirpatrolscomes

through.”“You should come with

us,kid.”“We can’t,” Sam replies.

“Oneofourfriendsisstilloutthere.Wehavetofindhim.”

Nine.That’swhowehavetofind.Thelastwesawhim,hewas battling Five in frontof the United Nations.Through the United Nations.We have to find him beforewecan leaveNewYork.We

have to findhimand saveasmany people as we can. I’mstartingtocometomysenses,but I’mstill tooexhausted tomove. I open my mouth tospeak,butall Imanagetodoisgroan.

“He’s had it,” says thecop, and I know he’s talkingabout me. “You two havedoneenough.Getoutwithusnow,whileyoucan.”

“He’llbefine,”Samsays.

Thedoubtinhisvoicemakesmegritmyteethandfocus.Ineedtopresson,todigdownandkeepfighting.

“Hepassedout.”“He just needs to rest for

aminute.”“I’mfine,” Imumble,but

Idon’tthinktheyhearme.“You’re gonna get killed

ifyoustay,kid,”thecoptellsSam, sternly shaking hishead. “You can’t keep this

up.There’stoomanyforjustyou two to fight. Leave it tothearmy,or...”

Hetrailsoff.Weallknowthe army already made theirattempt.Manhattanislost.

“We’llgetoutas soonaswecan,”Samreplies.

“You hear me downthere?”The cop is talking tomenow.Lecturingme in thesame way Henri used to. Iwonder if he’s got kids

somewhere.“There’snothingleft for you to do here. Yougot us this far, let us do therest. We’ll carry you to thebridgeifwehaveto.”

The survivors assembledaround the cop nod,murmuring in agreement.Sam looks at me, hiseyebrows raised in question.His face is smearedwithdirtand ash. He looks hollowedoutandweak,likehe’sbarely

standing himself. A Mogblaster hangs from his hip,hooked there by a choppedpieceofelectriccord,andit’slike Sam’s entire bodyslumps in that direction, theextra weight threatening topullhimover.

Iforcemyselftostandup.My muscles are limp andalmost useless, though. I’mtrying to show the policeofficer and the others that

I’vegotsomefightleftinmebut I can tell by the pityingwaythey’restaringatmethatI don’t look very inspiring. Ican barely keep my kneesfromshaking.Foramoment,itfeelslikeI’mgoingtocrashdown to the floor. But thensomething happens—I feellike a force is lifting andpulling me, supporting someof my weight, straighteningmy back and squaring my

shoulders. I don’t know howI’m doing this, where I’mfinding the strength. It’salmostsupernatural.

No, actually, it’s notsupernatural at all. It’s Sam.Telekinetic Sam,concentrating onme,makingitlooklikeI’vestillgotsomegasleftinthetank.

“We’re staying,” I sayfirmly, my voice scratchy.“There are more people to

save.”The cop shakes his head

inwonder.Behindhim,agirlthat I vaguely rememberrescuing from a collapsingfire escape bursts into tears.I’mnot sure if she’s inspiredor if I just look terrible.Samremains completely focusedon me, stone-faced, a freshbeadofsweatformingonhistemple.

“Get to safety,” I tell the

survivors. “Then, helphowever you can. This isyour planet. We’re all goingtosaveittogether.”

Thecopstridesforwardtoshake my hand. His grip islikeavise.“Wewon’tforgetyou, John Smith,” he says.“All of us, we owe you ourlives.”

“Give them hell,”someoneelsesays.

And then all at once the

restof thegroupofsurvivorsare blurting out their good-byesandtheirgratitude.Igritmy teeth inwhat I hope is asmile. The truth is, I’m tootired for this. The cop—he’stheir leader now, he’ll keepthem safe—he makes sureeveryone keeps it quiet andquick, eventually hustlingthem out of the apartmentbuilding’slobbyandontotheBrooklynBridge.

As soon as we’re alone,Sam releases me from thetelekinetic grip he was usingto hold me upright and Islump backwards against thewall, struggling to keep myfeet under me. He’s out ofbreathandsweatingfromtheexertion of keeping mestanding. He’s not Loric andhe’s had no proper training,yet somehow Sam hasdeveloped a Legacy and

begunusingitthebesthecan.Considering our situation,he’s had no choice but tolearn on the fly. Samwith aLegacy—if thingsweren’t sochaotic and desperate, I’d bemore excited. I’m not surehoworwhy thishappened tohim, but Sam’s newfoundpowers are pretty much theonly win we’ve had sincecomingtoNewYork.

“Thanks,” I say, the

wordscomingeasiernow.“No problem,” Sam

replies, panting. “You’re thesymbol of the Earth’sresistance;wecan’thaveyoulayingaround.”

I try topushoff from thewall,butmylegsaren’treadyyettosupportmyfullweight.It’seasierifIjustleanagainstit and drag myself towardsthenearestapartmentdoor.

“Look atme. I’mnot the

symbol of anything,” Igrumble.

“Come on,” he says.“You’reexhausted.”

Sam puts his arm aroundme, helping me along. He’sdraggingtoo,though,soItrynot to put much weight onhim.We’vebeenthroughhellinthelastfewhours.TheskinonmyhandsstilltinglesfromhowmuchI’vehadtousemyLumen, tossing fireballs at

squad after squad of Mogattackers. I hope the nerveendings aren’t permanentlysinged or something. Thethought of igniting myLumen right now makes mykneesnearlybuckle.

“Resistance,” I saybitterly. “Resistance is whathappensafteryouloseawar,Sam.”

“You know what Imeant,” he replies. I can tell

by the way his voice shakesthat it’s a strain for Sam tostay optimistic aftereverythingwe’ve seen today.He’strying,though.“Alotofthose people knew who youwere. They said there wassome video of you on thenews. And everything thathappened at the UN—youbasically unmasked SetrákusRainfrontofaninternationalaudience. Everyone knows

you’ve been fighting againstthe Mogadorians. That youtriedtostopthis.”

“Then they know that Ifailed.”

Thedoortothefirst-floorapartment is ajar. I shove itthe rest of theway open andSam closes and locks itbehind us. I try the nearestlightswitch,surprisedtofindthat the electricity is still onhere. Power seems to be

spotty throughout the city. Iguess this neighborhoodhasn’t been badly hit yet. Iturn the lights off just asquickly—in our currentcondition, we don’t want toattract the attention of anyMogadorian patrols thatmight be in the area. As Istumble towards a nearbyfuton,Sammovesaroundtheroomclosingcurtains.

The apartment is a small

one-room studio. There’s acrampedkitchencordonedofffromthemainlivingspacebya granite counter, a singlecloset and a tiny bathroom.Whoeverlivesheredefinitelyleft in a hurry; there areclothes spilled across thefloor from a hasty packingjob, an overturned bowl ofcereal on the counter and acracked picture frame nearthedoorthatlookslikeitwas

crushed underfoot. In thepicture, a couple in theirtwenties pose in front of atropical beach, a smallmonkeyperchedontheguy’sshoulder.

These people had anormal life. Even if theymadeitoutofManhattanandto safety, that’s over now.Earthwillneverbethesame.I used to imagine a peacefullifelikethisforSarahandme

oncetheMogsweredefeated.Not a tiny apartment inNewYork City, but somethingsimple and calm. There’s anexplosion in thedistance, theMogs destroying somethinguptown. I realize now hownaïve those life-after-wardreams were. Nothing willeverbenormalafterthis.

Sarah. I hope she’s okay.ItwasherfacethatIcalledtomind during the roughest

parts of our block-by-blockbattle through Manhattan.Keep fighting and you’ll gettoseeheragain,that’swhatIkept telling myself. I wish Icould talk to her. I need totalktoher.NotjustSarah,butSix too—I need to get intouchwith theothers, to findout what Sarah learned fromMark James and hismysteriouscontact,andtoseewhat Six, Marina and Adam

did in Mexico. That has tohave something to do withwhySamsuddenlydevelopedaLegacy.Whatifhe’snottheonly one? I need to knowwhat’s happening outside ofNew York City, but mysatellitephonewasdestroyedwhenIfellintotheEastRiverand the regular cell phonenetworksaredown.Fornow,it’s just me and Sam.Surviving.

Inthekitchen,Samopensthe fridge. He pauses andglancesovertome.

“Is it wrong if we takesome of this person’s food?”heasksme.

“I’m sure they won’tcare,”Ireply.

I closemy eyes for whatfeels like a second but mustbelonger,openingthemonlywhenapieceofbreadbumpsagainst my nose. With one

hand extended theatricallylike a comic book character,Sam telekinetically floats apeanut butter sandwich, aplastic container ofapplesauce and a spoon infrontofmyface.EvenfeelingdownandoutasIam,Ican’thelpbutsmileattheeffort.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean tohit you with the sandwich,”Samsaysas Ipluck the foodout of the air. “I’m still

getting used to this.Obviously.”

“No worries. It’s easy toshove and pull withtelekinesis. Precision’s thehardestparttolearn.”

“Nokidding,”hesays.“You’re doing amazing

for someone that’s hadtelekinesis for all of fourhours,man.”

Sam sits down on thefutonnexttomewithhisown

sandwich. “It helps if Iimagine that I have, like,ghost hands.Does thatmakesense?”

I think back to how Itrained my own telekinesiswith Henri. It seems like solongago.

“I used to visualizewhatever I focused onmoving, and then will it tohappen,” I tell Sam. “Westarted small. Henri used to

toss me baseballs in thebackyard and I’d practicecatching them with mymind.”

“Yeah,well,Idon’tthinkplaying catch is really anoption for me right now,”Sam says. “I’m findingotherwaystopractice.”

Sam floats his sandwichup from his lap. He initiallybrings it too high for him tobite,butgetsitatmouthlevel

after a second more ofconcentration.

“Notbad,”Isay.“It’s easierwhen I’m not

thinkingaboutit.”“Like when we’re

fighting for our lives, forinstance?”

“Yeah,” Sam says,shaking his head in wonder.“Are we going to talk abouthow this happened to me,John? Or why it happened?

Or. . .Idon’tknow.Whatitmeans?”

“Garde develop Legaciesin their teens,” I say,shrugging. “Maybe you’rejustalatebloomer.”

“Dude, have youforgottenthatI’mnotLoric?”

“Neither is Adam, buthe’sgotLegacies,”Ireply.

“Yeah, his gross dadhooked him up to a deadGardeand...”

I hold up a hand to stopSam. “All I’m saying is thatit’snotsocut-and-dry.Idon’tthinkLegacieswork thewaymy people always assumed.”Ipauseforamomenttothink.“What’shappenedtoyouhastohavesomethingtodowithwhatSixandtheothersdidattheSanctuary.”

“Six did this . . . ,” Samsays.

“Theywentdownthereto

findLorien onEarth; I thinkthey did it.And then,maybeLorienchoseyou.”

Without even realizing it,I’ve already devoured thesandwichandapplesauce.Mystomachgrowls.Ifeelalittlebetter,mystrengthstartingtocomebacktome.

“Well, that’s an honor,”Sam says, looking down athis hands and thinking itover. Or, more likely,

thinking about Six. “Aterrifyinghonor.”

“Youdidgoodoutthere.Icouldn’thave savedall thosepeoplewithout you,” I reply,patting Sam on the back.“The truth is, I don’t knowwhat the hell is going on. Idon’t know how orwhy yousuddenly developed aLegacy. I’m just glad youhave it. I’m glad there’s alittle hope mixed into the

deathanddestruction.”Sam stands up,

pointlessly brushing somecrumbs off his dirt-cakedjeans. “Yeah, that’s me, thegreat hope for humanity,currently dying for anothersandwich.Youwantone?”

“I can get it,” I tell Sam,but when I lean forward toget off the futon, I’mimmediatelywoozyandhavetosinkbackdown.

“Takeiteasy,”Samsays,playing it off like he didn’tnotice what a mess I am. “Igotthesandwichescovered.”

“We’ll just hang here fora few more minutes,” I saygroggily. “Then we’ll gotrackdownNine.”

Iclosemyeyes, listeningto Sam clatter around in thekitchen, trying to spreadpeanut butter with atelekinetically held knife. In

thebackground,alwaysinthebackground now, I can hearthesteadythunderoffightingsomewhere else inManhattan. Sam’s right—we’re the resistance. Weshould be out there resisting.If I can just rest for a fewmoreminutes...

Idon’topenmyeyesuntilSam shakes me by theshoulder. Immediately, I cantell that I’ve dozed off. The

light in the room is changed,the streetlights coming onoutside, awarmyellowglowunder the curtains. A platestacked with sandwicheswaits on the couch next tome.I’mtemptedtodiverightin and chow down. It’s likeallmy urges are animal now—sleep,eat,fight.

“How long was I outfor?” I ask Sam, sitting up,feeling a little better

physically but also feelingguiltyforsleepingwhentherearepeopledyingalloverNewYork.

“About an hour,” Samreplies. “I was going to letyourest,but...”

In explanation, Samgesturesbehindhim, towardsthe small flat-screentelevision attached to theroom’s far wall. The localnewsisactuallybroadcasting.

Sam’s got the volumemutedand the picture occasionallygivesway to bursts of static,but there it is—New YorkCity burning.Grainy footageshows the looming hulk ofthe Anubis crawling acrossthe skyline, its side-mountedcannons bombarding theuppermost floors of askyscraper until there’snothingleftbutdust.

“I didn’t even think to

check if itwasworkinguntila few minutes ago,” Samsays. “I figured the Mogswould’veknockedouttheTVstations for, you know, warreasons.”

I haven’t forgotten whatSetrákus Ra said to me as Idangled from his ship overtheEastRiver.HewantsmetowatchEarth fall.Thinkingeven further back, to thatvision of Washington, D.C.,

which I shared with Ella, Iremember that city lookingprettybustedup,butitwasn’tcompletely razed. And therewere survivors left over toserveSetrákusRa.IthinkI’mbeginningtounderstand.

“It’s not an accident,” IsaytoSam,thinkingoutloud.“Hemustwantthehumanstobeable tosee thedestructionhe’s bringing down. It’s notlikeonLorienwherehisfleet

just wiped everyone out.That’s why he tried puttingon that big show at the UN,it’s why he tried all thatshadowy MogPro shit tobringEarth under his controlpeacefully. He’s planning tolive here afterwards. And ifthey’re not going to worshiphim like theMogs do, he atleast wants his humansubjectstofearhim.”

“Well, the fear thing is

definitely working,” Samreplies.

On-screen, the news hasswitched to a live shot of ananchor at her desk. Thebuilding that houses thischannel has probably takensome damage from thefighting because it looks likethey’re barely keepingthemselves on the air. Onlyhalf the lights are on in thestudio and the camera is

cockeyed, the picture not assharp as it should be. Theanchor is trying tokeepupaprofessionalface,butherhairis caked with dust and hereyes are red-rimmed fromcrying. She speaks directlyinto the camera for a fewseconds, introducing thenextpieceoffootage.

The anchor disappears,replacedby shakyvideo shotwith a cellular phone. In the

middle of a majorintersection, a blurry figurespins round and round, likean Olympic discus throwerwarming up. Except thisguy’s not holding a discus.With inhuman strength he’swhipping around anotherperson by the ankle. After adozen spins, the guy lets goof the curled-up body,flinging it through the frontwindow of a nearby movie

theater. The video stayscentered on the thrower as,shoulders heaving, he yellsoutwhat’sprobablyacurse.

It’sNine.“Sam!Turnitup!”As Sam gropes for the

remote, whoever’s filmedNine dives behind a car forcover. It’s disorienting ashell, but the cameramanmanagestokeeprecordingbysticking one hand above the

car’s trunk. A group ofMogadorian warriors haveappeared in the intersection,blasting away at Nine. Iwatch as he dances nimblyaside, then uses histelekinesis to fling a car intheirdirection.

“...again,thisisfootagetaken in Union Square justmoments ago,” the shaky-voiced anchor is saying asSam turns up the volume.

“We know this apparentlysuperpowered, um, possiblyalien teenagerwasat theUNscene with the other youngmanidentifiedasJohnSmith.We see him here engaged incombat with theMogadorians, doing thingsnothumanlypossible...”

“Theyknowmyname,” Isay,quietly.

“Look,”Samsays,hittingmyarm.

The camera has pannedback to the movie theater,where a burly form slowlyrises from the shatteredwindow. I don’t get a goodlook at him, but Iimmediately know exactlywho Nine was throwingaround.He flies up from themovie theater window,slashesthroughthefewMogsstill in the intersection andthen careens violently into

Nine.“Five,”Samsays.Thecameralosestrackof

Five and Nine as they plowthrough the grass of a smallnearby park, churning uphuge chunks of dirt as theygo.

“They’re killing eachother,”Isay.“Wehavetogetoverthere.”

“A second extraterrestrialteenager is fighting the first,

at least when they’re notfightingofftheinvaders,”theanchor says, soundingbaffled. “We . . . we don’tknow why. We don’t havemany answers at all at thispoint,I’mafraid.Just...staysafe, New York. Evacuationefforts are ongoing if youhave a safe route to theBrooklyn Bridge. If you’renear the fighting,keep insideand—”

I take the remote fromSamand turnoff theTV.Hewatches me as I stand up,checkingtomakesureI’mallright. My muscles howl inprotest and I’m dizzy for asecond, but I can pushthrough. I have to pushthrough. Never has theexpression “fight like there’sno tomorrow” had moremeaning. If I’m going tomake this right—if we’re

going to save Earth fromSetrákus Ra and theMogadorians, then the firststeps are finding Nine andsurvivingNewYork.

“ShesaidUnionSquare,”Isay.“That’swherewego.”

CHAPTERTWO

THE WORLD HASN’TCHANGED. AT LEAST, NOTthatIcantell.

The jungle air is humidandsticky,awelcomechangefrom the cold dampness of

the Sanctuary’s subterraneandepths. I have to shield myeyes as we emerge into thelate afternoon sun, duckingonebyone throughanarrowstonearchwaythat’sappearedintheMayantemple’sbase.

“They couldn’t have letus come in that way?” Igrumble, cracking my backand glancing over to thehundreds of fracturedlimestone steps we climbed

earlier. Once we were at thetop of Calakmul, ourpendantsactivatedsomekindof Loric doorway thatteleported us to the hiddenSanctuary beneath thecenturies-old human-builtstructure.Wefoundourselvesin an otherworldly roomobviously created by theEldersononeoftheirvisitstoEarth. I guess secrecy was ahigher priority than ease of

access.Anyway, thewayoutwasn’tsuchahikeanddidn’tinvolve any disorientingteleportation—justadizzyinghundredyardsofdustyspiralstaircase and a simple doorthat, of course, wasn’t therewhenwefirstentered.

Adamexits theSanctuarybehindme,hiseyesnarrowedtoslits.

“Whatnow?”heasks.“Idon’tknow,”Itellhim,

looking up at the darkeningsky.“IwassortacountingontheSanctuarytoanswerthat.”

“I . . . I’m still not surewhat we saw in there. Orwhat we accomplished,”Adam says hesitantly. Hepushes some loose strandsofblack hair out of his face ashewatchesme.

“Meneither,”Itellhim.Truth be told, I’m not

even sure how longwewere

beneath the earth. You losetrack of time when you’redeep in conversationwith anotherworldly being made ofpure Loric energy. We hadscraped together as manypieces of our Inheritance asthe Garde could spare—basically, anything thatwasn’taweapon.OnceinsidetheSanctuary,wedumpedallthose unexplained stones andtrinkets into a hidden well

connected to a dormantLoralite energy source. Iguess that was enough towakeuptheEntity,thelivingembodiment of Lorien itself.Wechatted.

Yeah.Thathappened.But the Entity basically

spoke in riddles and, at theendofourtalk,thethingwentsupernova, its energyfloodingoutoftheSanctuaryand into the world. Like

Adam,I’mnotsurewhatitallmeant.

I’d expected to emergefromtheSanctuaryandfind.. . something. Maybe jaggedbolts of Loric energystreaking through the skies,ontheirwaytoincineratethenearest Mogadorian notnamed Adam? Maybe somemore juice to my Legacies,putting me on a level whereI’dbeabletowhipupastorm

bigenoughtowipeoutallourenemies? No such luck. Asfar as I know, theMogadorian fleet is stillclosing in on Earth. John,Sam, Nine and the otherscould be rushing towards thefrontlinesrightnow,andI’mnotsurewe’vedoneanythingtohelpthem.

Marinaislastthroughthetemple’s door. She hugsherself, her eyes wide and

watery, blinking in thesunlight.

I know she’s thinkingaboutEight.

Before the energy sourcewentrocketingintotheworld,it somehow managed toresurrect him, if only for afew fleeting minutes. Longenough for Marina to saygood-bye.Evennow, alreadystarting to sweat in theoppressive jungle heat, I get

chills thinking about Eightreturned to us, awash in theLoralite glow, smiling again.It was the kind of intenselybeautiful moment I’vehardened myself to over theyears—thisiswar,andpeopleare going to die. Friends aregoing to die. I’ve come toaccept the pain, to take theuglinessforgranted.Soitcanbe a little stunning whensomething good actually

happens.Comforting as it was to

see Eight again, it was stillsaying good-bye. I can’timaginewhatMarina’sgoingthrough. She loved him andnowhe’sgone.Again.

Marina stops and glancesback at the temple, almostlikeshemightgobackinside.Next tome,Adam clears histhroat.

“Isshegoingtobeokay?”

heasksme,hisvoicelow.Marina shut down onme

once before, back in Florida,after Five betrayed us. AfterhekilledEight.Thisisn’tthesame—she isn’t radiating aconstantfieldofcold,andshedoesn’tlooklikeshe’sontheverge of strangling whoevercomes close.When she turnsback to us, her expression isalmost serene. She’sremembering, storing that

momentwithEightawayandsteeling herself for what’s tocome. I’m notworried abouther.

I smile as Marina blinksher eyes and wipes a handacrossherface.

“I can hear you,” sherepliestoAdam.“I’mfine.”

“Good,” Adam says,awkwardly looking away. “Ijust wanted to say, aboutwhat happened in there, uh,

thatI...”Adam trails off, both

Marina and I looking at himexpectantly. Being a Mog, Ithink he still finds it a littleuncomfortable to get toopersonal with us. I know hewasamazedbytheLoriclightshow inside the Sanctuary,but I could also tell he feltlikehedidn’t belong, likehewasn’t worthy enough to beinthepresenceoftheEntity.

When Adam’s pausestretcheson,Ipathimontheback.“Let’ssavetheheart-to-heartfortheride,okay?”

Adam seems relieved aswe walk back towards ourSkimmer, the ship parkedalongsideadozenotherMogcrafts on the nearby landingstrip. The Mog encampmentin front of the temple isexactly the way we left it—trashed. TheMogs that were

trying to break into theSanctuary had cleared junglein a precise ring around thetemple,gettingasclosetothetemple as the Sanctuary’spowerful force field wouldallow.

It isn’t until we crossfrom the vine-strewnovergrowth of the landdirectlyinfrontofthetempletothescorchedbrownsoilofthe Mog camp that I realize

the force field is gone. Thedeadly barrier that protectedtheSanctuary for years is nomore.

“The force field musthave shut down while wewereinside,”Isay.

“Maybe it doesn’t needprotection anymore,” Adamsuggests.

“Or maybe the Entitydiverted its powerelsewhere,” Marina replies.

She pauses for a moment,thinking. “When I kissedEight . . . I felt it.Forasplitsecond, I was part of theEntity’s energy flow. It wasspreadingouteverywhere,allthrough the Earth. Whereverthe Loric energy went, nowit’s spread thin. Maybe itcan’t power its defenseshere.”

Adam gives me a look,like I should be able to

explainwhatMarinajustsaid.“What do you mean it

spread through the Earth?” Iask.

“I don’t know how toexplain it better than that,”Marina says, gazing back atthe temple, now cast half inshadowbythesettingsun.“Itwas a feeling like I was onewith Lorien. And we wereeverywhere.”

“Interesting,”Adam says,

eyeing the temple and thenthe ground beneath his feetwithamixtureofcautionandawe. “Where do you think itwent?AreyourLegacies . . .?”

“I don’t feel anydifferent,”Itellhim.

“Me neither,” Marinasays. “But something haschanged. Lorien is out therenow.OnEarth.”

It’s definitely not the

tangible result I was hopingfor, but Marina seems soupbeat about it. I don’twanttorainonherparade.“Iguesswe’ll see if anything’schanged back in civilization.Maybe the Entity’s out therekickingass.”

Marina glances back atthetemple.“Shouldweleaveit this way? Withoutprotection?”

“What’s left to protect?”

Adamasks.“There’s still at least

some of the, uh, the Entityleft in there,”Marina replies.“Even now, I think theSanctuaryisstillawayto...Idon’tknow,exactly.Get intouchwithLorien?”

“Wedon’thaveachoice,”Ireply.“Theotherswillneedus.”

“Wait a second,” Adamsays, looking around.

“Where’sDust?”With everything that

happened inside theSanctuary, I completelyforgotabouttheChimæraweleft outside the temple tostand guard. There’s no signofthewolfanywhere.

“Couldhehavegoneintothe jungle looking for thatMogwoman?”Marinaasks.

“Phiri Dun-Ra,” Adamreplies, naming the trueborn

that survived our initialassault. “Hewouldn’t justgooffonhisownlikethat.”

“Maybe the Sanctuary’slight showscaredhimoff,” Isuggest.

Adam frowns, then cupsboth his hands around hismouth. “Dust! Come on,Dust!”

He and Marina fan out,searching for any sign of theChimæra. I climb onto our

Skimmer to get a better lookatthesurroundingarea.Fromup here, something catchesmy eye. A gray shapesquirmingoutfrombeneatharotten log at the edge of thejungle.

“What’s that?” I yell,pointing the writhing formout to Adam. He races over,Marina right behind him. Amoment later, Adam carriesthe small shape over to me,

hisfacetwistedwithconcern.“It’sDust,”Adamsays.“I

mean,Ithinkitis.”Adamholdsagraybirdin

his hands. It’s alive but itsbodyisstiffandtwisted, likeit suffered from an electricshock and never recoveredfrom the spasms. His wingsjut out at odd angles and hisbeak is frozen half-open.Even though this is nothinglikethepowerfulwolfweleft

behind just a short time ago,there’s a quality that Iimmediately recognize. It’sDust, for sure. Bad as helooks,hisblackbirdeyesdartaroundfrantically.He’salive,and hismind isworking, buthisbodyisn’tresponding.

“What the hell happenedtohim?”Iask.

“I don’t know,” Adamsays, and for a moment Ithink I see tears in his eyes.

He steadies himself. “Helooks . . . he looks like theotherChimæradidrightafterI rescued them from PlumIsland. They wereexperimentedon.”

“It’s okay, Dust, you’reokay,”Marina whispers. Shegently smooths down thefeathersonhishead,tryingtocalm him. She uses herLegacy to heal most of thescratches that cover him, but

it doesn’t release Dust fromtheparalysis.

“We can’t do anythingmore for him here,” I say. Ifeelbad,butweneedtokeepmoving.“IfthatMogdidthistohim,she’slonggone.Let’sjust get back to the others.Maybe they’ll have ideasaboutwhattodo.”

Adam brings Dust onboardtheSkimmerandwrapshim in a blanket. He tries to

make the paralyzedChimæraas comfortable as possiblebefore he sits down behindtheship’scontrols.

IwanttogetintouchwithJohn,findouthowthingsaregoing outside the Mexicanjungle. I retrieve the satellitephone from my pack andsettle into the seat next toAdam. While he beginspowering up the ship, I callJohn.

The phone ringsendlessly. After about aminute,Marinaleansforwardtolookatme.

“Howworried should webe that he’s not answering?”sheasks.

“The normal amount ofworried,”Ireply.Ican’thelpbutglancedownatmyankle.No new scars—as if Iwouldn’thavefeltthesearingpain. “At least we know

they’restillalive.”“Something’s not right,”

Adamsays.“We don’t know that,” I

reply quickly. “Just becausethey can’t answer right thisseconddoesn’tmean—”

“No. I mean with theship.”

When I take the phoneawayfrommyear,Icanhearthe strange stuttering noisethe Skimmer’s engine is

making. The lights on theconsoleinfrontofmeflickererratically.

“I thoughtyouknewhowtoworkthisthing,”Isay.

Adam scowls, thenangrily flips down switcheson the dashboard, poweringthe ship off. Beneath us, theenginerattlesandclangs,likesomething’snotcatching.

“I do know how toworkthisthing,Six,”hesays.“It’s

notme.”“Sorry,”Ireply,watching

as hewaits for the engine tosettle before powering theship up again. The engine—Mogadorian technology thatshould be deathly silent—onceagainburpsandspasms.“Maybe we should trysomething besides turning itoffandonagain.”

“FirstDust,andnowthis.Itdoesn’tmakesense,”Adam

grumbles. “The electronicsare still working. Well,everything except for theautomated diagnostic, whichis exactlywhatwould tell uswhat’s wrong with theengine.”

I reach over and hit thebutton that opens up thecockpit.Theglassdomepartsaboveourheads.

“Let’s go have a look,” Isay, standing up from my

seat.We all climbback out of

the Skimmer. Adam jumpsdown to inspect the ship’sunderside, but I remain atopthehood,next tothecockpit.I find myself gazing at theSanctuary, the ancientlimestone structure casting along shadow thanks to thesetting sun. Marina standsnext tome, silently taking intheview.

“Do you think we’regoing towin?” I askher, thequestionjustpoppingout.I’mnot even sure I want ananswer.

Marina doesn’t sayanything at first. After amoment, she rests her headon my shoulder. “I thinkwe’re closer today than wewereyesterday,”shesays.

“I wish I knew for surethat coming down here was

worthit,”Isay,clutchingthesatellite phone, willing it toring.

“Youneedtohavefaith,”Marina replies. “I’m tellingyou, Six, the Entity didsomething...”

I try to trust in Marina’swords, but all I can thinkabout are the practicalities. Iwonder if the flood of Loricenergy from the Sanctuarywaswhatscrewedupourride

inthefirstplace.Or maybe there’s a

simplerexplanation.“Hey, guys?”Adam calls

from beneath the ship. “Youbetter come take a look atthis.”

I hop down from theSkimmer, Marina rightbehind me. We find Adamwedged between the metalstruts of the landing gear, abent panel of the ship’s

armoredunderbellyinthedirtathisfeet.

“Is that our problem?” Iask.

“Thatwasalreadyloose,”Adam explains, kicking thedislodgedpiece.“Andlookatthis...”

Adammotionsmecloser,so I slide in next to him,gettinganintimatelookattheinner workings of our ship.The Skimmer’s engine could

probablyfitunderthehoodofa pickup truck, but it’s a lotmore complicated thananything built here on Earth.Instead of pistons or gears,theenginecomprisesaseriesof overlapping spheres.Theyspin fitfully when Adampushes against them, tickinguselessly against the exposedendsofsomethickcablesthatrundeeperintotheship.

“See, the electrical

systems are still intact,”Adam says, flicking thecables. “That’s why we stillhave some power. But that’snot enough alone to get theantigravity propulsion going.These centrifugal rotorshere?”Herunshishandoverthe overlapping spheres.“They’rewhatgetsusofftheground. Thing is, they aren’tbrokeneither.”

“Soyou’re tellingme the

Skimmer should work?” Iask,myeyesglazingoverasIstareattheengine.

“It should,” Adam says,butthenhewaveshishandinsome empty space betweenthe rotors and the wires.“Exceptyouseethat?”

“I have no idea what thehell I’m looking at, dude,” Itellhim.“Isitbroken?”

“There’s a conduitmissing,” he explains. “It’s

what transfers the energygenerated by the engines totherestoftheship.”

“Andyou’re tellingme itdidn’tjustfallout.”

“Obviouslynot.”I take a few steps out

fromunderneaththeSkimmerand scan the nearby tree linefor any movement. WealreadykilledeveryMogthatwas trying to break into theSanctuary.Allexceptforone.

“Phiri Dun-Ra,” I say,knowing that theMog is stillout there. We were toofocused on getting into theSanctuary to bother goingafterherearlier,andnow...

“She sabotaged us,”Adam says, reaching thesameconclusionIhave.PhiriDun-Ra did a number onAdamwhenwe arrived, beathim up pretty good and wasabout to try roasting his face

ontheSanctuary’sforcefieldbeforewegotthedroponher.He still sounds pretty bitterabout it. “She took out Dustandthenshestrandedushere.Weshould’vekilledher.”

“It’snottoolate,”Ireply,frowning. I don’t seeanythinginthetrees,butthatdoesn’t mean Phiri Dun-Raisn’touttherewatchingus.

“Couldn’t we replace thepart with one from another

ship?” Marina asks,motioning to thedozenor soMog scout ships spaced outalongthelandingzone.

Adam grunts and shovesout from underneath ourSkimmer.He strides towardsthenearestship,hislefthandon the handle of a Mogblasterhetookoffoneof thewarriorswekilled.

“Ibetalltheseshipshaveengine panels that look just

like ours,” Adam grumbles.“I hope it at least hurt hermessed-uphands.”

I remember Phiri Dun-Ra’sbandagedhands,scarredfrom coming into contactwith the Sanctuary’s forcefield. We should’ve knownbetter than to leave one ofthem alive. Even beforeAdam reaches the nearestship, I’ve got a sinkingfeeling.

Adam ducks underneaththe other ship, examining it.He sighs and makes eyecontactwithmebeforegentlyelbowing the armored hullabove his head. The enginepanel falls away like therewas nothing holding it inplace.

“She’stoyingwithus,”hesays, his voice low andgravelly.“Shecould’vetakenashotatuswhenwe left the

Sanctuary. Instead,shewantstokeepushere.”

“Sheknowsshecan’ttakeus by herself,” I say, raisingmy voice a little, thinkingmaybe I can bait Phiri Dun-Raoutofhiding.

“Sheremovedtheseparts,right?” Marina asks. “Shedidn’tjustdestroythem?”

“No,itlookslikeshetookthem,” Adam replies.“Probablydoesn’twant tobe

responsible for destroying abunchof ships in addition togetting her squadron killed.Although, keeping us herelong enough forreinforcementstocaptureandkilluswouldprobablygethera pass from her BelovedLeader.”

“No one’s gettingcaptured or killed,” I say.“ExceptPhiriDun-Ra.”

“Isthereanyotherwayto

getourshipmoving?”MarinaasksAdam.“Couldyou...Idon’t know? Rig somethingup?”

Adam scratches the backofhisneck,lookingaroundatthe other ships. “I supposeit’s possible,” he says.“Depends what we canscrounge together. I can try,butI’mnotamechanic.”

“That’s one idea,” I say,looking up at the sky to see

how much daylight we haveleft.Notmuch.“Or,wecouldgo out into that jungle, trackdown Phiri Dun-Ra and getourpartback.”

Adamnods.“Ipreferthatplan.”

I look at Marina. “Whataboutyou?”

I don’t even have to ask.Thesweatonmyarmstingles—she’s radiating an aura ofcold.

“Let’s go hunting,”Marinasays.

CHAPTERTHREE

UNDER IDEAL CONDITIONS,THEWALKTOUNIONSquareshould take about fortyminutes. It’s only amile andahalf.But thesearefarfromideal conditions. Sam and I

are backtracking along thesame blocks we spent theafternoon fighting through.Back to where theMogadorian presence isheavier.

Hopefully,NineandFivedon’t kill each other beforewegetthere.Weneedthemifwe’regoing tohaveanyshotatwinningthiswar.

Bothofthem.Sam and I stick to the

shadows. Some blocks stillhave electricity, so thestreetlights are on, shininglike it’s a normal evening inthe big city, as if the roadsaren’tlitteredwithoverturnedcars and broken chunks ofpavement. We avoid thoseblocks¸knowingitwillbetooeasyfortheMogstospotus.

We pass through whatused to be Chinatown. Itlooks like a tornado touched

downhere.Thesidewalksareimpassable on one side, anentire block’s worth ofbuildingscollapsedtorubble.There are hundreds of deadfish in the middle of thestreet. We have to pick ourway carefully through theobstacles.

On our way down fromthe UN, there were stillpeopleonnearlyeveryblock.The NYPD were trying to

manage an orderlyevacuation, but most werefleeing haphazardly, justtrying to stay ahead of theMog squadrons that seemedequally likely to slaughtercivilians as take themprisoners. Everyone waspanickedandshell-shockedattheirnewhorrificreality.SamandIpickedupthestragglers,the ones who didn’t manageto leave quick enough, or

whosegroupsgotblownapartbyMogpatrols.Therewerealot of them. Now, after tenblocks, we haven’t seenanother living soul. Maybemost of the people in lowerManhattan made it to theevacuation point on theBrooklyn Bridge—if theMogs haven’t attacked it bynow. Anyway, I figure thatanyone who managed tosurvive the day is smart

enough to spend the night inhiding.

As we sneak down thenext desolated block, Samand I skirting cautiouslyaround an abandonedambulance,Ihearwhisperingfromanearbyalley.Iputmyhand on Sam’s arm and,when we stop walking, thenoisecutsoff.Icantellwe’rebeingwatched.

“What is it?” Sam asks,

hisownvoicelow.“There’s someone out

there.”Sam squints into the

darkness.“Let’skeepgoing,”he says after a few seconds.“Theydon’twantourhelp.”

It’s hard for me to leaveanyone behind. But Sam’sright—whoever’sout there isdoing perfectly fine in theirhidingspot,andwe’donlybeputting them in more danger

takingthemwithus.Five minutes later, we

turnacornerandseeourfirstMogadorian patrol of thenight.

The Mogs are at theopposite endof theblock, sowe have the space to safelyobserve them. There are adozen warriors, all carryingblasters. Above them, aSkimmer hums along,sweeping the street with a

spotlight mounted on theship’s underbelly. The patrolmovesmethodicallydowntheblock, a group of fourwarriors periodicallybreaking off from the rest toenter darkened apartmentbuildings. I watch them gothrough this routine twice,and both times I breathe asigh of relief when thewarriors return without anyhumanprisoners.

What would happen iftheseMogsfoundahumaninone of these buildings andpulled them screaming intothe street? I couldn’t just letthathappen,right?I’dhavetofight.

WhataboutafterSamandI move on? They’repredators. If we leave themalive, eventually they’ll findprey.

As I’m considering this,

Sam nudges me, pointingtowards a nearby alley thatwill let us avoid the Mogs.“Come on,” he says quietly.“Beforetheygettooclose.”

I stay rooted in place,considering our odds. Thereareonlytwelveofthem,plusthe ship. I’ve fought biggergroups before and won.Granted, I’m still fatiguedfrom an afternoon spentbattling nonstop, but we’d

have the element of surpriseon our side. I could takedown the Skimmer beforethey even realize they’reunder attack, and the restwouldfalleasily.

“We can take them,” Iconclude.

“John, are you nuts?”Sam asks, grabbing myshoulder. “We can’t fightevery Mog in New YorkCity.”

“But we can fight theseones,” I reply. “I’m feelingstronger now and ifsomething goes wrong I’lljusthealusafter.”

“Assumingwedon’t,youknow,getshotinthefaceandkilled outright. Battle tobattle,healingusrightafter—how much of that can youtake?”

“Idon’tknow.”“There’s too many of

them. We have to pick ourbattles.”

“You’re right,” I admitgrudgingly.

We dart down the alley,hop a chain-link fence andemerge on the next blockover,leavingtheMogadorianpatrol to its hunting.Logically, I know Sam isright. I shouldn’t be wastingmy time with a dozenMogswhenthere’sagreaterwarto

be won. After an exhaustingday, I should be conservingmystrength.Iknowallthisistrue. Even so, I can’t helpfeeling like a coward foravoidingthefight.

Sam points up at a signfor First Street and SecondAvenue. “Numbered streets.We’regettingcloser.”

“They were fightingaroundFourteenthStreet, butthatwasatleastanhourago.

The way they were going atit, they could’ve gone in anydirectionfromthere.”

“So let’s keep our earsopen for explosions andcreative cursing,” Samsuggests.

We only make it a fewmore blocks uptown beforecrossing paths with anotherMogadorianpatrol.SamandIhuddle behind a deliverytruck, abandoned carts of

fresh-baked bread still sittingon the off-loading ramp. Ipoke my head around thefront of the truck, taking aheadcount.Onceagain,thereare twelve warriors with aSkimmer supporting them.This group behavesdifferently than the last one,though. The ship hovers inplace, its spotlight fixed ontheshatteredfrontwindowofabank.TheMogsoutsideall

have their blasters pointedinto the building. Somethinghasthemspooked.

I recount the pale headsglaring in the spotlight.Eleven. Only eleven wherethere were definitely twelvebefore. Did one of them justget ashed without menoticing?

“Come on,” Sam sayswarily,probablythinkingthatI’mspoilingforafightagain.

“We should gowhile they’redistracted.”

“Hold up,” I reply.“Something’s happeninghere.”

With the others coveringthem,twoMogsstalktowardsthe front of the bank. Theystay low, weapons at theready, looking for somethingbeyond the reach of theSkimmer’sspotlight.

When they reach the

bank’s threshold, both Mogstosstheirblastersintotheair.The entire squad pauses,frozen, stunned by thisdevelopment.

It’s telekinesis. Someonejust disarmed those MogswithaLegacy.

I give Sam a wide-eyedlook. “Nine or Five,” I say.“They’repinneddown.”

Spurredtoaction,therestof theMogsopen fireon the

darknessofthebank.Thetwodisarmed warriors are liftedoff their feet, again bytelekinesis, and used asshields. They disintegrate inthe flurry of their squad’sblaster fire. Then a deskcomesflyingoutfromwithinthe bank. Two Mogs arecrushed by the airbornefurniture, and the restbackpedal for better cover.Meanwhile, the Skimmer

maneuvers closer to thestreet, its guns comingaround, angling for a shotinsidethebank.

“I’ll take the ship, youtakethewarriors,”Isay.

“Let’sdoit,”Samreplies,nodding once. “I just hopeit’s not Five holed up inthere.”

I spring out from behindthe truck and run toward theaction, firing up my Lumen

asIgo.Thenerveendingsinmy hands feel fried. I canactuallyfeeltheheatfrommyownLumen, likeI’mwavingmy hand over a candle. Thepain is bearable, an obviousside effect of overdoing ittoday.Ipushthrough,quicklytossing a fireball at theSkimmer. My first attackexplodes their spotlight,darkeningthestreet.Theshipis knocked off course just as

it unloads on the bank, theheavy blaster fire carvingchunks off the brick side ofthe building. With the maingun distracted, I hope to seeNine charge out from thebankandjointhefray.

Noonecomesout.Maybewhichever Garde is inside isinjured. After a long day offighting each other and theMogs, they’reprobablymorewornoutthanme.

I hear a sizzle ofelectricity behind me—Samfiring off his blaster—andwatch as the two closestMogsgoupincloudsofash.Seeing us coming frombehind, anotherMog tries toduck behind a parked car.Sam yanks him out of coverwithhisnewfoundtelekinesisandlightshimup.

OneoftheMogsscreamsaburstofgratingMogadorian

words into a communicator.Probablyradioingforhelp.

Broadcastingour location—that’snotgood.

IboundupthehoodofanSUV parked convenientlybeneaththeSkimmer.Onmyway, I lob a fireball at theMogwith the communicator.He’s engulfed by flames andissoonnothingmorethanashpooled around some meltedgear.Even so, the damage is

done.Theyknowwe’rehere.We need to get out of herequick.

IleapfromtheroofoftheSUV,puttingahugedentintothemetalasIpushoff.Atthesametime,Ihit theSkimmerwith a telekinetic punch. Idon’thavethepowertobringthe ship down, but I hit ithard enough so that one sideof the saucer-shaped craftdips low, towardsme. I land

rightontopof thething, twoMogadorian pilots staring atmeinshock.

A few weeks ago, itmight’ve felt good to see theMogs recoil in fear. Imight’veevensaidsomethingfunny, borrowed some quipfromNine’s playbook beforekilling them.But now—afterthe terror they’ve unleashedonNewYork—Idon’twastethebreath.

I tear the cockpit doorloose from its hinges andsend it flying into the night.The Mogs try to unbucklefrom their seats, groping fortheirblasters.Beforetheycando anything, I unleash afunnel of white-hot fire. TheSkimmer immediately beginstocareenoutofcontrol.Ileapfreeof the ship, landinghardon the sidewalk below, mytired legs barely supporting

me. The Skimmer smashesinto a storefront across thestreet and explodes, blacksmoke rising out from thestore’sshatteredwindow.

Sam runs up next to me,his blaster pointed at theground.Therestoftheareaisclear of Mogs. For themoment.

“Twelve down, like ahundred thousand left togo,”Samsaysdryly.

“One of them got off adistress call.We gotta go,” Itell Sam, but even as I saythis, I feel the same light-headedness from earliercreeping on. The rush ofbattle gone, my fatigue isnow back. I have to supportmyselfonSam’sshoulderfora minute, until I get mybearings.

“Noone’scomeoutofthebank,” Sam says. “I don’t

think it’s Nine in there.Unlesshe’shurt,it’swaytooquiet.”

“Five,” I growl, movingcautiouslytowardsthebank’sbustedentrance. I’mnot sureIcanhandleafightwithhimatthispoint.Myonlyhopeisthat Nine’s done a good jobofsofteninghimup.

“There,” Sam says,pointing into the darkenedlobby. Someone’s moving

around. Whoever it is, theyappear to have spent thebattlehidingbehindasofa.

“Hey, it’s all clear outhere,” I call into the bank,gritting my teeth as I shinemy Lumen inside. “Nine?Five?”

It isn’t one of the Gardewhocautiouslysteps intomybeam of light. It’s a girl.She’sprobablyaboutourage,only a couple of inches

shorter than me, with a leansprinter’s body. Her hair ispulled back in tight rows ofbraids. Her clothes arescuffed up either from thefightorthegeneralchaos,butotherwise she looks unhurt.Tossed over the girl’s leftshoulder is a heavy-lookingduffel bag. She looks fromSam tomewith wide browneyes, eventually focusing onthe light shining from the

palmofmyhand.“You’re him,” the girl

says, inching forward.“You’retheguyfromTV.”

Now that thegirl iscloseenough to see, I shut offmyLumen. Don’t want to belighting up our location forthe Mog reinforcements thatareontheirway.

“I’mJohn,”Itellher.“John Smith. Yeah, I

know,”thegirlsays,nodding

eagerly. “I’m Daniela. Youreally killed the hell out ofthosealiens.”

“Uh,thanks.”“Was there someone else

in therewithyou?”Samcutsin, craning his neck to lookpasther. “Adudewith angerissues and a habit of takingoff his shirt? A gross one-eyedguy?”

DanielacocksherheadatSam, eyebrows raised. “No.

What?Why?”“We thought we saw

someone attack those Mogswith telekinesis,” I say,looking Daniela over again,feeling equal parts curiousand cautious. We’ve beentricked before by potentialallies.

“Youmeanthis?”Danielareachesoutherhandandoneof the dead Mogs’ blastersfloatstoher.Sheplucksitout

of the air, resting it againstthe shoulder not supportingher duffel bag. “Uh-huh.That’sanewdevelopmentforme.”

“I’m not the only one,”Sam breathes, looking at mewithwideeyes.

My mind is cyclingthrough possibilities soquickly that I’m struckspeechless. I might not haveunderstood thewhyof it,but

Sam getting Legacies madesense to me on a gut level.He’s spent so much timearound us Garde, done somuch to help us—if anyhumanwasgoingtosuddenlydevelopLegacies,itwouldbehim. The hours since theinvasion have been so crazythat I didn’t really have timetothinkabout it.Didn’tneedto, really.SamwithLegaciesjust seemed logical. When I

imagined other humansbesidesSamgettingLegacies,I’d been thinking of peoplewe know, people who havehelped us. I was thinking ofSarah, mostly. Definitely notsome random girl. This girl,though, Daniela, her havingLegacies means somethingbigger than I imagined hashappened.

Who is she? Why doesshehavepowers?Howmany

morelikeherareoutthere?Meanwhile, Daniela is

staring at me with that star-struck look again. “So, um,can I ask why you pickedme?”

“Pickedyou?”“Yeah, to turn into a

mutant,”Daniela explains. “Icouldn’t do this shit untiltodaywhenyouand thepaleguys—”

“Mogadorians,” Sam

clarifies.“I couldn’t move stuff

with my mind until you andthe Moga-dork-ians showedup,” Daniela finishes.“What’sthedeal,man?Noneof the other people I’ve seenoutherehavepowers.”

Sam clears his throat andraises his hand, but Danielaignores him. She’s on a rollnow.

“Am I radioactive?What

else can I do?Yougot thoseflashlight hands going on.Am I gonna be able to dothat? Why me? Answer thelastonefirst.”

“I—” I rub the back ofmy neck, overwhelmed. “Ihavenoideawhyyou.”

“Oh.” Daniela frowns,lookingdownattheground.

“John, shouldn’t we getmoving?”

I nodwhen Sam reminds

me of the impendingMogadorian reinforcements.We’ve already stood heretalking for way too long.Standinginfrontofme—andnext tome, for thatmatter—are . . . what exactly? Newmembers of the Garde?Humans.It’slikenothingI’veever contemplated. I need towrapmyheadaroundthenewstatusquoquickly,becauseifthere aremore humanGarde

out there, they’regoingtobelooking for guidance. AndwithalltheCêpandead...

Well, that leaves us. TheLoric.

Firstthingsfirst,IneedtomakesureDanielastayswithus. I need time to talk withher, to try figuring out whatexactly triggered herLegacies.

“It’s not safe here, youshould come with us,” I tell

her.Daniela looks around at

thedestructionthatsurroundsus. “Is it gonna be safewhereveryou’regoing?”

“No.Obviouslynot.”“WhatJohnmeansis that

this particular block is goingtobecrawlingwithMogsanyminute now,” Sam explains.He startswalking away fromthe bank, trying to lead byexample. Daniela doesn’t

followandsoIdon’teither.“Your sidekick’s

nervous,”Danielaobserves.“Myname’sSam.”“You’re a nervous guy,

Sam,” Daniela replies, onehandonhercockedhip.She’sstaringatmeagain,sizingmeup. “If more of those alienscome, won’t you just blowtheirassesaway?”

“I . . .” I find myselfhaving to recycle the pick-

your-battles logic that mademebristlesomuchwhenSamuseditonme.“Therearetoomany to keep fighting. Itmight not feel like it nowbecause you’ve just startedusing them,but ourLegaciesaren’t a limitless resource.We can push too hard, gettired,andthenwe’renogoodtoanyone.”

“Good advice,” Danielasays. She remains rooted in

place.“Toobadyoucouldn’tanswer any of my otherquestions.”

“Look, Idon’tknowwhyyouhaveLegacies,butit’sanamazingthing.Agoodthing.It’s destiny,maybe.You canhelpuswinthiswar.”

Daniela snorts.“Seriously? I’m not fightingany war, John Smith fromMars. I’m trying to surviveouthere.ThisisAmerica,yo.

The army will take care ofthese weak-ass dust aliens.They got the drop on us,that’sall.”

I shake my head indisbelief. There’s seriouslynotimetoexplaintoDanielaeverythingsheneedstoknowabouttheMogadorians—theirsuperior technology, theirinfiltration of Earth’sgovernments, their endlessamounts of disposable

vatborn warriors andmonsters. I never had toexplain those things to theothermembers of theGarde.We always knew the stakes,wewereraisedunderstandingour mission on Earth. ButDaniela and the other newlyminted Garde who might bewanderingaround...whatiftheyaren’treadytofight?Ordon’twantto?

An explosion shakes the

ground under our feet. Itemanates from a few blocksaway, but is still powerfulenough to set off car alarmsand rattle my teeth. Thicksmoke darker than the nightsky floats intoviewfrom thenorth. It sounds like abuildingjustcollapsed.

“Seriously,” Sam says.“Something’s headed ourway.”

Anotherexplosion,closer,

confirms Sam’s suspicion. IturndesperatelytoDaniela.

“Wecanhelp eachother.We have to, or we won’tsurvive,” I say, thinking notjustof the threeofus,butofhumans and Loric. “We’relooking for our friend. Oncewe find him, we’re going toget out of Manhattan. Weheard the government’sestablished a safe zonearound the Brooklyn Bridge.

We’llgothereand—”Daniela waves off my

wholeplan, stepping towardsme.Hervoiceisraised,andIfeelher telekinesisbuffetmychest, like a jabbing indexfinger.

“My stepdad got roastedby those pale scumbags andnowI’moutherelookingformy mom, alien guy. Sheworked down here. Yousaying I should drop all that

and join your army of two,running around my city thatyou played a part in gettingblown up? You saying thefriend you’re looking for ismore important than mymom?”

Another explosion.Closer, still. I have no ideawhat to say to Daniela. Thatyes, saving Earth is moreimportant than saving hermom? Is thatmy recruitment

speech? Would I havelistened to that if someonesaiditaboutHenriorSarah?

“OhmyGod,”Samsays,exasperated. “Could we atleast agree to all run in thesamedirection?”

And that’s when thereinforcements come intoview. It isn’t a squadron ofSkimmers or warriors cometokillus.

It’stheAnubis.

CHAPTERFOUR

THE MASSIVE WARSHIP,BIGGER THAN AN AIRCRAFTcarrier,becomesvisibleinthenight sky when it’s still fiveor so blocks away. It pushesslowly through the acrid

smoke its recent bombingskicked up. Sam and I hadbeenabletostayaheadoftheAnubis earlier that afternoon,fighting our way south as itslowlyprowledtheskylinetothe east. But now, here it is,looming up the avenue, rightin the direction of UnionSquare.

Iclenchmyfists.SetrákusRaandElla areonboard theAnubis. If I could justgeton

there,maybeIcouldfightmyway to the Mogadorianleader. Maybe I could killhimthistime.

Sam stands at my side.“Whatever you’re thinking,it’s a bad idea. We need torun,John.”

And as if to punctuateSam’s declaration, a sizzlingballofelectricenergygathersin the barrel of the Anubis’shuge hull-mounted cannon.

It’s like a miniature sunbuildingupwithin thebarrel,andforamomentitlightsthesurrounding blocks in aghostly blue. Then, with asound like a thousand Mogblastersgoingoffatonce,theenergy erupts forth from thecannon, shearing through thefaçade of a nearby officebuilding, the twenty-storystructure almost immediatelycollapsinginwards.

Awaveofdustrollsdownthe street towards us.Coughing, the three of ushave to shield our eyes. Thedust might give us somecover, but that doesn’t reallymatter when the warship hasa gun that can demolishwhole buildings. The Anubislumbers closer, alreadypreppingforanothershot.I’mnot sure if Setrákus Ra isaiming at heat signatures in

the buildings or if he’s justdestroying things at random,hoping to hit us. It doesn’tmatter. The Anubis is like aforce of nature and it’sheadedinourdirection.

“Hell with this,” I hearDaniela say, and then shetakesoff.

Sam follows her and sodoI,thethreeofusretreatingthewaySamandI justcamefrom. We’ll have to find

another way to track downNine.Ifhe’sstillinthearea,Ihope he manages to ride outthisbombing.

“Do you know whereyou’re going?” Sam yells toDaniela.

“What? You guys arefollowingmenow?”

“Youknowthecity,don’tyou?”

Another buildingexplodesbehindus.Thedust

is thicker this time, choking,and my back gets pelted bysmall chunks of plaster andcement. The explosions aretoo close. We might not beabletooutrunthenextone.

“We need to get off thestreet!”Ishout.

“This way!” Danielayells, hooking a sharp leftthatmomentarilytakesusoutof the deluge of buildingdebris that funnels down the

avenue.When Daniela turns,

something slips loose fromunder the broken zipper onher duffel bag. For a splitsecond, my eyes track ahundred-dollarbillasitfloatsthroughtheairandisquicklyswallowed by the billowingcloud of debris. Weird whatyou notice when you’rerunningforyourlife.

Wait. What exactly was

she doing in that bank whentheMogspinnedherdown?

There’s no time to ask.Another explosion rocks thearea, this one deafeninglyclose and strong enough thatit knocks Sam off his feet. Idrag him back up and wescrambleonwards,bothofuscovered in the clinging,chokingdustofthedestroyedbuildings. Even thoughDaniela is just a few yards

ahead,she’sonlyvisibleasasilhouette.

“In here!” she yells backtous.

I try to shine my Lumenaheadbut itdoesn’tdomuchgood in the swirlingbuildingfragments. I have no ideawhere Daniela’s leading us,not until the grounddisappears from beneath myfeetandIfallheadfirstintoaholeintheground.

“Oof!” Sam yelps as hehitstheconcretefloornexttome. Daniela is on her feet afew yards away. My handsand knees are scraped fromthelanding,butotherwiseI’munhurt. I glance over myshoulder, seeing a darkenedstaircase that’s rapidly fillinginwithdebrisfromabove.

We’re in a subwaystation.

“A little warning

would’ve been good,” I snapatDaniela.

“You said off the street,”she replies. “This is off thestreet.”

“You okay?” I ask Sam,helping him up. He nods,catchinghisbreath.

The subway stationbegins to vibrate. The metalturnstilesrattleandmoredustfiltersdownfromtheceiling.Even through the barrier of

concrete, I hear the mightygrowl of the warship’sengines.TheAnubismust beright above us. Electric-bluelight pours into the stationfromoutside.

“Go!” I yell, shovingSam, Daniela alreadyhopping a turnstile. “Into thetunnels!”

The cannon unloads witha high-pitched shriek. Evenshielded by layers of

concrete, I tingle from theelectricity, my body fizzingdown to its bones. Thesubway station shakes and,aboveus,abuildingletsoutamournful groan as its steelgirdingtwistsandcollapses.Iturn and run, jumping ontothe tracks after Sam andDaniela. I look over myshoulder as the ceiling startstocavein,firstsealingoffthestairswe just fell down, then

spreading farther into thestation.Itisn’tgoingtohold.

“Run!” I yell again,strainingtobeheardoverthecrumblingarchitecture.

Into the darkness of thesubway tunnel we sprint. IfireupmyLumensothatwecansee,my lightglintingoffthesteel tracksoneithersideof us. I sense movement atmy side and it takes amomenttorealizethatthere’s

a herd of rats runningalongsideus, also fleeing thecollapse. Somewhere downhere, apipemusthaveburst,because I’m running throughankle-deepwater.

With my enhancedhearing, I listen to thestonework that surrounds usgrinding and tearing.Whatever the Anubisdestroyed on the street level,itcausedmajordamagetothe

foundation of the city. Iglance at the ceiling just intime to see a jagged crackspread through the cement,breaking off into tributariesthat spread down the mold-coveredwalls. It’s likewe’retryingtooutrunthestructuraldamage.

We can’t win this race.The tunnel’s going tocollapse.

I’m about to yell out a

warning when the tunnelgiveswayaboveDaniela.Sheonlyhas time to lookupandscream as a dislodged chunkof cement plummets towardsher.

I put everything into mytelekinesis and shoveupwards.

Itholds.Imanagetostaveoff the cave-in centimetersfrom Daniela’s head. I exertso much counterforce to

support the massive weightoverhead that I’m pusheddown tomyknees. I feel theveins inmy neck protruding,fresh sweat dampening myback. It’s like carrying atremendous weight whenyou’re already exhausted.And meanwhile, new cracksare spiderwebbing out fromthe broken piece of ceiling.It’s physics—the weight hasto go somewhere. And that

somewhere is going to berightontopofus.

I can’t hold this. Not forlong.

ItastebloodinmymouthandrealizeI’mbitingmylip.Ican’tevenyelltotheothersforhelp.IfIshiftevenatinybit of focus away from mytelekinesis, the weight willbecometoomuch.

Luckily, Sam realizeswhat’shappening.

“We have to hold up theceiling!”heshoutsatDaniela.“Wehavetohelphim!”

Sam stands next to meand throws his hands up. Ifeel his telekinetic strengthjoin mine and it alleviatessome of the pressure. I’mabletogetupfrommyknees.

Out of the corner of myeye, I see Daniela hesitate.The truth is, if she ran now,with Sam andme supporting

thetunnel,shecouldprobablymake it to safety. We’d bescrewed,butshe’dmakeit.

Daniela doesn’t run. Shestandsontheothersideofmeandpushesup.Thecementinthe ceiling groans and morecracks erupt in the tunnelwalls. It’s a delicate balance—our telekinesis just forcesthe weight from the brokenstonework to shift elsewhere.No matter what we do,

eventually, this tunnel isgoingtocollapse.

Enough of the weight’sbeen taken off that I canspeak again. I ignore theburningagonyinmymuscles,theheavinesssinkingintomyshoulders. Sam and Danielaare holding, waiting for myinstructions.

“Walk . . . walkbackwards,” I manage togrunt.“Letitgo...slowly.”

Shoulder to shoulder, thethree of us march slowlybackwards down the tunnel.We keep the telekineticpressureondirectlyaboveus,gradually letting go of thesectionsofceilingthatwe’vesafely passed under. Itrumbles and collapses in ourwake. At one point, I see acouple of cars fall into thetunnel,quicklyswallowedbymoredebris.Thestreetabove

iscollapsing,but thethreeofusmanagetoholditatbay.

“How long?” Sam asksthroughgrittedteeth.

“Don’t know,” I reply.“Keepgoing.”

“Shit,” Daniela repeatsover and over, her voice ahoarsewhisper. I canseeherarms shaking. Both she andSam are raw, not used totelekinesis. I’ve neversupported this much weight

before, and I certainly didn’tcome close to it on my firstdaywithLegacies. I can feeltheir strength waning,beginningtoslip.

Theyjustneedtoholdona little bit longer. If theydon’t,we’redead.

“We’regoingtomakeit,”Igrowl.“Keepgoing!”

I can feel the subwaytunnel gradually slopingdownwards under my feet.

The deeper we get, thesturdier the ceiling is aboveus. Step by step, thetelekinetic counterpressureweneedtoexertlessens,untilfinally we reach a section oftunnel where the ceiling isstable.

“Let go,” I groan. “It’sokay,letgo.”

As one, we release ourholdontheceiling.Tenyardsaway, the last bit of ceiling

we’dbeensupportingcrashesinto the tunnel, blocking offthewaywecame.Aboveus,the tunnel creaks and holds.All three of us collapse intothe filthy water that fills thebottomofthetunnel.Ifeelasif an actual weight has beenlifted from my shoulders. Ihear a retching noise next tomeandrealize thatDaniela’sthrowingup.Itrytostandupto help her, but my body

doesn’tcooperate.Ifallface-firstintothewater.

A second later, Sam’shands are under my arms,liftingmeup.Hisfaceispaleand strained, like he doesn’thavemuchlefttogive.

“Oh man, is he dying?”DanielaasksSam.

“However much ceilingwe were holding, he wasprobably carrying four timesasmuch,”Samreplies.“Help

mewithhim.”Daniela slides underneath

my other arm. She and Samliftmeup,draggingmedownthetunnel.

“He just saved my life,”Danielasays,stillbreathless.

“Yeah,hedoesthatkindathing a lot.” Sam turns hishead, speaking into my ear.“John? Can you hear me?You can shut off the lights.We can make it in the dark

forabit.”That’swhenIrealizethat

I’m still illuminating thetunnel with my Lumen.Running on fumes, and stillI’m instinctually keeping thelightson.Ittakesaconsciouseffort on my part to let myLumen go out, to not fightagainst my own exhaustion,toallowmyselftobecarried.

Iletgo.TrustinSam.And then I canno longer

feel Sam’s and Daniela’sarms aroundme. I can’t feelmyfeetdragging through thethick slop of the subwaytunnels. All my aches andpains melt away until I’mpeacefully floating throughdarkness.

A girl’s voice interruptsmyrest.

“John...”A cold hand slips inside

mine.It’sslenderandgirlish,

fragile, but it squeezes withenough force to bring mebacktomysenses.

“Openyoureyes,John.”I do as she says and find

myself stretched out on anoperating table in an austereroom, an array of ominous-looking surgical machineryspread out around me. Rightnexttomyheadisamachinethat looks almost like avacuum cleaner—a suction

tube with scalpel-sharp teethat its end is attached to abarrel filled with a viscous,writhingblacksubstance.Theooze floating through themachine reminds me of thestuff I cleansed from thesecretary of defense’s veins.Just looking at it makes myskin crawl. It’s inherentlyunnaturalandMogadorian.

Thisisn’tright.WhereamI?Werewe capturedwhile I

wasunconscious?I can’t feel my arms or

mylegs.Andyet,strangely,Idon’tpanic.Forsomereason,I don’t feel like I’m in anyrealdanger.I’vehadthiskindof out-of-body experiencebefore.

I’m in a dream, I realize.But not my own dream.Someone else is controllingthis.

With some effort, I

manage to turn my head tothe left. There isn’t anythingin that direction exceptmorebizarre-lookingequipment—amixture of stainless-steelmedical tools andcomplicated machinery likethe stuff we found insideAshwood Estates.On the farwall, though, there’s awindow. A porthole, really.We’reintheair,theskydarkoutside,litonlybythefiresin

thecitybelow.I’m on board theAnubis,

floating above New YorkCity.

Trying to take in everydetail, I turnmy head to theright.AteamofMogadoriansdressed in lab coats andwearing sterilized gloveshuddle around a metal tableexactly like the one I’m laidout on.There’s a small bodyonthetable.OneoftheMogs

holds the tube from anotherof those ooze machines, intheprocessofpressingitintothesternumoftheyounggirlonthetable.

Ella.Shedoesn’tcryoutwhen

thebladeson thehosepierceherchest.I’mpowerlesstodoanything as the blackMogadorian goo is slowlypumpedintoher.

Iwanttoscream.BeforeI

can, Ella turns her head andlockseyeswithme.

“John,” she says, hervoicetotallycalmdespitethegruesome surgery beingperformed on her. “Get up.Wedon’thavemuchtime.”

CHAPTERFIVE

“WECANDOTHIS,BUTFIRSTYOU NEED TO understandhow Phiri Dun-Ra thinks,”Adamwhispers.

“You are the expert onMog psychology,” I reply,

watching as Adam uses abroken branch to draw asquare in thedirt. “Enlightenus.”

The three of us crouchnext to our lifeless Skimmeron the dirt strip the Mogswere using as a runway. It’sdark now, but theMogs hadplenty of handheld electriclanternsonhandtoilluminatetheir round-the-clockattempts to break into the

Sanctuary. I guess Phirididn’t have the foresight tosteal all the batteries, so atleast we’ve got light. Thereare also some hugefloodlights positioned aroundthe temple’s perimeter, butwe’veleftthoseoff.Noneedto make spying on us anyeasierforher.

The jungle around usseems louder now that thesun’sgonedown,thechirping

of tropical birds replaced bythe shrill buzzing of billionsofmosquitos. I slap thebackof my neck as one of themtriestobiteme.

“There’s no doubt in mymindthatshe’soutthererightnow, watching us,” Adamsays. “EveryMogwarrior ofher class is trained insurveillance.”

“Yeah,weknow,”Ireply,glancing out into the

darkness. “You guys havebeenstalkingusallourlives,remember?”

Adamcontinues,ignoringme. “She’s probably capableof going at least three dayswithnosleep.Andshewon’tremain in one place, she’llstaymobile.Therewon’tbeacampsite to find or anythinglike that. If we go in thereafter her, she’ll move, stayaheadofus.She’sgotalotof

jungle to hide in. That said,it’ll be her instinct to stayclose. She’ll want to keeptabsonus.”

Marina frowns at Adam,watching as he draws somesquiggly lines in the dirtaround his square. I realizethat he’s drawing Sanctuaryandthesurroundingjungle.

“Sowe have to draw herout,”Marinasays.

“Youknowagoodwayto

dothat?”IaskAdam.“We give her something

no Mog can resist,” Adamreplies,andhedrawsan“M”in the western part of thejungle.Then,hegivesMarinaapointedlook.“AvulnerableGarde.”

Immediately,Ifeeltheairaround us get a little colder.Marinaleansforward,gettingclose to Adam, her eyesnarrowedthreateningly.

“Do I seemvulnerable toyou,Adam?”

“Of course not. We justwantyoutoappearthatway.”

“A trap,” I say, trying tomediate.“Marina,chillout.”

Marina gives me a look,but I feel her icy auradissipate.

“So,” Adam continues,“first,wesplitup.”

“Split up?” Marinarepeats.“You’rekidding.”

“That’s always the worstidea,”Isay.

“Wecanjustgooutthereand hunt her down,” Marinasays. “Six can make usinvisible. She won’t have achance.”

“That could take allnight,” Adam says. “Maybelonger.”

“Andit’snotexactlyeasymoving through a dark-assjungle,” I remind Marina,

thinking back to our journeythroughtheEverglades.

“We split upbecause it’sa dumb move,” Adamexplains. “We make it looklikewe’re trying to find her,like we’re trying to covermore ground. Phiri Dun-Rawillseeitasanopportunity...”

Adam draws three linesmoving away from thetemple, fanning out into the

jungle.“Six, you’ll go east, I’ll

go south and,Marina, you’llgowest.”Adamlooksatme.“When you get two hundredpacesintothejungle,Six,youturn invisible. She won’t bewatchingyouatthatpoint.”

“What makes you thinkshewon’t attackme?” I ask.“Icanbevulnerable.”

Marinasnorts.Adam shakes his head.

“She’ll go after our healerfirst.Iknowit.”

“Because it’s what youwoulddo?”Marinaasks.

Adam meets her eyes.“Yeah.”

Marina and I exchange alook. At least Adam’s beingstraight up about how he’dhunt us down. I’m glad he’sonourside.

“I guess itmakes sense,”Marina says, examining the

drawings in the dirt.Suddenly, she looks back upat Adam. “Wait. You’resaying theMogsknow I’mahealer?”

“Of course,” he replies.“Any Legacies they’veobserved in the field havebecomepartofyourdossiers.And all Mogs study those.It’s like their second-favoriteleisureactivityaftertheGreatBook.”

“Fun,”Isay.Marina considers this.

“They wouldn’t know aboutmy night vision. It’s notsomething they couldobserve.”

Adam looks up from hisbattle plan. “You have nightvision?”

Marina nods. “If you’reright and Phiri does attackme, I might actually see hercomingfirst.”

“Huh,” Adam replies.“Well,that’sabonus.”

“So what do I do after Iturninvisible?”Iask.

“You find me, we goinvisible,andthenwedoubleback and follow Marina.Back her up for when PhiriDun-Raattacks.”

“And if she attacks mebefore you guys get there?”Marinaasks.

Adamsmirks.“Iguesstry

not to kill her until you’vegottenbacktheconduits.”

“Doyouthinkshe’sgoingto just hand them over?”Marina asks, cocking herheadatAdam.

“Hopefully, she’scarrying them on her,” hereplies.

“Andifshe’snot?”“I . . .”Adamlooksfrom

Marinatome,tryingtogaugeour reactions. “There are

ways to make people talk.EvenMogadorians.”

“We don’t torture,”Marina says emphatically.Even after everything she’sbeen through, even afterlosing Eight—she’s still themoral compass. She looksover at me for support.“Right,Six?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Ireply, not wanting to take apositionatthemoment.“First

things first. Let’s get thebitch.”

The three of us make abig show of separating, eachof us carrying one of theelectric lanterns into theforbidding jungle. As I duckthrough the thick vines andclawlike branches in thedense brush, I focus myhearing asmuch as possible.I’m hoping maybe I’llstumble upon Phiri, shorten

this whole plan Adamhatched, but no such luck.I’m only successful inamplifying the ceaselesssounds of the jungle.Onmyleft,somethingdarkandfurryshrieks out a warning as Imove through its territory.There’s so much movementand noise out here—Adamwas right, it’d be next toimpossible to track PhiriDun-Ra.

Ipushasideabranchwithmore force thannecessary. Itsnaps back and slaps myshoulder. I gritmy teeth andwonder if I could just call ahurricanedownonthiswholestupid jungle and pick upPhiriDun-Ra.

OneMog.We’reoutherechasingonestupidMog.Thismust be exactly what PhiriDun-Ra wanted, to take usout of the game while who

the hell knowswhat happensback in New York. A full-scaleinvasioncouldbeunderway.IimagineJohnandNinetrying to fight off hordes ofMogadorians, Sam runningfor his life, the entire worldengulfedinflames.

Yeah. We need to hurrythisup.

Before splitting up andheading into the jungle, weturned on the large halogen

work lights around theSanctuary’s perimeter sowe’dbeable to findourwayback. Once I’ve gone farenough that I can barely seethe lights through the trees, Iturn invisible. Just in casePhiriDun-Ra iswatchingmeinstead of Marina, I use mytelekinesistofloatmylanternahead of me. I wait a fewsecondstoseeifanyshadowyforms detach from the

surrounding jungle to pursuemyghostlylanternand,whennonedo,Ihookthelanterntoa low-hanging branch andleaveitbehind.

I’m comfortable withmyown invisibility, havingdeveloped a good sense ofspatial awareness after yearsofpractice.Still, it isn’teasynavigating without my light.At least I’ve got someexperience from back in

Florida. I take it slow,glancing often at muddyground in front of me,ducking low to go underbranches.Atonepoint,Ihaveto carefully step over astriped rattlesnake, the thingnotevenshiftingasIpassby.

Before long, I spotAdam’s lantern bobbingthrough the jungle. He’smoving purposely slow,waitingformetocatchupto

him. He doesn’t hear mecoming.WhenIslipmyhandintohis,inthemomentbeforeIturnhiminvisible,Ihearhisbreath catch and shoulderstense.

“Scareyou?”Iwhispertohim.Ipluckthelanternoutofhis other hand with mytelekinesis,goingthroughthesame routine that I did withmyown.

“Surprisedme,that’sall,”

herepliesquietly.“Let’sgo.”Westartpickingourway

through the jungle towardswhereMarina shouldbe. I’mcareful not to go too fast atfirst, but Adam has goodbalance and seems to bekeepingupjustfine.Hishandis surprisingly cool and drydespite the humid jungle air—he’s steady, this wholesituationisn’tweirdtohimatall. I can’t help but breathe

outalittlelaugh.“What?” he asks me, his

voice a whisper in thedarkness.

“Just never imaginedreaching a point in my lifewhere I’d be holding handswithaMogadorian,”Ireply.

“We’re allies,” Adamresponds. “It’s for themission.”

“Yeah,thanksforclearingthatup.Still,itisn’tweirdfor

you?”Adam pauses. “Not

really.”Adam doesn’t say

anything more. I remembersomethinghesaidbackontheflighttotheSanctuary.

“Who do I remind youof?”Iaskhimaswecarefullyclimboverafallenlog.

“What?”“Back in the Skimmer,

you said I reminded you of

someone.”“You want to talk about

thatnow?”hewhispersback.“I’m curious,” I reply,

keeping an eye out for thetelltale glow of Marina’slantern.Wedon’tseeityet.

Adam is quiet for longenough that I start to thinkhe’sjustdonetalking,likehissilenceisareprimandfornotstayingonmission.I’maboutto tell him that I can

successfully track oneMogadorian while alsocarrying on small talk, thankyou very much, when hefinallyanswersme.

“Number One,” he says.“That’s who you remind meof.”

“One? The Garde youtookyourLegaciesfrom?”

His hand tenses up inmine, like he has to stophimselffromyankingaway.

“Shegave her Legacy tome,” Adam snaps. “I didn’ttakeanything.”

“All right,” I reply.“Sorry.Poorchoiceofwords.I didn’t realize that youactuallygottoknowher.”

“We had a . . . complexrelationship.”

“Like,youwereinchargeof the Mogs stalking her orsomething?”

Adam sighs. “No. After

she was killed, One’sconsciousnesswas implantedin my brain alongside myown. For a while, basically,we shared a body. I guessthat’swhyI’mnotconcernedwith holding hands orwhatever juvenile thing hasbeen making youuncomfortable for the lastfiveminutes.I’vebeenreally,reallyclosetoGardebefore.”

Now it’s my turn to fall

silent. I never even metNumber One. She remains acomplete mystery to me,more like a concept. Theunlucky one. First up to bat.The first one to get killed.And yet Adam has all thisintimate knowledge of her.It’s weird to think that aMogadorian has given morethoughttoNumberOnethanIever did.Not just that, but itsounds like he actually cared

abouther.Ourworldjustgetsstrangerandstranger.

“Theresheis,”Iwhisper,sparing us any furtherawkward conversation asMarina’s lantern comes intoview.

“Good,” Adam says,sounding relieved. “Now wefollow along and wait forPhiri Dun-Ra to take the bai—”

Adam’s interrupted by

cobalt-blue blaster firesizzling through the air,aimed right for Marina’slantern. Even with all thejungle noise, I can hearMarinascream.

“Shit!Go!”I release Adam’s hand

andsprintthroughthejungle,usingmytelekinesistoshoveaside the tangled branchesand dense blockades ofleaves. I’m sure I pick up a

few scratches along theway,but that doesn’t matter. Thecreature sounds around mebecome loud with panic as Itrample through theirterritories. I’m distantlyaware of Adam runningbehind me, taking advantageofthepathI’mclearing.

Up ahead, I can tell thatMarina’slanternhasfallentothe ground by the way itthrows crooked beams of

light through the twisted treelimbs.

Running full throttle, ittakesmelessthanaminutetoknife my way through thejungle. I burst into the smallclearing where Marina’slantern is on the ground, justintimetoseeMarinarunningher hand over a blaster burnon her upper arm. Sheglancesupatmeasshehealstheblisteredflesh.

“Plan worked,” Marinasayscasually.

“You’rehurt,”Ireply.“This?Luckyshot.”I breathe a sigh of relief,

then look to Marina’s leftwherePhiriDun-Raglaresatus from her knees. There’s afresh trail of blood drippingthrough her mess of Mogtattoos and severely pulled-back braids, probably fromwhere Marina clocked her.

Phiri’s blaster is in the dirtnext to her, out of reach andcrumpled beyond use by atelekinetic attack. Her handsandanklesareboundinwhatI quickly realize to beshacklesmadefromsolidice.Looks like Marina’s gettingpretty good with her newLegacy.

Adam arrives in theclearing a few seconds afterme. Phiri Dun-Ra’s look of

hatred only intensifies whenheshowsup.

“You got her,” Adamsays, and Marina nods, evensmiles a little. “You’re allright?”

“I’m good,” Marinareplies.“Nowwhatshouldwedowithher?”

“You should kill me,”PhiriDun-Ragrowls,spittinginto the dirt in front of her.“The sight of a trueborn

consorting with you Lorictrashsooffendsmyeyes,Inolongerwishtolive.”

“Hello toyou too,Phiri,”Adam says, rolling his eyes.“What did you do to myChimæra?”

PhiriDun-Ra’s eyes lightup. “A little trick I learnedfrom the Plum Islandscientists with blasterfrequencies.Didyourpetdie?Ididn’thavetimetocheckits

body.”“He survived. Unlike

you.”“We aren’t going to kill

you—,” I start to say, butPhiri thrashes in the dirt,interruptingme.

“Because you’recowards,” she hisses. “Doyou want to rehabilitate melike this one? Make me intoanother Mogadorian pet? Itwon’thappen.”

“You didn’t let mefinish,” Isay,steppingcloserto her. “We’re not going tokillyouyet.”

“Did you search her?”AdamasksMarina.

“She was only carryingthe blaster,” Marina replies.TherestofPhiri’soutfitisthestandardsleekbodyarmorofa Mog warrior. There’s noroomtohideabunchofshipparts.

“Wherearetheconduits?”I ask her. “Give them backand I’ll at least make yourdeathquick.”

Marinashootsmeaquicklook, her eyebrows upraised.I put off answering thesequestions before—what dowe do with a capturedMogadorian and how far dowe go to get what we need?Torture. The thought givesme a chill of revulsion,

especially thinking back tomy time spent being one oftheir captives. It feels likecrossing a line, likesomething they would do tous. It’s different from killingthem in battle, when they’refighting back and trying tokill us too. Phiri Dun-Ra ishelpless, our prisoner. Butone Mog prisoner is uselessand we need to get the helloutof this jungle.Iknowwe

shouldn’t sink to their level,butoursituationisdesperate.Howfarwill threats takeus?Iwonder.

“Die a slow death, Loricscum,”Phirispitsbackatme.

So, she isn’t going tomakethiseasy.

Before I can decidewhatto do, Adam darts past meand strikes Phiri across theface with the back of hishand. She cries out and

topples over onto her side.Phiriisstunned,Irealize.Shewasn’t expecting the blow.Maybe she was banking onthe fact that Marina and Iwouldn’t have the stomachfor torture. Adam, on theotherhand...

“You forget who you’redealing with, Phiri Dun-Ra,”Adam says through clenchedteeth. He slides onto hisknees in the dirt next to her

andgrabsherby the frontofher shirt, yanking herpartially upright. “Do youthinkbecauseI’vespenttimewith the Garde that I’veforgotten our ways? Youknow who my father was.Much to his disappointment,my marks were alwayshighest in the non-combat-related subjects.But still . . .the General found ways tofocus my training.

Interrogation. Anatomy.Imagine how rigorously theGeneral trained his heir. Irememberwell.”

Adam reaches one of hishands around Phiri’s head,digging his thumb into thespace behind her ear. Shescreams out, her legsthrashing.MarinatakesasteptowardsthetwoMogs,givingme another look. I swallowhard and shake my head,

stoppingher.I’mgoing to let this play

out.Whereveritleads.“I might not share your

ideology, Phiri Dun-Ra,”Adam says, raising his voiceto be heard over herscreaming, “but I do shareyour biology. I know whereyournervesare,wheretohurtyoubest.Iwillspendtherestofthenightpickingyouapartuntil you beg for

disintegration.”Adamreleaseshisgripon

Phiri,lettingherfallbackintothe dirt. She’s panting,struggling to get in a deepbreath.

“Oryoucantelluswhereyou hid the conduits,”Adamsayscalmly.“Now.”

“I’llnever—”Phiri iscutoff,flinchingasAdamstandsup. He’s suddenly lostinterestinher.

He saw the same thing Idid.ThewayPhiriDun-Ra’seyes flicked towards amoss-coveredlogattheedgeoftheclearing.Adamwalksovertothe log while she squirmsaround in the dirt, trying tokeep her eyes on him. Oncloser inspection, the log isrotten, hollowed out bytermites. Adam plunges hishand inside and tugs out asmall duffel bag. Phiri must

have shoved the bag in therebeforeattackingMarina.

“Aha,”hesays,givingthebag a good shake. Inside,metal parts clang together.“Thanksforyourhelp.”

Marina and I exchange arelieved look, even as Phiriscreechesoutherlatesttaunt.

“It doesn’t matter,traitor,” she says. “Nothingyoudomattersanymore!”

That gets my attention. I

give Phiri a not-so-gentlekick in theback tomakeherrolloverandlookatme.

“Whatdoesthatmean?”Iask her. “What’re yousaying?”

“War came and went,”Phiri replies, laughing atme.“Earthisalreadyours.”

My stomach drops at thethought, but I don’t let itshow.We have to get out ofMexicoandseeforourselves.

“Are the parts intact?” IaskAdam.

“She’s lying to you, Six.It’s what she does,” hereassures me, maybedetecting a tremor ofnervousness inmy voice.Hetosses down the duffel bagandcrouchesoverit.

“Whatshouldwedowithher?” Marina asks me. ShefocusesonPhiriDun-Raforasecond, reinforcing the ice

shackles that have begun tomelt.

I’m considering myanswer when Adam grunts,yanking on the zipper thatappears to be stuck onsomething. When the zippercomes loose, somethinginside the duffel bag clicks,likeatimerbeingarmed.

“Watch out!” Adamscreamsasheshovesthebagaway from him. Everything

happens so fast. I see thegroundriseupinfrontof theduffel bag and realize thatAdam is using his seismicLegacy to try shielding us.Withanorange flashof lightand a loud pop, the bombinsidethebagdetonatesrightin front of him. Chunks ofdirt and deadly shrapnel flythrough the clearing. I’mthrowntothegroundfromtheconcussion blast. I can feel

fresh pain in my leg—ajagged piece of metal,probablyshipparts,islodgedinmythigh.

Above the ringing in myears,IcanhearPhirilaughinghysterically.

CHAPTERSIX

A HEAVY WEIGHT FALLSACROSS MY LEGS, DRIVINGthe shrapnel sticking out ofmy thigh even deeper. It’sPhiri Dun-Ra. She has freshlacerations on her face and

arms, the results of her ownimprovised bomb.Herwristsandankles are still boundbythe ice manacles, but thathasn’t stopped her fromthrowing herself on top ofme.I’mstillstunnedfromtheblast, so I don’t react asquickly as I should. Phiriheadbutts me in the sternumasshewormsherwayacrossmybody.

“Now you die, Loric

trash,” she says maniacally,stillgiddyoverthesuccessofherboobytrap.

I’mnotsurewhatherplanishere—maybe tobiteme todeathorsmothermewithherbody, but I’m not so out ofsorts that either of thosethings is going to happen.With a quick burst oftelekinesis, I swipe PhiriDun-Ra offme. She tumblesthrough the dirt, rolling

across glowing bits ofscorchedduffelbag.Shetriesto get herself onto her feet,screaming in frustration asherbondsgetintheway.

She’s silenced when Ikick her across the face ashard as I can. Phiri flops tothegroundunconscious.

“Staywithme!”It’s Marina’s voice that

snaps me out of my rage orI’d probably kill Phiri right

there. I spin around and seeherbentoverAdam.

“Ishe...?!”Ilimpacrosstheclearing,

forgetting that there’s a six-inch piece of jagged steelprotruding from my thigh. Iignore the pain. Adam’s inmuchworseshapethanIam.

Istaggeraroundthesmallhill of earth Adam was ableto construct in the fewsecondsbeforetheexplosion.

It absorbed a lot of theshrapnel,butnotenough.Thebombstillbasicallydetonatedrightinfrontofhim,soAdamtook the brunt of the blast.He’sonhisbacknow,Marinaleaningoverhim,andIcringeattheamountofdamagehe’staken. His entire midsectionisblownopen,likehe’sbeenscooped out. He should’vedived out of the way insteadof standing there like a

human shield. Stupid Mog,tryingtobeahero.

Amazingly, Adam’s stillconscious.Hecan’tspeak;allthe strength he can musterseems to be going intobreathing. His eyes are wideandscaredashesucksinwet,rattling breaths. His hands,soaked with his blood, arecurledintotightfists.

“I can do this, I can dothis . . . ,”Marina repeats to

herself,nothesitatingatallasshelaysherhandsonAdam’sgrisly wound. Looking overher shoulder, helpless, Irealize how sadly familiarthis situation must be forMarina. It’s like Eight alloveragain.

As Adam’s breathingbecomes more and moreragged,Iwatchashisinsidesbegintoknitthemselvesbacktogether under Marina’s

touch. And then somethingdisturbinghappens—there’sacrackle and hiss, like a firestarting, and a piece ofAdam’s midsection brieflysparks before disintegratingintothatfamiliarMogadoriandeathash.

Marina cries out insurprise, pulling her handsaway.

“Whatthehellwasthat?”Iask,eyeswide.

“I don’t know!” Marinayells. “Something’s fightingme, Six. I’m afraid I’mhurtinghim.”

The second Marina’shealing stops, Adam’s still-open wound begins bleedingagain. He’s getting pale.More pale than usual, even.His hand scrabbles throughthe dirt and gropes forMarina.

“Don’t . . . agh, don’t

stop,” Adam manages togurgle, and when he does Ican see that there’s darkblood in his mouth.“Whateverhappens...don’tstop.”

Steeling herself, Marinaagain presses down onAdam’s injury. She squeezesher eyes shut andconcentrates, fresh sweatdripping down the sides ofher dirt-smudged face. I’ve

seen Marina heal a lot ofinjuries before, but this isdefinitelythemosteffortI’veseen her expend. Adam’sbody slowly begins toregenerate, until anothersection of his insides sparksanddisintegrates,lookinglikethefuseofabombburningupinsidehim.Whenthat’sover,though, the rest of him healsnormally.

It takes a couple of

minutes, but Marina finallygets Adam closed up. Shefallsbackwardsontoherbutt,breathing like she’s justfinished sprinting, her handsshaking. Adam remains onhis back, running his fingersover theskinofhisabdomenthatminutesagowasn’tthere.Finally, he props himself upon an elbow and looks atMarina.

“Thank you,” he says,

locking eyes with her, hisface amixture of amazementandgratitude.

“Don’t mention it,”Marina replies, catching herbreath.

“Um, Marina . . . wouldyou mind?” I gesture to thepiece of metal still stickingoutofmyleg.

Marina groans from theexertion, but nods,maneuvering around so she’s

on her knees in front of me.“Do you want me to pull itoutor...?”

Before she can finish, Iyank the jagged piece ofshrapnel out of my thigh. Afresh spurt of blood tricklesdown my leg. The pain isbad, but Marina quicklynumbs itwith ablastof coldbefore using her healingLegacy to close me up.Compared to putting Adam

backtogether,ittakesnotimeatall.

When she’s finishedwithme, Marina immediatelylooks back at Adam. “Whatwas that when I was healingyou?Whywasitsohard?”

“I . . . I don’t know,exactly,” Adam replies,staringintothedistance.

“You started todisintegrate a little,” I say.“Likeyouweredying.”

“I was dying,” Adamsays. “But that shouldn’thappen to me. The vatbornwarriorsyou’vefaced turn toash because they’re madeentirely from Setrákus Ra’sgenetic experimentation.Some trueborn, like me,receive modifications thatwould cause them todisintegrate when they die. Ihaven’t received anythinglikethat,though.Atleast...”

“Notthatyouknowof,”Ifinishthethoughtforhim.

“Yeah,” Adam replies,looking down at himself likehe suddenly doesn’t trust hisown body. “Iwas in a comafor years. It’s possible myfather might have donesomething to me. I don’tknowwhat,though.”

“Whatever itwas, I thinkmy healing burned it out ofyou,”Marinasays.

“I hope so,” Adamreplies.

All threeofus fall silent.With the medicalemergencies averted, itbecomesclearjusthowbadlywe’ve screwed up. I walkover to thescorchedpatchofdirt where Phiri Dun-Ra’sexplosive went off, kickingaround tattered bits of duffelbag and misshapen hunks ofmetal.Thebagwasprobably

filled with conduits, but Idon’t find anything evenslightlysalvageable.

We are now totallystrandedhere.

WhenIturnaround,IfindthatAdamhaspickedhimselfup and is now standing overPhiri’sunconsciousbody.

“We should kill her,” hesays coldly. “There’s noreasontokeepheralive.”

“We don’t do that,”

Marina answers, her voicegentle,reasonable.“Shecan’thurtusifshe’stiedup.”

Adamopenshismouthtorespond, but seems to decideagainst it. Marina just savedhis life, so I guess he feelslikeheshould listen toher. Iactually findmyself agreeingwith both of them—PhiriDun-Ra is nothing buttrouble,andholdingontoheris just begging for her to

screw us over again. Butkilling her when she’sunconsciousseemswrong.

“We’ll at least wait forher to wake up,” I saydiplomatically. “Figure outwhattodowithherthen.”

The others nod in silent,glum agreement. We headback to the Sanctuary. I usetelekinesis to float Phiri’sunconscious body alongwithus.Oncewe’re back,Marina

keeps the ice shackles niceandthickuntilwe’veusedanelectriccabletosafelysecurethe Mog trueborn to thewheel of one of the manybroken-down ships. At thispoint, I’m pretty sure she’splaying possum. Let her.Marina’s right—she can’thurt us while she’s tied up,and ifshegets free,well, I’llmake sure Adam gets hiswish.

Notsurewhatelsetodo,Itry the satellite phone again.Still no answer from John.ThatmakesmethinkofPhiriDun-Ratellingusthatthewarhadalreadycomeandgone.Idon’t have any new scars,which means John and Nineare still verymuch alive, butthat doesn’tmean everythingis copacetic back in NewYork.

“Adam, can we key into

the Mog communicationsfrom one of these ships?” Iask. “I want to knowwhat’shappening.”

“Of course,” he replies,jumpingat theopportunitytodosomethingproductive.

The three of us climb onboard our old Skimmer,Adamsettlingintothepilot’sseat. He successfully powersontheship’selectricsystems,although the lights flicker

spastically and something intheSkimmer’scoregroansatthe effort. Adam beginsturning a dial on thedashboard, picking upnothing but intermittentburstsofstatic.

“I just need to find therightfrequency,”hesays.

Isigh.“It’s fine.Not likewe’regoinganywhere.”

Nexttome,Marinagazesat the Sanctuary through the

Skimmer’s window. Becauseweleftthefloodlightson,theentire temple is lit up, theancient limestone practicallyglowing.

“Don’t lose hope, Six,”Marina says quietly. “We’llfigurethisout.”

WhenAdamturnsthedialagain,thestaticisreplacedbya gutturalMogadorian voice.TheMogspeaksinaclipped,no-nonsense way, like he’s

reading items off a list. Ofcourse, I can’t understand awordofwhathe’ssaying.

I elbow Adam. “Yougoingtotranslate?”

“I . . .” Adam, staring atthe radio like it’s possessed,doesn’t know what to say. Iquicklyrealizethathedoesn’twant to tellmewhatnews iscominginovertheradio.

“How bad?” I ask,keepingmyvoicelevel.“Just

tellmehowbad.”Adam clears his throat

and shakily begins totranslate.“Moscow,moderateresistance. Cairo, noresistance. Tokyo, noresistance. London,moderateresistance. New Delhi,moderate resistance.Washington, D.C., noresistance. Beijing, highresistance, preservationprotocolslifted—”

“What are these?” I cuthim off, losing patiencewiththe droning. “Their attackplans?”

“They’re status reports,Six,” Adam says, his voicelow. “Warships are reportingin on how the invasion isprogressing. Each of thosecities has one of the hugewarships backing up anoccupation effort, and theyaren’ttheonlyones...”

“It’s happening?”Marinaasks, sitting forward. “Ithoughtwehadmoretime.”

“The fleet is on Earth,”Adamreplies,hisfaceblank.

“What did that thingmean about preservationprotocols?” I ask. “You saidtheywereliftedinBeijing.”

“Preservation protocolsare Setrákus Ra’s way ofkeepingEarthintactforlong-term occupation. If they’re

lifted in Beijing, it meansthey’re destroying the city,”Adamsays.“Usingittosendamessage toothercities thatmightcausetrouble.”

“My God . . . ,” Marinawhispers.

“Onewarshipalonecoulddestroyacityinafewhours,”Adamcontinues.“Ifthey...”

He trails off, some newstatusontheradiogettinghisattention. He swallows and

turns the dial hard, loweringthe volume on reports ofMogadoriansuccess.

I grab him by theshoulder. “What is it? Whatdidyouhear?”

“New York . . . ,” hebegins grimly, pinching thebridge of his nose. “NewYork, Garde-assistedresistance...”

“That’sus!That’sJohn!”Adam shakes his head,

finishing the translation.“Garde-assisted resistanceovercome. Incursionsuccessful.”

“What does that mean?”Marinaasks.

“It means they’ve won,”Adam replies darkly.“They’ve conquered NewYorkCity.”

They’ve won. The phraserepeatsitselfinmymind.

They’re taking over and

we’restrandeddownhere.Because I don’t have a

better target it for it, I punchthe console where the dullbuzzofMogadorianprogressdroneson.Sparkserupt fromthe dashboard and Adamleaps out of the pilot’s chair,startled.Marinagetsontoherfeet and tries to wrap herarms aroundme, but I shrugheroff.

“Six!” she yells after me

as I jump out of the cockpit.“Itisn’tover!”

IstandatopourSkimmerfeeling rage burning insideme, but having nowhere tochannel it. I look at theSanctuary, bathed in light.This place was supposed tobe our salvation. Our tripdown here hasn’t changedanything, though. It almostgot us killed and now we’reout of the war. How many

people are dying becausewe’re not there to help JohnsaveNewYork?

I feel an itchon thebackof my neck. Someone’swatching me. I turn around,my gaze drifting to therunway and the other ships.Phiri Dun-Ra is awake, tieduprightwherewelefther.

Shegrinsatme.

CHAPTERSEVEN

WHENELLA SPEAKS, A JOLTPASSES THROUGH me.Suddenly,Icanmoveagain.Ileap up from my operatingtable and try to shove theMogadorian doctors

surroundingElla.My hands pass right

through them, like they’reghosts. They’re frozen inspace now, unmoving, themoment a snapshot beforeme. I need to remindmyselfthat this is all happeninginside my head, or Ella’shead, or somewhere inbetween.Inourdreams.

“Don’t worry aboutthem,”Ellasays.Shesitsup,

passing through the oozemachinethat’sattachedtoherchest, and then the Mogs asshe hops down from hertable.“Ican’teven feelwhatthey’redoingtome.”

“Ella . . .” I don’t evenknow where to begin. Sorryfor letting you be kidnappedback in Chicago, sorry fornotsavingyouinNewYork...

She hugs me, her small

face pressed into my chest.Thatmuchfeelsreal,atleast.

“It’s okay, John,” shesays. Her voice is almostserene,likesomeonewhohasaccepted her fate. “It isn’tyourfault.”

There’s the Ella I’mhugging and then there’s theElla frozen in time, stillpinneddowntotheoperatingtablebeneaththeMogadorianmachines, surrounded by

enemies. I can’thelp lookingpast theElla inmyarmsandstaring at the horrific resultsof her Mogadorianimprisonment.Shelookspaleand drained, streaks of grayrunning through her auburnhair. There are already blackveinsvisiblebeneathherskin.AchillrunsthroughmeandIforce myself to look away,squeezingEllaalittletighter.

The hug ends and Ella

peers up atme. This versionof her looks almost as Iremember—wide-eyed andinnocent—although there’s atiredness around her eyes, akind of weary wisdom, thatwasn’t there the last time Isawher.Ican’timaginewhatshe’sbeenthrough.

“What are they doing toyou?”Iask,myvoicequiet.

“Setrákus Ra calls it hisGift,” Ella says, her lips

curling in disgust. She looksover her shoulder, watchingherself get experimentedupon, and hugs herself. “Thestuffhe’sputtingintome,I’mnotsurewhereitcomesfrom.It’s the same weirdo geneticcrap he grows the vatbornwarriors from. It’s the stuffhe used to augment some ofthehumans—youknowaboutthat?”

I nod, thinking of

Secretary of DefenseSanderson and the cancerousresistance I felt in his bodywhenIhealedhim.

“He’sdoingittoyou.Hisown—” I still hesitate to saythis part out loud. “His ownfleshandblood.”

Ella nods sadly. “For thesecondtime.”

I rememberhowoutof itEllaseemedduring thebattleat the United Nations. “He

did it to you before the bigpublic appearance,” I say,putting the pieces together.“Drugged you up so youcouldn’truinhismoment.”

“It was punishment fortrying to escape with Five.TheGift . . . itmakesithardformetofocus,atleastwhenI’mawake.I’mnotsurehow,butheusesittocontrolme.ItcouldberelatedtooneofhisLegacies.Itriedtofigureout

everythinghecando,John, Itriedtostophim,but...”

Ella’s shoulders slump. Iplacemy hand gently on thebackofherneck.

“You did everything youcould,”Itellher.

Shesnorts.“Uh-huh.”I take a long look at the

machineElla’shookedup to,trying to memorize thedetails. Maybe if we evermanagetohookbackupwith

Adam,hecanshedsomelighton how exactly this thingworks.

“He’snot controllingyounow,”Isay,gesturingaroundto the frozen-in-timeMogadorian operatingtheater. “You’re doing this.You’restillfightinghim.”

“I’ve been able to hidethat I’m telepathic,” Ellareplies,straighteningupabit.“Whenever he hurts me, I

hide inside my own mind. Ipractice. My Legacies aregettingstronger.Icouldsenseyou down there from onboard theAnubis. I was ableto pull you intomy, um . . .mydream?Whateverthisis.”

“Just like in Chicago,” Imuse,tryingtoworkthisout.“Only, you needed to touchmethattime.”

“Not anymore. I guessI’mgettingstronger.”

I give Ella’s shoulder asqueeze. This should be aproud moment, her cominginto her own, learning tomaster such a powerfulLegacy when she’s still soyoung. But our situation istoo dire for any realcongratulations.

I look across themedicalbay towards the door, thenbackatElla.

“Can you show me

around?” I ask. “Is that evenpossible?”

Ella manages a shakysmile.“Youwantthetour?”

“It might come in handytoknowwhat the ship’s like.For when I get up here andrescueyou.”

Ella lets out a mirthlesslaugh,lookingawayfromme.I hope that she hasn’t givenup hope. The odds mightseembadnow,butIwon’tlet

her stay Setrákus Ra’s petgrandchildforever.Iwillfindaway.BeforeIcantellherallthat,Ellanods.

“I can show you around.I’vebeenalloverthisship.IfI’ve seen it, then it’s storedup here,” Ella says, tappinghertemple.

We step out of themedical bay and into thehallway. It’s all stainlessmetal walls lit by dull red

lighting, a cold andeconomical place. Ella leadsme through the Anubis,showing me the observationdeck, the control room, thebarracks, all these areascompletely empty. I try tocommit every detail tomemory so that I candrawamapwhenIwakeup.

“Where are all theMogs?”Iaskher.

“Most of them are down

in the city. The Anubis onlyhasaskeletoncrewnow.”

“Goodtoknow.”Deep down in the ship,

we pause in front of a glasswindow that looks intoanotherlaboratory.Inside,thefloor is completely taken upby a vat of viscous blackliquid. There are twocatwalks crisscrossing overthe vat, each one equippedwith a variety of control

panels,monitoringequipmentand, oddly enough, heavy-duty mounted blasters.Growing out of the liquid isanoblongshape thatvaguelyresembles an egg, except it’scovered in dark purple moldandthrobbingblackveins.

I press my hand to thelaboratory glass and turn toElla. “What the hell is thisplace?”

“I don’t know,” she

replies.“Hedoesn’tletmeinthere.But...”

Ella knuckles herforeheadandappearstostrainfor a moment. Inside thelaboratory, figures suddenlymanifest.Ahalf-dozenMogswearing gas masks stand onthe catwalks, silentlyoperating the strangemachines. Standing amongthem is SetrákusRa himself.Seeing him there causes me

to flinch towards the glass. Ihave to resist the urge toattackhim, remindingmyselfthatthisisn’texactlyreal.

“Is this . . . is this amemory?”IaskElla.

“Something I saw,yeah,”sheanswers.“Ithink—Idon’tknow.Itmightbeimportant.”

Aswewatch,SetrákusRaliftshisstolenLoricpendantsoverhishead.Heholdsthemin his thick hands for a

moment,consideringtheblueLoralite jewels. He’s gotseveral of them—three fromthe Garde he killed and therestwereprobablytakenfromtheGardehe captured at onepoint or another. He seemsalmost nostalgic for amomentashegazesuponhistrophies.

Then, he drops them intothe vat. Four tiny littlemouths open up on the egg

and suck in the pendants,smotheringtheirglow.

“What was that?” I askElla, feeling like I might besickeven in thisdreamstate.“When did this happen?What’shedoing?”

Setrákus Ra’s gazesuddenly shoots towards usand he shouts something. Asecond later, he and the restof the Mogs disappear backintothinair.

“That’s when he caughtme spying,” Ella explains,biting her lip. “I don’t knowwhathewasdoing,John.I’msorry. Everything’s a bit . . .fuzzy.”

Wemove on.Eventually,Ellabringsmetothedockingbay. It’s a huge area withhigh ceilings, filled by rowafter row of Skimmers. It’sfrom here that the squadronsofMogs currently terrorizing

New York City first tookflight.

“They’re always comingand going from here,” Ellasays,wavingat thebigmetaldoors at the end of thedocking bay. “You might beabletogetinthroughthere,ifthey’re open. It’swhereFiveandItriedtoescapefrom.”

I make a note of thedockingbaydoors.We’djusthave to figure out a way to

make the Mogs open themup. It’d be pretty easy to geton board if we had someonewhocouldflyusupthere.

“AboutFive . . . ,” I say,hesitating,notsurehowmuchEllahasheard.“Doyouknowwhathedid?”

Ellabitesher lip, lookingdown at the floor. “HemurderedEight.”

“Buthealso tried tohelpyouescape,”Isay,feelingher

out.“Ishe...?”“You’re trying to figure

outhowevilheis?”“I’mlookingforhimright

now.I’mtryingtofigureout,when I find him, if I shouldkillhim.”

Ella frowns and walksaway from me, looking at adented spot on the floor. Iassume it’s from when sheandFivetriedtoescape.

“He’sconfused,”shesays

after a moment. “I don’tknow . . . Idon’tknowwhathe’ll do. Don’t trust him,John.Butdon’tkillhim.”

I remember the last timeElla sucked me into one ofthesedreamstates,backwhenher Legacy was firstmanifesting and out ofcontrol. It was back inChicago. That time, shedidn’tbringmetoherpresentlocation. Instead, we were

trapped in a vision of thefuture,watching SetrákusRalord over the people ofWashingtoninaworldwheretheMogadorianshadwonthewar.

“Don’twe knowwhat hedoes,though?”Iask,myfistsclenching on reflex. “Youshowed it to me. Five goesback to Setrákus Ra. Heworks for the enemy. HecapturesSixandSam...”

I trail off, notwanting tofurtherdredgeupthememoryof witnessing my friends’execution. I don’t want toremember that doomedprophecyofhowwe’regoingto lose.Ellashakesherhead.She opens her mouth, andsuddenlyIrealizethatthere’ssomething big she isn’ttellingme.

“That futuredoesn’t existanymore, John,” she says

after a lengthy pause. “Myvisions . . . they aren’t likethe nightmares Setrákus Raused to give you guys. Andthey aren’t prophecies. Wearen’t locked into them, likeEight thought. They’repremonitions.Possibilities.”

“Howdoyouknowthat?”Ella thinksforamoment.

“I’m not sure. How do youknowhow tomake fireballs?Youjustdo.It’sinstinct.”

I take a step towardsher.“So that vision of D.C.,whereeveryonewasdeadandyouwere...?”

“I can’t see it anymore.Something in the presentchangedwhatwillhappen.”

“If it’s a Legacy likemyLumen . . .”My eyeswidenasIconsiderthepossibilities.“Can you control the visionsnow? Can you look into thefutureatwill?”

Ella’s eyebrows arescrunched,likeshe’snotsurehow to describe what she’sseen. “I can’t control itexactly.Thevisions . . . theyaren’t reliable. I don’t knowif that’s because of me,becauseI’mjustlearningorifit’s because the future is sounstable. Either way, I’vespent a lot of time searchingthroughthem...”

Now I know why Ella

looks so exhausted even inthis dream space, why she’ssuddenly sowisebeyondheryears. She mentioned beforehow much time she’s spenthiding in the safety of herown mind. I wonder howmuch of that time was spentwrestling with visions of thefuture. It must be agonizingto sift through all thosepossibilities.

“What have you been

searchingfor?”Iaskher.Ella hesitates, avoiding

my eyes. “I wanted . . . Iwanted to see if there was afuturewhereIdie.”

“Ella, no,” I say, myvoice sharp. Five told meabout the twisted LoricCharm thatSetrákusRausedon himself and Ella, the onethat binds them together sowe’llhavetokillhertogetathim.“We’ll figureoutaway

to break the charm. There’sgottabeaweakness.”

Ella shakes her head, notbelieving me. Or maybealready knowing that I’mwrong.

“I’m not putting myselfbeforethewholeworld,John.IwantedtoseeafuturewhereSetrákus Ra is killed, nomatter the consequences.”Now she looks right at me,fire inhereyes.“Iwanted to

see a future where someonehasthegutstodowhatneedstobedone.”

I swallow hard. I’m notsure if I reallywant to knowthe details of Ella’s visions,but I can’t stop myself fromasking.

“What . . . what did yousee?”

“Lots of things,” Ellasays,calmingdown.Shegetsa distant look in her eyes as

she tries to explain whatseeingthefutureislike.“Thevisions start out as blurrypossibilities. There aremillions of them, I think.Someof themaremoresolidthan others—those are theonesIcansee.Theones thatseem . . . I dunno. Likely?But even that’s not aguarantee. You rememberthat future we saw inChicago. It felt real,

impossibletoescape,clearasday. It’s gone completelynow.The future has changedtoo much. And it keepschanging.”

Myheadhurts.Ifeelhalfcrazy just listening to Ella.We need a Cêpan, someonewho could help her getcontrol of these mentalLegacies before they driveher insane. At least we’veavoided the bleak future I

witnessed. But what did wetradeitfor?

“Ella, did you seeyourselfdie?”

She hesitates, and a knotof dread tightens in mystomach.

“Yes,”shesays.HerbodyshakesandI realize it’s fromholding in a sob. I crouchdown in front of her and putmyhandsonhershoulders.

“It won’t happen,” I

insist, my voice as firm as Ican make it. “We’ll changethefuture.”

“Butwewin,John.”Ella grabs my hands.

Tearsstreamfreelydownhercheeks. I realize something,theway she’s looking atme,the way she’s squeezing myhands.Ella’snotfeelingsorryforherself.

She’s feeling sorry forme.

“It’sgoing tohurtyousomuch, John,” she says, hervoicecracking.“Youhave tobestrong.”

“It’sme?”Idon’tbelieveit.“AmItheonethat—?”

I can’t even finish thequestion. I yank my handsaway from Ella. I’d neverhurther,noteven if itmeantendingthiswar.

“There has to be anotherway,” I say. “Use your

Legacy and find us a betterfuture.”

Ella shakes her head.“Youdon’tunderstand—”

In the blink of an eye,Ella is changed. She lookslike the girl stretched out onthe operating table, blackooze worming its waybeneath her skin. Shestrugglestofocusonme.Thedocking bay around us getsweirdly hazy and starts

meltingaway.“Ella? What’s

happening?”“The Anubis is moving

out of range,” she says,narrowingher eyes, trying tostrengthen our telepathicconnection. “I’m going toloseyou.Quick!There’sonemorethingyouhavetosee!”

Ella snatches my handand then we’re runningtowards the docking bay

entrance. We step through itand—

Dirtcrunchesbeneathmyfeet.Hotsunbeamsdownonthe back ofmy neck, the airsticky and humid. It’sdisorienting to be suddenlytransported from the sterilegloomof theAnubis into theheatofthejungle,vividgreenon all sides, tropical birdsloudlychirping. I’mstandingon what looks to be an

airstripcarvedintothejungle.Theblack-armoredhullsofahandful of MogadorianSkimmers reflect the brightafternoonsun.

Myeyesaredrawntothelimestonepyramidthatstandsa few yards away from theairstrip, all the Mog gearseeminglypositionedatasafedistance from the ancientstructure. I instinctuallyrecognize the temple, even

though I’ve never actuallyseenitbefore.Maybeit’sjustmy imagination, but it feelsasifsomethingburiedwithinthe centuries-old Mayanarchitecture is calling out tome.Ifeelsafehere.

“This is theSanctuary,” Isay, my voice quiet andreverent.

“Yeah,” Ella says, and Inotice that she’s alsoadmiringthetemple.

“Six,MarinaandAdam...” I pause, realizing thatElla’s never met ourMogadorianally. “Adam isa—”

“I knowwho he is,” Ellasays, her tonegivingnothingaway.“Wemeetsoon.”

“Okay, well, they werejusthere,”Icontinue,lookingaround for signs of ourfriends. “They’re probablyheadedbackbynow.Areyou

going to showmewhat theydid to give the humansLegacies?”

“This isn’t the past orpresent, John. We’re in thefuture. One that I can seevery,veryclearly.”

I should’ve known thatsince thesun isout. I turn toface Ella, sensing that shehasn’t brought me here todelivergoodnews.

“Why are you showing

methis?”“Becauseofthat.”Ellapointsintotheskyto

the north of the Sanctuary.There, like a storm cloudrolling across the otherwiseblueandcloudlesssky,istheAnubis, slowly floatingtowards the temple.My legsjerk, reflexes still keyed torunforcoverafterInarrowlysurvived thebombardment inNewYork. I forcemyself to

stay put and watch thewarshipapproach.

“When?” I ask Ella.“Whendoesthishappen?”

Before Ella can answer,her form contorts, againturning pale and black-veined. The scenery flashes,the jungle suddenlyoverlapping with the Anubisoperatingroomandalsowithwhatlookstobetheinsideofa subway car—all three

places existingsimultaneously, like threetransparent pictures laid ontop of one another. For asecond,it’simpossibleformeto focus on any particulardetail,everythingblending tothe point where I feelunmoored from reality. Butthen Ella cries out, eitherfrom frustration or pain orboth, and the jungle and theSanctuary solidify once

again.“You’re pushing

yourself,” I say, watching asdark circles form around hereyes. “We’re getting too farapart.”

“Don’t worry about me,”she replies hurriedly.“Doesn’t matter. This iswherewe’regoingnow,John.TheAnubis is leavingfor theSanctuaryrightthissecond.”

“So Setrákus Ra will get

there...”“He’ll get there at

sunset,” Ella says. “He stopsin West Virginia to gatherreinforcements after leavingso many warriors behind inNewYork,andthen...”

Ella waves towards theAnubis. It’s closer now, thewarship’slongshadowfallingacross the stones of theSanctuary.

“Whatdoeshewant?”

“Hewantswhat’sinside!”Ella shouts. And yet, eventhough her voice is raised,she’s beginning to soundfarther away. “I think it’swhathealwayswanted!Theyopened the door to theSanctuary! It isn’t protectedanymore!”

“Whatdo—?”Shecutsmeoff,grabbing

my arm. “John, listen! Six,the others, you have towarn

them!Tellthem—”Ella’shandspass through

me. I see it all again—theSanctuary and the Anubis,Ella squirming on theoperating table, the darkenedsubwaycar—and thenall thecolorsblendtogether,nothingsolid to grab on to. Ellascreamssomethingatme,butshe’stoofaraway.Thewordsdon’treachme.

Then,darkness.

CHAPTEREIGHT

I SNAP AWAKE ON A HARDPLASTIC BENCH, MY legsdangling off the end. I knowI’m back in my body, nolonger in Ella’s dreamworldbecause of the intense ache

that immediately soaksthrough my every muscle.I’m on my side, facing theorange and yellow seatbacksof the subway bench. I’venever been on one of thesecars before, but I’ve seenenough movies and TVshows to recognize themimmediately. On the wallabove my head is a posterreading IF YOU SEESOMETHING, SAY

SOMETHING.With a groan, I prop

myself up on an elbow. Samis slumped on the two-seateradjacenttomybenchwithhishead propped against thewindow, snoring gently.Outsidethewindow,Icanseeonly darkness. This train isstalled undergroundsomewhere¸insidethetunnel.The passengers must haveabandoned it early on during

the attack. The train car isdead, unmoving andpowerless, the panels ofoverhead lights completelydark.

And yet, there’s lightcomingfromsomewhere.

I sit up and look around,immediatelyspottingarowofcellphonesspreadthroughoutthe train’s main aisle. Withtheir flashlight apps turnedon, the phones function like

battery-powered candles. Onthe bench opposite fromme,awake and watching, sitsDaniela.Herfeetareproppedup on the duffel bag shecarried out of that bank, thething presumably filled withstolenmoney.

“You’re alive,” she says,keeping her voice low so asnot to wake Sam. I do thesame, even though Sam’ssnoring like he could sleep

through another Anubisbombing.

“How long have I beenout?”Iask.

“It’s morning accordingto the phones,” Danielareplies. “About six hours, Iguess.”

Morning already. I shakemy head. An entire nightwasted. We couldn’t findNine and Five, and whoknows which part of New

York they’ve fought theirway to by now. To makemattersworse, I knowwhereSetrákus Ra and the Anubisareheading—right to the lastknown locationof the restofthe Garde. Because I lostcontact with Ella at the lastminute, I’m not surewhat todo with that information,even if Icouldget incontactwith Six and the others.Should they be getting ready

to turnaroundandheadbackto the Sanctuary? Or doesEllawantmetokeepthemasfarfromthereaspossible?

I need to move, to dosomething productive. Butmybodystilldoesn’tfeelonehundred percent and Sam isoutlikealight.

“We’re still in thesubway?” I ask Daniela,knowing the answer, butwantingtogetabettergripon

our situation before I makeanydecisions.

“Yeah. Obviously. Wedraggedyouinhereafteryoufainted.”

“Fainted,” I repeatwithagrimace. “I passed out fromexhaustion.”

“Same diff. Anyway, wewere all pretty wiped afterthat cave-in stunt,” Danielacontinues,maybesensingmyannoyance. “I fell asleep

prettymuchassoonaswegothere.” Daniela glances atSam, a faint smile on herface. “Your boy Sam wasgonna stand guard, but Iguess that didn’t go so hot.Nobigdeal.Not likeanyoneislookingforusdownhere.”

“Notyet,atleast,”Ireply,thinking about theMogadorians on the surfaceand wondering how theiroccupationofNewYorkCity

isprogressing.One of the phones winks

out.Danielacrouchesoverit,pressing a few buttons, butthebatteryisdead.

“People slept in front ofthe store for these things,”shesays,holdingupthedeadphoneformetoinspect.“Shitgoesdown,though. . . lotofpeople drop everything andrun. What’s that make youthink about humanity, alien

guy?”“That they’ve got their

priorities straight,” I reply,glancing again at the duffelbagfullofmoney.

“Yeah. I guess,” Danielasays, then casually tosses thephone to theotherendof thetrain car, where it hits thefloor and breaks apart. Eventhe phone shattering doesn’tdisturb Sam. “That feltsurprisingly good,” Daniela

tells me, smirking in mydirection.“Youshouldtryit.”

“Where’d you get all thephones?” I ask Daniela,watching her closely as shesitsbackdown.

Istilldon’tknowwhat tomake of her. She’s a humanwith Legacies, which wedon’t even have a word for.But she seems to think thisentire situation is one bigjoke. I can’t tell if she’s

unhinged like Five or hidingbehind a massive defensemechanism. She mentionedbefore that the Mogs killedher stepfather and that hermomismissing.Iknowwhatit’s like—to lose people, tonot know what’s happeningto your loved ones. I couldtell her that, except I don’treally think Daniela’s thetypetoopenupeasily.IwishSix were here. I have a

feelingthey’dgetalonggreat.“I woke up first,” she

says, gesturing around thetrain. “Went through all thecars. People left a lot of shitbehind.”

“Back at the bank, didsomebody leave all that cashbehind, too?” I ask, jerkingmychinatherduffelbag.

“Oh yeah, that,” Danielasays,lookingtothesidewithfeigned guilt, but unable to

keep the smile off her face.“Wonderedifyounoticed.”

“Inoticed.”“Thing’s heavier than

you’d think,” she says,nudging the bag with herfilthysneakertoe.

I rubmyhand acrossmyface,tryingtofigureouthowI should approach this. It’snot like I haven’t stolenbefore. I alwaysdid it outofnecessity, though, and never

right in themiddle of a full-scaleinvasion.

“Weird you had time torob a bank while you weresearchingforyourmom.”

“Firstofall,Ididn’tstealit. I mean, not technically.There were some dudeshiding from theMogs in thatbank. They were the onesrobbing it. I just ended uptaking cover in there. Theygotblasted, thenyoushowed

up. I figure, why waste aperfectlygoodduffelbag?”

Ifrown,shakingmyhead.I have no idea if whatDaniela’s telling me is thetruth. I’m not sure if it evenmatters how she got themoney. I’m more concernedwith figuring out if this newGarde is someone we cantrust. Someone we can relyon.

“Second of all,” she

continues,leaningtowardme,“mymomwouldbepissed ifshe found out I missed anopportunitylikethat.”

Shetriestokeephervoicecavalier, but a tremor sneaksin when she mentions hermom. Maybe this attitude isallafront,awaytocopewithhow screwed up her worldhasgotten in the last twenty-four hours. I get that. Myexpression must be too

sympathetic, though, ormaybe she noticed menoticing her voice shaking,because Daniela raises hervoice and keeps going,moreheated than before. It occursto me that as much as I’mtryingtofigureherout,she’salsotryingtofigureoutme.

“Third, I didn’t sign upfor these superpowers thatyou don’t even know why Ihave.AndIdamnsuredidn’t

signup to fight inyour alienwar.Neitherdidmyfamily.”

“You think there was analien invasion sign-up sheetgettingpassedaround?”Iasksharply, trying and failing tokeepmytemperfromflaring.“No one asked for this. TheLoric, my people, we didn’task for the Mogs to destroyour homeworld. It happenedanyway.”

Daniela holds up her

handsdefensively.“All right,soyouknowwhatthisislike.All I’m saying is that youshouldn’t be judging how Ichoose to spend my alieninvasion.Shitisnuts.”

“Iwas tooyoung to fightback when they attackedLorien,”Itellher.“Butyou...”

“Oh shit, here it comes.The recruitment speech.”Daniela starts to do an

impression, her voicesuddenly higher pitched, herwordstheatricallyenunciated.“Lookoutsideyourwindow,”she recites. “TheMogadorians are here. TheGarde will fight them. WillyoustandforEarth?”

I shake my head,confused.“What’sthat?”

“It’s from your video,dude. Thewhole support theGarde thing. They played it

onthenews.”Ishakemyhead.“Idon’t

even know what you’retalkingabout.”

Daniela studies my faceforamoment,andeventuallyseems satisfied with mybafflement. “Huh.You reallydon’t. Guess you probablyhaven’t been watching muchTV. Me? I was glued to itwhen those ships first startedappearing. It’s like, all of a

suddenwe’relivinginoneofthose alien invasion movies.Wasprettycooluntil,well...”

Daniela waves her hand,encompassing not just ourcurrentsituationofhidingoutunderground,butthecitywidedestruction we both livedthrough. I notice her handtrembles a little. She quicklyhides this, folding her armstightlyacrossherchest

“Sam and I helped agroup of people get out ofManhattan yesterday,” I tellher. “I wondered how someofthemknewmyname,butitwastoochaotictoask.Wasiton the news?Did they showmefightingattheUN?”

Daniela nods. “Theyshowed some of that. Exceptwhen that Clooney-lookingcreep turned into a genuinealien monster, people really

started to freak out and thecameras got all shaky. Youwere featuring pretty heavyon the news before that,though.”

I tilt my head, notunderstanding. “How do youmean?”

“There was this, like,YouTubevideo.Itgotpostedon some stupid conspiracywebsitefirst—”

“Wait—was it ‘They

WalkAmongUs’?”Daniela shrugs. “‘Nerds

Walk Among Us,’ I dunno,sure. It starts off with apicture of Earth that theytotally snagged from Googleimages and this girl’snarrating like—‘This is ourplanet,butwearenotaloneinthe galaxy, blah blah blah.’She’s trying to sound allprofessional like it’s anaturedocumentary or something,

butyoucantellshe’sourage.Why are you making thatstupidface?”

WhileDaniela’sspeaking,I can’t help a dumb smilefromcrossingmyface.

I try to keep myexpression neutral as I leanforward. “What elsehappens?”

“So, they show somepictures of Mogadorians andsay they’ve come to enslave

humanity. These pale alienslook like they could be guysin corny monster makeup orsomething.Nobodywould’vetaken this shit seriously if,youknow,thereweren’tatonof UFOs menacing cities.And then, she starts talkingabout you. There’s video ofyoujumpingoutofaburninghouse that shouldn’t bepossible, and then there’sfootage of you healing this

FBI agent’s burned-up faceand...well,it’sprettygrainybut the special effects wouldhavetobemadgoodforittobefake.”

“What . . .whatdoesshesayaboutme?”

Daniela smirks, eyeingme. “She says your name isJohn Smith. That you’re aGarde.Thatyou’vebeensentto our planet to fight thesealiens. And now, you need

ourhelp.”That’s what Daniela was

quoting before. Her terribleimpression was supposed tobeSarah. I sit back, thinkingabout the video that Sarahand Mark made, theircontribution from thesideline. Even though she’smocking it, the video seemsto have made an impressionon Daniela. She could quoteit from memory. Hell, the

survivors we came across inthe street had certainly seenit. They trusted me. Theywerereadytostandandfight.But was it all too little toolate?

I grimace involuntarily,thinkingoutloud.“I’vespentmywholelifehidingfromtheMogadorians that werehunting me here on Earth.Getting stronger. Training.The war was always being

fought in secret. We werestarting to get our alliestogether, though, starting tofigure thingsout. Iwonder ifwe’d only gone publicsooner,howmanylivescouldwe have saved if New Yorkwas ready for an attack likethis?”

“Nah,” Daniela says,dismissing this notionwith awave of her hand. “Nobodywould’ve believed that shit

evenaweekago.Notwithoutpeople on CNN shoutingabout spaceships appearingoverNewYork. Imean,youneeded that whole UN fightforittoreallysinkin.Beforethat, the news people weredebating whether it was ahoax, a viral stunt for amovie, whatever. I saw onelady onTV saying youwereanangel.Prettyfunny.”

Ichuckledryly,notreally

feeling in the mood. “Yeah.Hilarious.”

I realize that Daniela’strying to comfort me in hercaustic way. I’ll never knowwhatwouldhavehappenedifwe’d spent the last fewmonths trying to make ourwar with the Mogadorianspublic.Therewerehumansathigh levels involved withMogPro that would’ve madeany attempt at exposing the

Mogs extremely difficult, ifnot impossible. I know allthis,logically.AndyetIcan’thelp feeling that yesterday’scolossallossoflifeisonme.Ishould’vedonemore.

“How old are you,anyway?”Danielaasks.

“Sixteen,”Itellher.“Yeah.” Daniela nods,

like she already knew this.“You’re like the girl thatnarrates the video. You got

thatwholewise-beyond-your-yearsthinggoing, that’strue.And you look like you’vebeen through some shit. Buttake a closer look . . .” Shetrailsoff, clickingher tonguein thought. “You should befinishing high school, man.Notsavingtheworld.”

I can’t letwhathappenedinNewYork buryme underguilt. I need to make surenothing like it ever happens

again. I need to find myfriends and figure out a waytokillSetrákusRa,once andforall.

Isquaremyshouldersandsmile at Daniela, affecting anonchalant shrug.“Somebody’sgottadoit.”

Danielasmilesbackforasecond, then catches herselfandlooksaway.Forasecondthere, I thought she mightvolunteer to join the fight. I

can’t make her stick with usafter we get out of thesubway. I just have to trustthat she, and the otherhumans out there, havedeveloped their Legacies forareason.

“Weneedtogetmoving,”Isay.

I shake Sam’s shoulderandhesnortsawake.Hiseyesare bleary for a moment,adjustingslowlytothebluish

LCD lighting of the subwaycar.

“So it wasn’t a baddream,”hesighs,standingupslowly and stretching out hisback. His gaze drifts over toDaniela. “You decided tohangaround,huh?”

Daniela shrugs, like thequestion embarrasses her.“YoumentionedgettingsomepeopleoutofNewYork . . .,”shesaystome.

“Yeah.The armyand thepolice have secured theBrooklyn Bridge. They’reevacuatingpeoplefromthere.At least, they were lastnight.”

“I’d like to go there,”Daniela replies, standing up.She straightens her dust-covered and blood-spatteredT-shirt. “Maybe see if mymommadeit.”

“All right,” I say. I don’t

want to push her on joiningforces.Ifit’sgoingtohappen,she’s the one who has tomake the decision. Thatdoesn’t mean we shouldn’tstick together for the timebeing. “We should head thatwaytoo.”

Sam rubs his eyes, stillworking moisture into hismouth. “You think Nine andFive battled their way to theevacuationpoint?”

“Doubt it,” I reply. “ButNine’s a big boy, he canhandle himself for a littlelonger. Priorities havechanged. I really need to getin touch with Six. Ifanywhere has workingphones, I think it’ll be theevacuation point.” I turn toDaniela.“Canyouleadusoutofhere?”

Daniela nods. “Only oneway to go with the uptown

tracks caved in. We followthe tracks for a few morestops, we should just aboutmakeittothebridge.”

“Wait.Howdidprioritieschange while we weresleeping down here?” Samasks.

I tell Sam how Ellareached out to metelepathicallyfromherprisonaboardtheAnubis,explainingthatSetrákusRaisheadedfor

theSanctuary.Danielalistensin, her eyeswide and lockedon me, mouth slightlyopened. When I’m finisheddescribing the dreamscape,prophecies and endangeredLorien historical sites, sheshakes her head in totalmystification.

“My life has gotten soeffing weird,” she says,walking down the train cartowardstheexit.

“Hey,” Sam calls afterher.“Youforgotyourbag!”

Daniela glances over hershoulder. Then, she looks atme.Idon’tknowifshewantspermission or if she’schallenging me to stop her.When I don’t say anything,shedoublesbackandliftstheheavybagwithagrunt.

“Use your telekinesis,” Isay casually. “It’s goodpractice.”

Daniela eyes me for amoment,thennodsandgrins.She concentrates and floatsthebagoutinfrontofher.

“What’s in there,anyway?”Samasks.

“My college fund,” shereplies.

Sam gives me a look. Ijustshrug.

WhenDanielareachestheend of the car, she levitatesthe bag aside and yanks the

metaldooropenwithasharpclatter. She steps onto thegangway that connects to thenext car. Sam and I follow afewfeetbehindher.

“Whoa, whoa,” Danielasays, her words not directedto us.Her duffel bag rocketsback into our subway car,Sam and I both having tojumpoutoftheway.Danielatelekinetically slides the bagunder a bench, like she’s

trying to hide it. A secondlater, she steps backwardsthrough the door, her handsraised in surrender.Immediately, my musclestense.Ithoughtweweresafedownhereinthetunnels.

Butwearen’talone.A machine-gun barrel

withaflashlightattachmentisleveledinchesfromDaniela’sface. A shadowy form,covered in bulky equipment

and body armor, inchescautiously into our train car,backing Daniela down. Toolate,Inoticeflashlightbeamsin thenextcarover—at leasta dozen of them, maybemore. A second halogenbeam shines right into myeyes, a second gunmanboarding our car. Withoutthinkingabout it, I ignitemyLumen, fire slithering acrossmyfists.

“Wait,” Sam warns.“Theyaren’tMogs.”

Ihear the telltaleclickofa round being chambered,probably in response to mychanneling a fireball. Thesubway car aisle is narrow,Danielaisinthewayandthelight in my face makes itdifficulttosee.Definitelynotideal conditions. I couldprobably disarm them withmy telekinesis, but I don’t

want to risk themgetting offa burst of automatic fire atsuch closequarters.Better towait and see how this playsout.

IletmyLumenwinkout,and at the same time thesoldier in front lowers hisflashlight beam out of myface, pointing his gun at thefloor.He’swearingahelmet,fatigues and night-visiongoggles. Despite all that, I

cantellhe’sonlyafewyearsolderthanme.

“You’rehim,” the soldiersays,abitofaweinhisvoice.“JohnSmith.”

I’m still not used to thiswhole being-recognizedthing, so it takes me amoment to answer. “That’sright.”

The soldier snaps awalkie-talkie off his belt andspeaks into it. “We’ve got

him,” he says, not taking hiseyesoffme.

Daniela edges towardsSam and me, glancingbetween us and the soldiers,more of whom are nowfiltering into our train car,fanning out, making thewhole area even tighter.“Friendsofyours?”

“Not sure,” I replyquietly.

“Sometimes the

government likes us, othertimes not so much,” Samexplains.

“Great,” Daniela replies.“Forasecondthere,Ithoughttheywereheretoarrestme.”

The soldier’s walkie-talkie crackles to life, afamiliar woman’s voicefilling the train car. “Askthem nicely, but bring themin,”thewomancommands.

The soldier clears his

throat uncomfortably, staringatus.

“Pleasecomewithus,”hesays. “Agent Walker wouldlikeaword.”

CHAPTERNINE

THE SOLDIERS RUSH USTHROUGH THE SUBWAYtunnels, out through thenearest station and finallyinto daylight. They’reconstantly in a tight knot

around us, a human shield,treating us like the SecretService does the president. Ilet myself be hustled along,knowing that I can easilyshove through them at thefirstsignoftrouble.Wedon’tencounter any Mogadorianpatrols on the way back totheir armored Humvees, andpretty soon we’re rumblingthrough streets filled withbroken chunks of building,

thewreckagetheresultoflastnight’sAnubisbombardment.

We reach the BrooklynBridge quickly and withoutincident. On the Manhattanside, the army has set up aheavily armed checkpoint—soldiers packing mountedmachine guns watch thestreets from behind ablockadeofsandbags.Behindthem,threerowsof tanksareparked six across on the

bridge, their turrets armedwith surface-to-air missilesand aimed at the sky.Helicopters laden with moremissiles patrol the skies andsomemuscular-looking boatssit ready in the river. If theMogadorians try topush intoBrooklyn, they’ll definitelyencountersomeresistance.

“Have you had to fightmany off?” I ask the soldierdrivingourHumveeaswe’re

waved through the securitycheckpoint and begin slowlyweaving through the chokepointsonthebridge.

“None whatsoever, sir,”hereplies.“Thehostileshavestuck to Manhattan so far.Thatbig ship flew rightoverus this morning and didn’tengage. You ask me, theydon’twantapieceofusarmyboys.”

“Sir,” Daniela repeats,

raisinganeyebrowatmeandsnickering.

“They’re holdingManhattan,” I say, leaningback and frowning, notunderstandingwhy theMogshaven’tpressedtheirattack.

“It’s like Setrákus Ra issending a message,” Samsaysquietly. “Lookatwhat Icando.”

“Iftheycomeatus,we’llbe ready,” the soldier says,

overhearing.Looking out thewindow, I make out snipershidden among the bridge’shigh struts, watching theManhattan side of the bridgethroughtheirscopes.

I exchange a doubtfullook with Sam. I want tobelieve in this show of forceby the army and echo thesoldier’s confidence,but I’veseenwhatkindofdestructiontheMogsarecapableof.The

only reason this Brooklyncamp is still standing isbecause SetrákusRa allowedit.

The soldier parks ourHumvee in the middle of acity block that’s beenconverted into a staging areafor the military. There aretents nearby, more Humveesand a lot of anxious-lookingsoldiers with guns. There’salso a long line of civilians,

many of them filthy andsuperficially injured,clutching their scantpossessions as theywait in ahaggard line. At the front ofthe line, some Red Crossvolunteers with clipboardstake down the exhaustedpeople’s information beforewaving them ontocommandeeredcitybuses.

Our escort notices mewatching theslowprocession

of refugees. “Red Cross istrying to keep track of thedisplaced,” the soldierexplains. “Then we’reevacuating them to LongIsland,NewJersey,wherever.Getting them away from thefighting until we can retakeNewYork.”

The soldier sizes up SamandDaniela,thenlooksatmeagain. It suddenly occurs tomethatthisguyislookingto

mefororders.“Do you want these two

evacuated?” the soldier asks,referringtomycompanions.

“They’re withme,” I tellhim, and he nods, acceptingthatwithoutfurtherquestion.

Daniela watches the aidworkers check in an elderlycouple and help them onto abus. “They have a list orsomethingIcouldcheck?I’m...lookingforsomeone.”

The soldier shrugs likethisisn’thisareaofexpertise.“Sure.Youcouldask.”

Danielaturnstome.“I’mgonna—”

“Go,” I say, nodding. “Ihopeyoufindher.”

Daniela smiles at Sam,then me, and starts to turnaway.“Um,aboutthatwholesaving-the-world thing,” shesays,hesitating.

“When you’re ready,

comefindme,”Itellher.“You’re assuming I’ll

ever be ready,” Danielareplies.Shehasn’tmentionedher duffel bag of stolenmoneysinceitgotleftbehindonthesubway.

“Yeah.Iam.”Daniela lingers for a

second longer, eyes lockedwith mine. Then, nodding toherself, she turns and jogsovertohassle theRedCross.

Sam looks at me like I’mcrazy.

“You’re just letting hergo?Oneoftheonly...”Samglances at the soldier who’sstill patiently standingnearby,notsurehowmuchheshouldsay.

“I can’t force her to joinus, Sam,” I reply. “Butwhathappened to her—whathappenedtoyou...therehastobea reason. Ihavefaith it

won’tbefornothing.”“Agent Walker is this

way, sir,” the soldier says,motioning Sam and me tofollow.

“Arecellphonesworkingyet?” I ask him as we walkthrough the busy camp. “Ineed to make a call. It’simportant.”

“Traditional methods arestill down, sir. The hostilessaw to that. We’ve probably

gotsomethingyoucanuseinthe communications center,though,” the soldier says,gesturing to a nearby tentbustling with activity. “I’msupposed to bring youdirectly to Agent Walker,though.Ifyou’llallowit.”

“IfI’llallowit?”“Wewerebriefedonyour

historyof . . . difficultywithauthority,” the soldier says,sheepishly examining the

handleofhisrifle.“Weweretold not to engage in combator force you to do anything.Mission parameters arelimited to, uh, gentlyprodding.”

I shake my head indisbelief. It wasn’t too longago that Iwas considered anenemyofthestate.Now,I’mbeing treated like a foreigndignitarybythearmy.

“All right,” I say,

deciding not to make lifedifficultforourescort.“Pointme in the direction of AgentWalker and then help myfriendSamgethishandsonasatellitephone.”

Moments later, I walkalong the concrete pieroverlooking the East Riverand Manhattan. The air iscrisp and cool, although stilltingedwith the acrid, burnedsmell that blows in from

Manhattan.Fromhere,IhaveaclearviewofthedestructiontheMogadorianswreaked onthecity.Pillarsofdarksmokerise into the bright blue sky,fires still burning. There aregaps in the city’s skyline,spaces where I knowbuildings should be, simplyerased by the powerfulenergy weapons of theAnubis. Occasionally, I canmake out a Skimmer zipping

between buildings, theMogspatrollingthestreets.

Agent Walker standsalone at the railing, staringoutatthecity.

“How’d you find me?” Iask by way of greeting as Iapproach.

The FBI agent who oncetried to have me imprisonedactuallysmilesatme.

“Some survivors tricklingin mentioned seeing you,”

Walker answers. “We sentteamsouttothegeneralarea.Figured we’d start lookingwhere the alphawarshipwasdroppingheavyordnance.”

“Goodcall,”Ireply.“Glad you’re alive,” she

saysbrusquely.Walker’s gray-streaked

red hair is pulled back in atight ponytail. She looksexhausted, heavy bags underboth of her eyes. At some

point she traded in hercustomary FBI WindbreakerandpantsuitforaKevlarvestand fatigues, probablyborrowedfromthelargearmycontingent securing this area.Herleftarmisinasling,andthere’s a hastily bandagedgashonherforehead.

“Doyouwantme tohealthose?”Iask.

Inresponse,Walkertakesalookaround.Thetwoofus

are alone for the moment,standing in the small parktucked under the BrooklynBridge. Or rather, alone asone can get in what’sbasically become a refugeecamp overnight. The hillylawn behind us is clutteredwith makeshift tents,woundedandfrightenedNewYorkers packed in tight. Iguess these are the peoplewho refused to be evacuated

by theRedCross,orelsearetoo injured to make the trip.The tents spread out into thesurrounding blocks, and I’msure there are peoplesquatting in the fancyriverfrontapartmentbuildingsnearby. Interspersedthroughout the survivors,keeping order and tending tothe wounded, are soldiers,copsandafewmedics,justasmall part of the force of

thousands I saw gatheredcloser to the bridge. It’sessentiallyorganizedchaos.

“Those powers of yourshave limits?” Walker asks,watching as a womansprawled in the park’s grasshas her severely burned armtreatedbyaharrieddoctor.

“Yeah. I hit them prettyhard yesterday,” I reply,rubbingthebackofmyneck.“Whydoyouask?”

“Because much as Iappreciate the offer, we’vegotthousandsofinjuredhere,John, with more trickling inevery hour. You want tospend your whole daypatchingpeopleup?”

I stare out over the rowsofpeopleinthepark,manyofthemrestingonnothingmorethangrass.A lotof themarewatching me. I’m still notcomfortable with this, being

the face of the Garde. I turnbacktoWalker.

“Icould,”Isay.“Itwouldsavesomelives.”

Walker shakes her headand gives me a level look.“Thebadly injuredare in thetriage tent. We can stop bylater if you want to do thewhole Mother Teresa thing.But you and I both knowthere are better ways to bespendingyourtime.”

I don’t reply, but I don’tpress the issue any further.Walker grunts and walksalong the pier, headingtowards a collection of armytentssetupinanearbyplaza.I take another quick lookaround the park. Crossingoverthebridge,thingslookedpretty secure. Back here,though,it’sabsolutemadness.Injured people, soldiers,military officials—I don’t

even knowwhere to begin. Imightbeinovermyhead.

“So, you’re in chargehere?” I ask Walker,attempting to get mybearings.

She snorts. “You’rekidding,right?Therearefive-star generals on the sceneplanning counteroperations.The CIA and the NSA arehere, coordinating withpeople inWashington, trying

to make sense of the intelthat’scominginfromaroundthe world. They had thepresidentonvideoconferenceearlier this afternoon fromwhatever bunker the SecretService spirited him off to.I’m just an FBI agent, verymuchnotincharge.”

“Okay, if that’s the case,whydidtheybringmetoyou,Walker? Why are wetalking?”

Walkerstopsandturnstome, her hands on her hips.“Because of our history, ourrelationship—”

“That’s what you’recallingit?”

“I’ve been named yourliaison, John. Your point ofcontact.Anythingyoucantellus about the Mogadorians,their tactics, this invasion—that goes through me.Likewiseforanyrequestsyou

mighthaveoftheU.S.armedforces.”

I let out a sharp,humorless laugh. I wonderwherethegeneralsaresetup.I scan the nearby tents,looking for one that appearsmore important than theothers.

“No offense,Walker, butI don’t need you as a go-between.”

“Not up to you,” she

replies, resuming her walkalong the pier. “You have tounderstand that the people incharge, the president, hisgenerals, what’s left of hiscabinet—they weren’tMogPro people. When theMogs made contact, wealmost had a glorified coupon our hands with theMogPro scum advocatingsurrender. Luckily, withSanderson out of the picture

—”“Holdup.Whathappened

tohim?”Iask.I lost trackofthe secretary of defenseduring the battle withSetrákusRa.

“He didn’t make it,”Walkerrepliesgrimly.“IhadenoughpeopleinWashingtonto get rid ofmost of the badapples. The ones we knewabout,atleast.”

“So you’re saying

MogPro is mostly gone andwe’releftwith...”

“A fractured governmentthat’sbeenkept totallyin thedark. This invasion, the ideaof aliens from outer spaceattacking us, it’s all new tothem.Theyacceptthatyou’refighting on our side. Butyou’re still anextraterrestrial.”

“They don’t trust me,” Isay, unable to keep the

bitternessoutofmyvoice.“Mostofthemdon’teven

trust each other anymore.And anyway, you shouldn’ttrust them,” Walker repliesemphatically. “The knownmembersofMogProhaveallbeen arrested, killed or goneunderground.Butthatdoesn’tmeanwegotthemall.”

I give Walker a look,rolling my eyes. “So betterformetostickwiththedevil

Iknow,huh?”She opens her arms,

obviously not reallyexpecting me to hug her.“That’sright.”

“All right,here’smyfirstrequest, liaison,” I say. “TheAnubis—that’s the warshipthat left New York thismorning—it’s carryingSetrákusRaandisonitswaytoMexico—”

“Oh, good,” Walker

interrupts. “They’ll like that.One less threat in U.S.airspace.”

“They need to scramblejets, fighters, drones,whatever they’ve got,” Icontinue. “It’s headed to aplaceofgreatpower,aLoricplace. I’m not sure whatSetrákusRawantsthere,butIknowit’sbadifhegetsit.Weneedtotakethefighttohim.”

Walker’s expression

darkensthemoreItalk.IcanalreadytellthatI’mnotgoingto like whatever she’s got totellme.She leadsmeoff thepier, across some mattedgrass and stops in front of acanvas tent slightly isolatedfromtheothers.

“A direct attack isn’tgoingtohappen,”shesays.

“Whythehellnot?”“My headquarters,” she

says, pushing open the

entrance flap. “Let’s talkinside.”

InsideWalker’stent isanunused cot, a cluttered tableand a laptop computer.There’s a map of NewYorkCity with red linescrisscrossing it—if I had toguess, I’d bet that linerepresentsthepaththeAnubistook during yesterday’sattack.Walkerpullsasecondmap from beneath the New

York one, this one of theentire world. There areominous black X’s drawnover a bunch of major cities—New York, Washington,Los Angeles and farawayplaces like London, Moscowand Beijing. There are morethan twenty cities marked inthis way. Walker taps herfingersonthemap.

“This is the situation,John,” she says. “Every

marking is one of theirwarships. You know how tobring one of those thingsdown?”

I shake my head. “Notyet.ButIhaven’ttried.”

“The air force triedyesterday.Itdidn’tgowell.”

I frown. “I saw themflying in. I know they didn’tmakeit.”

“They had some successagainst the smaller ships, but

they didn’t even get close totheAnubis.Theairforcewasconsidering another strikewhen the Chinese went allin.”

“Whatdoesthatmean?”“Acouplehoursafter the

attackonNewYork,theygottrigger-happy.Wereprobablyworried they might beattacked next. They threweverything short of anukeatthewarshipoverBeijing.”

“And?”“Casualties in the tens of

thousands,” Walker answers.“The warship still in the air.They’re shielded somehow.Chinese scientists say it’ssomekindofelectromagneticfield. They got tired ofcrashing jetsupagainst it, sotheytriedparachutingasmallforce directly onto thewarship. Those guys didn’tsurvive contact with the

field.”I’mremindedoftheforce

field surrounding theMogadorian base in WestVirginia. The shock Ireceivedfromtouchingitwasenough to knockme out andmakemesickfordays.

“I’ve run into their forcefields before,” I tell Walker.“Literally.”

“How’d you break themdown?”

“Neverdid.”Walker gives me a

deadpan look. “And here Iwasgettingmyhopesup.”

I look back at Walker’smap and shake my head.Every black X looks to melikeafightIdon’tknowhowtowin.

“Twenty-five cities underattack. You have any goodnews,AgentWalker?”

“That’s just it,” she says.

“Thisisthegoodnews.”Iraiseaneyebrowather.“Some places, like

London and Moscow, senttroops out to fight theMogs.But the response is nothinglike here or Beijing. Nobombardment, no rampagingmonsters. It’s like the Mogsare taking it easy on them.Andthentherearetheplaceslike Paris and Tokyo thatdidn’tputupanyfightatall.

Those cities aren’t actuallyunder attack. The warshipsand scout ships arecontrolling the airspace, butother than that there aren’tanyMogsontheground.Andthen, this morning, thatwarship flies right over us,like we’re nothing. It’s gotsome people thinking maybethey don’t want to fight.Maybe it’s all just a bigmisunderstanding with the

aliens,thatweshouldn’thaveattackedthemfirst.”

“Wedidn’t,”Isnap.“I know that. But around

theworld,whattheysaw—”“SetrákusRaissendinga

message,” I say. “Eventhough he’s got theadvantage, hedoesn’twant aprotracted fight.Hewants tofrighten humanity intosubmission. He wants us togivein.”

Walker nods and walksovertoherlaptop.Sheentersaseriesofpasswords,noeasytask considering she’s typingone-handed, before finallypulling up an encryptedvideo.

“You’re more right thanyou know,” Walker says.“It’s not clear how he gotaccess, but this videoappeared via secure channelsin the president’s private

inbox. Other world leaderswe’vetalkedtohavereportedreceivingthesamething.”

Walker clicks the playbutton and an HD-qualityimage of Setrákus Ra’s faceappears on the screen. Mybloodrunscoldatthesightofhispaleskinandemptyblackeyes, at the dark-purple scarthatencircleshisneck,at thesmugway he smiles into thecamera. It’s the exact same

smile he wore right beforechucking me into the EastRiver. Setrákus Ra is seatedin the ornate commander’schair on the Anubis—IrememberseeingitwhenEllashowed me around the ship.Overhisshoulder,NewYorkCity is visible through amassive floor-to-ceilingwindow.Thesunisrising,thecitystillinflames.There’snodoubt in my mind he chose

thisbackgroundonpurpose.“Respected leaders of

Earth,” Setrákus Ra begins,thesepolitewordsissuedinascratchy rumble, “I pray thatthismessage findsyouopen-minded after the unfortunateevents in New York andBeijing. It was with greatreluctance, and only after anattempted assassination byalien terrorists, that I used afraction of the available

Mogadorian force againstyourpeople.”

“You’re the alienterrorists, by the way,”Walkersays.

“Yeah.Igotthat.”Setrákus Ra continues.

“Despite these regrettablecircumstances, my offer toembrace humanity and showit the way of MogadorianProgress still stands. I amnothing if not forgiving.

While my forces willcontinue to hold New YorkCity and Beijing as areminder of what happenswhen inconsiderate beastsbite a gently guiding hand,the other cities where mywarships are positioned havenothing to fear. Assuming,that is, my generals receiveunconditional surrender fromthesegovernmentswithin thenextforty-eighthours.”

MyheadwhipsaroundtoWalker.“They’renotactuallybuyingthisshit,arethey?”

She points at the screen.“There’smore.”

“Inaddition,”SetrákusRaintones,“IbelievetheUnitedStates government iscurrently harboring the LoricterroristsknownastheGarde.To continue assisting thesetwisted souls will beconsidered an act of open

war. They are to be turnedover to me at the time ofsurrender, in the interest ofavoiding the costly andpainful process of rootingthem out. It is also myunderstanding that somehumansmay have suffered amutation at the hands of theGarde wherein they willmanifest certain unnaturalabilities.Thesehumansaretobe turned over to me for

treatment.”“What does he mean

about mutations?” Walkerasksme.“Morebullshit?”

I don’t reply. Instead, Iback away from the laptopwhile Setrákus Ra is stilltalking, my gaze shiftingtowardsAgentWalker.

“You have forty-eighthours to surrender, or I willhavenochoicebut to relievehumanity of your foolish

leadership and liberate yourcitiesbyforce...”

TheclipstopsandWalkerturns to face me. When shedoes,I’vealreadygotasmallfireball prepared, hovering itabovethepalmofmyhand.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, John,”she groans, leaning awayfromtheheat.

“Is thatwhy you broughtme here?” I snap at her,backing up. I’m half

expectingagroupof soldierstoburst in and try to restrainme,soIkeeponeeyeon thetent’sexit as Imove towardsit.“Aremyfriendssafe?”

“Do you think I showedyou that as prelude to anambush?Calmdown.You’resafe.”

I stare at Walker foranothercoupleofseconds.Atthispoint,Idon’treallyhavemuch choice but to trust her,

especially considering thealternativeisfightingmywaythrough an army. If thegovernment wanted to trademe to Setrákus Ra as agesture of goodwill, itprobably would’ve alreadyhappened. I extinguish myfireballandfrownatWalker.

“So, is it true?” Walkerpresses. “What Setrákus Rasaid about humansmanifesting unnatural

abilities? Does he mean thathumans are gettingLegacies?”

“I...”I’mnotsurehowmuchto

share with Walker. She tellsmeI’msafe,butitwasn’ttoolongagothatshewaschasingme across the country. Eventhough she claims MogProhave been drivenunderground, there are stillhumans out there working

againstus.Hell, she just toldme not to trust thegovernment.WhatiftherearenewGardeallovertheworld,and what if a sellout likeSecretary of DefenseSanderson gets to thembefore we can? And could IreallyoutSamandDanielatoWalker? I can’t tell heranything. Not until I’vefigureditoutmyself.

“I don’t know what the

hell he’s talking about,Walker,” I say after amoment. “He’ll say anythingtogetwhathe’safter.”

I think she can tell I’mholding out on her. “I knowit’shardtoacceptconsideringour history, but I’m on yourside,”Walkersays.“Fornow,soistheUnitedStates.”

“Fornow?Whatdoesthatmean?”

“It means, no one’s real

eagertosurrendertothealienmaniacthatjustblewupNewYork.Butifhestartstorchingmore cities and we haven’tfigured out a way tosuccessfully fight back?Things might change. That’swhy your request for amilitary operation in Mexicoisn’t going to happen. Forone, it’s a losing propositionagainstthewarship.Andtwo,prevailing wisdom right now

is that we shouldn’t openlyaidyou.”

“They’re hedging theirbets,” Isay,unable tokeepasneer off my face. “In casetheydecidetosurrender.”

“Wordfromthepresidentis that all options arecurrentlyopen,yes.”

“Giving up isn’t anoption. I’ve seen—” I stopmyself from referencingElla’s vision of the future,

figuring Legacy-poweredprophecieswon’t carrymuchweight with thehyperpractical Walker. “Itwon’t end well forhumanity.”

“Yeah, you and I knowthat,John.ButwhenSetrákusRastartskillingciviliansandall he wants in trade is youandtheotherGarde?That’sacourseofactionthepresidentwillbeforcedtoconsider.”

I turn away, opening upthe tent flap to look outside,wonderingwhereSamiswiththat satellite phone. I alsowant to hide my face fromWalker, feeling a chokingpanic coming on. I don’tknowwhat todo. IfSetrákusRa’s deadline passes and hestarts bombing another city,amIsupposed to just let thathappen?DoIturnmyselfin?Meanwhile, what do I do

abouthisimpendingattackonthe Sanctuary? And whataboutNineandFive,whoarestillunaccountedfor?It’stoomuchtohandle.

“John?”Slowly, I face Walker,

makingsuremyexpressionisneutral. Even so, she mustdetect something there,because she crosses the tentand stands right in front ofme. She grabs my shoulder

withhergoodarmandI’msosurprised that I let it happen.There’sfearinWalker’seyes,mixedwithakindofsuicidaldetermination. I’ve seen thatlook before worn by myfriends, right before theythrew themselves into battleagainstimpossibleodds.

“Youneedtotellmehowto do this,” Walker says tome,hervoicelowandshaky.“Tellmehowtowinthiswar

in less than forty-eighthours.”

CHAPTERTEN

“HOW’SITGOING?”Adam jumps when I put

myhandonhis shoulderandlean in to check on hisprogress. He hunches over aworkbench where the Mogs

tweakedtheirweaponsbeforepointless attempts to bringdown the Sanctuary’s forcefield.AdamhassweptalltheMog crap thatwas clutteringthe bench onto the groundand replaced it with anassortment of mechanicalparts.Themismatchedpiecescome from the disabledSkimmers collecting dust ontheairstrip,somefromwithinthegutsoftheengines,others

frombehind the touch-screendashboards. Among the shippartsareotheroddsandends—thebatteryfromoneofthehalogen lamps, a broken-down Mog blaster and thecasing of a laptop. All thesethings have been bent,warped or hammered byAdam as he tries to replaceour ship’s destroyed conduitusingspareparts.

“Howdoesitlooklikeit’s

going?” he replies, glumlysetting down the blowtorchhe was about to ignite. “I’mnot an engineer, Six. This isstrictlytrialanderror.Sofar,onehundredpercenterror.”

The sun is only nowclimbing above the jungle’streelinetoscorchthelandingstrip, no reprieve from thesticky heat out here. Adamhas already sweated throughhisshirt, thepaleskinon the

back of his neck turningpinkish. I leave my hand onhis shoulder until he sighsandturnstofaceme.Hisdarkeyes are bleary and a littlewild, gray circles formingaroundthem.

“Youdidn’tsleep,”Isay,knowing this for a fact. Heworked through the entirenight, his hammering andcursing often interrupting thefitfulhoursofrestImanaged

while curled up in theSkimmer’s cockpit. The onlybreakshetookweretocheckon Dust, whose paralyzedcondition hadn’t changed.“Maybe I’m not up on myMogadorian biology, but Iwas pretty sure you guysneededtodothat.”

Adam brushes some hairout of his eyes, trying tofocus onme. “Yeah,Six,wesleep.Whenit’sconvenient.”

“You’re going to pushyourself to exhaustion andthen what’ll you be goodfor?”Iask.

Adam frowns at me.“Same thing I’m good fornow,”hesays,glancingatthecollection of trashed parts infrontofhim.“Ihearyou,Six.I’m fine. Let me keepworking.”

Intruth,I’mgladAdamisso devoted to his work. As

much as I don’t want to seehim hurt himself, wedesperatelyneedtogetoutofMexico.There’sstillnowordfrom John. I’m afraid we’remissingthewar.

“At least eat,” I tell him,yanking a light green bananaoff the bunch I just pickedfrom a nearby tree andshovingitintoAdam’shand.

He considers the bananafor amoment. I can actually

hear Adam’s stomach growlas he begins to peel it. Foodwasn’tsomethingwe thoughtto pack—we didn’t knowwhattoexpectwhenwecameto the Sanctuary, but wedefinitelyweren’tplanningtogetstranded.Wedidn’tbringthe necessary supplies for anextendedstay.

“You know, Nine hadthesestonesinhisChestthat,ifyousuckedonthem,they’d

giveyouallthenutrientsofameal,” I tell Adam, peelingmy own banana. “Kindagross, especially after youthought about where they’dbeen and how many timesNine probably reused them.But right now, I really wishwe hadn’t tossed them downthatwellintheSanctuary.”

Adam smirks, glancingover at the temple. “Maybeyou should go back in and

ask real nice. I’m sure thatenergy-thing doesn’t wantNine’sspit-stones.”

“MaybeIshouldaskitforanewenginewhileI’matit.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Adamreplies,andswallowstherestofhisbananainahurry.“I’mgoing to get us out of here,Six.Don’tworry.”

I leave a second bananaonthetableandletAdamgetbacktowork.Icutacrossthe

airstrip, heading to whereMarina sits cross-legged inthe grass, facing theSanctuary. I’m not sure ifshe’smeditatingorprayingorwhat,butshewasinthatspotwhenIwokeupthismorningandhasn’tmovedinthetimethatI’vebeenoutscroungingthejungleforfood.

I’d like to think it’s anaccident that my route toMarina takes me by the

Skimmer strut where PhiriDun-Ra is tied, but I knowit’snot.We’vegothertiedupsecurely in the middle ofcamp and have all beenkeepinganeyeonher.Iwantthe Mogadorian to saysomething, to give me anexcuse. She doesn’tdisappoint.

“He’s going to fail, youknow.”

“Didyousaysomething?”

I ask, stopping and turningslowly to face her. I heardPhiriDun-Raperfectly.

OurMogadorian prisonersmilesgruesomelyatme,herteeth outlined with driedblood. Her right eye isswollenshut.Ididthattoherlast night. After learningabout the Mogadorianinvasion, I got real tired realquick of her incessantcackling. So, I clocked her.

Not my proudest moment,punching out a tied-upMogadorian, but it felt good.In truth, Iprobablywould’vedone more if Marina hadn’tdraggedme away.As I stareatPhiriDun-Ra,hergoodeyenarrows in amusement. Myfist clenches again. Iwant tohitsomething.AllIneedisareason.

“You heard me, littlegirl,” she replies, jerking her

chin towards Adam. PhiriDun-Ra projects her voiceenough that I’m sure he canhear, too. “Adamus Sutekhwill fail, as he always does.You see, I have known himmuchlongerthanyou.Iknowwhat a perpetualdisappointmenthewas tohisfather.Toourpeople. It’snowonderheturnedtraitor.”

IglanceovermyshoulderatAdam.He’spretendingnot

tohearPhiriDun-Ra,buthishands have stopped workingandhisshouldersarebunchedup.

“Youwanttogetknockedout again?” I ask Phiri Dun-Ra,takingasteptowardsher.

Shelooksthoughtfulforamoment, then continues on.“Although, hmm . . .somethingonlynowoccurstome. I remember hearing ofyoung Adamus’s technical

prowess. He was somethingofaprodigywithmachinesasa young trueborn. It is odd,then,thathe’sbeenunabletofix one of these ships,especially with all thatequipmentathisdisposal.”

I glance again at Adam.He’s turned now, a confusedexpressiononhisface,staringatPhiriDun-Ra.

“Iwonderifheisstallingon purpose,” Phiri Dun-Ra

muses. “Perhaps, now thatMogadorian Progress hasproven inevitable, he thinkskeeping you here will earnhim favor with our BelovedLeader, so that he mightcome crawling back to hisrealpeople...Orperhapsheis simply too much of acoward to face the losingbattlestocome.”

Adamispastmeinablur.Hecrouchesdowninfrontof

Phiri Dun-Ra and yanks herhead back. She tries to bitehim,butAdamistooquick.

“Deathiscomingforyou,Adamus Sutekh! For all ofyou!” shemanages to shriek,before Adam shoves a ragintohermouth.Next,hetearslooseapieceofducttapeandslapsitacrossPhiriDun-Ra’sface. Her breath now comesin furiousand forcefulburstsfrom her nose, the

Mogadorian glaringvenomously at Adam. Overon the grass in front of theSanctuary, Marina has stoodup to watch this scene playout, a small frown on herface.

Adam stands over PhiriDun-Ra,histeethbared,darklines creasing his face. It’s amurderous look, one I’veseen on the face of manyMogadorians, usually right

beforetheytriedtokillme.“Adam . . . ,” I say

warningly.Adam whips around to

faceme, tryingtogetcontrolof himself. He takes a deepbreath.

“Everything she said is alie, Six,” he says.“Everything.”

“I know that,” I reply.“We should’ve gagged hersooner.”

Adam grunts and returnsto his workbench, his eyesdowncastashewalksbyme.Phiri Dun-Ra definitelyknowshowtogetariseoutofhim. Out of all of us, really.Well, except for Marina. Iknow she’s trying to drive awedge between our group,but it isn’t going to work.How stupid does she think Iam?I’llalwaystakethewordof a Mogadorian that was

allowed to walk through theSanctuary’s force field overone that tried to blow us upwithagrenade.

With the skirmish over,Marinasitsbackdownin thegrass before the Sanctuary. Ijoin her, watching brightlycolored birds fly playfulloops around the ancienttemple.

“Wouldyouhavestoppedhim if he tried to kill her?”

Marina asks me, after amoment.

I shrug. “She’s aMogadorian,” I reply. “Oneof theshittiestonesI’veevermet, too. And that’s sayingsomething.”

“In the heat of battle isonething,”Marinasays.“Butwhensheistiedup...sheisnot like the warriors we’vefaced so many times. She’slikeAdam,a trueborn.When

I used my healing on him,prevented him fromdisintegrating, I could . . . Icould feel the life there, notso different from ours. I fearwhatwemightbecomeasthiswargoeson.”

MaybeI’movertired,andI’m definitely beyondstressed with our currentsituation,butMarina’smoral-compassthingisbeginningtowear thin. When I reply,

there’smoreharshnessinmyvoicethanI’dlike.

“So what? You’re apacifist now? A few daysago, you stabbed out Five’seyewith an icicle,” I remindher. “He’s a lotmore like usthan Phiri Dun-Ra is, andthey both have bad shitcomingtothem.”

“Yes, I did that,”Marinareplies,runningherhandoverthesharp tipsof thegrass.“I

regretit.Or,actually,Iregrethow little regret I feel. Doyou see what I mean, Six?Wehave to be careful not toturnintothem.”

“Five deserved it,” Ireply, softening my voice alittle.

“Maybe,”Marina admits,and finally looks at me. “Iwonderwhatwillbeleftofuswhen this is over, Six.Whatwewillbelike.”

“Ifthere’sanythingleftofus,” I reply. “Big if, at thispoint.”

Marina smiles sadly. Sheturns her gaze back to theSanctuary. “Iwent inside thetemple early this morning,before the sun was up,” shesays.“Iwentbacktothewell,to where the Loric energycamefrom.”

I study Marina. While Iwas sleeping, she was

climbingdownthosetwistingstairs back into theSanctuary’s undergroundchamber. The stone wellwhere the Entity eruptedfrom, the glowing maps ofthe universe on the walls. Iwish we’d gotten moreanswersfromthatplace.

“Findanythinguseful?”She shrugs. “It’s still

there.TheEntity.Icanfeelit,spreadingoutfromwithinthe

Sanctuary, although I don’tknowforwhatpurpose.Icanstillseetheglow,deepdowninthewell.But...”

“You were hoping forsomeadvice?”

Marina nods, chucklingsoftly. “I’d hoped it mightguide us. Tell us what weshoulddonext.”

I’mnot surprised that theEntity living inside theSanctuary, apparently the

source of our power, didn’tpoke its headout for anothervisit with Marina. When wefirstencounteredtheEntity,itseemed almost amused withus—happy to be awoken,sure,butinnorushtohelpuswin the war against theMogadorians. I remembersomething it said during ourconversation; that it bestowsits gifts on a species, itdoesn’t judge or take sides,

noteveninitsowndefense.Ithinkwe’vealreadygottenasmuchhelpfromtheEntityaswe’regoingtoget.Ikeepthisthought to myself, notwantingtodiscourageMarinaor shake her faith, whichseems to be mostly keepingher together, even if it doeslead her to some morbidethical questions that Ifrankly don’t feel likethinkingabout.

“I’vebeensittingoutherepraying on our situation,”Marinacontinues. “I supposeit’s silly to hope for somekind of sign. I don’t knowwhat else to dowithmyself,though.”

Before I can respond, ashrill buzzing sounds frombehindus.Atfirst,Ithinkit’sonlyAdam’slatestattempttocreate a new conduit. Thenoiseistooclose.It’scoming

from practically right on topof us. Marina’s grinning atme, her eyes wide andexcited. My heart starts tobeatharderasIrealizewhat’shappening. Maybe Marina’sprayersactuallyworked.

“Six?Aren’tyougoingtoanswerit?”

The thing’s beenannoyinglysilentforsolong,I’d forgotten what the ringeron the satellite phone sounds

like. I jump up, yanking thephone out of the back ofmypants.Marinastandswithme,leaning her head in close tolisten,andAdamjogsovertojoinus. Ican feelPhiriDun-Rawatching us, but I ignoreher.

“John?”There’saburstofstaticas

thesatellitephoneestablishesaconnection,afamiliarvoicecoming through between

squealsofinterference.“Six?It’sSam!”A wide smile spreads

acrossmyface.Icanheartherelief in Sam’s voice that Ianswered.

“Sam!” My own voicebreaks a little. I hope hedoesn’t hear it over ourcrackly connection.Actually,Idon’tcare.Marinagrabsmyarm,grinningwider. “You’reokay?” I askSam, thewords

comingouthalfquestionandhalfexclamation.

“I’mokay!”heshouts.“AndJohn?”“John, too. We’re at a

military encampment inBrooklyn. They loaned us apair of satellite phones andJohn’stalkingtoSarahontheotherone.”

I snort and can’t helprolling my eyes a little. “Ofcourseheis.”

“Whereare you guys? Iseveryone all right?” Samasks. “Things have gottennuts.”

“Everyone’sfine,but—”Before I can tell Sam

about our predicament, heinterrupts. “Did anythinghappen down there, Six?While you were at theSanctuary?Like,forinstance,did you push a button forLegaciesorsomething?”

“There weren’t anybuttons,” I say, exchangingalookwithMarina.“Wemet,Idon’tknow—”

“Lorien itself,” Marinasays.

“WemetanEntity,”ItellSam. “It said some crypticstuff,thankedusforwakingitupandthen,um...”

“Spread out into theEarth,” Marina finishes forme.

“Oh, hi, Marina,” Samsays distractedly. “Listen, Ithink this Entity of yoursmight have, uh, spread outintome.”

“What the hell does thatmean,Sam?”

“I’ve got Legacies,” Samreplies.There’ssuchastrongmixture of excitement andpride in his voice that it’simpossible for me not toimagine Sam puffing out his

chestabit,lookinglikehedidright after we kissed for thefirst time. “Well, justtelekinesis.That’salways thefirstone,isn’tit?”

“You’vegotLegacies?” Iexclaim, looking wide-eyedat the others. Marina’s handtightens onmy arm, and sheturnstolookattheSanctuary.Meanwhile, Adam’sexpressionturnsthoughtfulashe looks down at his own

hands, maybe wonderingwhat this development saysabouthisownLegacies.

“And I’m not the onlyone,” Sam continues. “WemetanothergirlinNewYorkby chance who had gottenpowers,too.Whoknowshowmany new Garde are outthere?”

Ishakemyhead,tryingtodigest all this information. Ifind myself staring at the

Sanctuarytoo,thinkingabouttheEntityhiddenwithin.

“Itworked,”Isayquietly.“Itactuallyworked.”

Marina facesme, tears inhereyes.“We’rehome,Six,”she says. “We’ve broughtLorien here. We’ve changedtheworld.”

It all sounds great, butI’mnotreadytocelebratejustyet. We’re still stranded inMexico. The war isn’t

suddenlyover.“That Entity didn’t give

you a list of newGarde, didit?”Samasks.“Somewayforustofindthem?”

“Nolist,”Ireply.“Ican’tsay for sure, but judging bymy conversation with theEntity, it all seems prettyrandom. What’s happeningthere?” I ask Sam, steeringthe conversation towards thebattles we’ve been missing.

“We heard about the attackonNewYork...”

“It’sbad,Six,”Samsays,grimness creeping into hisvoice.“Manhattanis,like,onfire. We don’t know whereNine is; he’s still out theresomewhere. Where are youguys? We could really useyourhelp.”

I realize that I neverfinished telling Sam aboutour current situation. “There

were Mogs guarding theSanctuary,” I tell him. “Wegotallofthembutone.Whilewe were inside the temple,she wrecked all the ships.We’re stuck here. You thinkyou could get your newfriendsinthemilitarytosenda jet?We need to be pickedup.”

“Wait, you’re still inMexico?AttheSanctuary?”

I don’t like the fear in

Sam’svoice.Something’snotright.

“What’swrong,Sam?”“You need to get out of

there,” Sam says. “SetrákusRa and his big-ass warshipareheadingrightforyou.”

CHAPTERELEVEN

A FEW MINUTES AFTERAGENT WALKER TELLS MEI’ve got forty-eight hours towin a war, a pair of soldiersin full body armor and amiddle-aged civilian carrying

a tablet device arrive at hertent. They want to deliversome kind of urgent reportrelated to a recording thecivilian made on his tabletthatmorning. I’mnot payingmuch attention—my ears areringing,heartpounding.Icanfeel the new arrivals stealinglooks atme, like I’m a crossbetween a celebrity and aunicorn.Thatdoesn’thelpmyfeeling that the tentwallsare

slowlyclosingin.I think Imightbehaving

apanicattack.Agent Walker takes one

look atme and holds up herhand, stopping the soldiersfrom saying anything more.“Let’s take a walk,gentlemen,”shesays.“Ineedthefreshair.”

Walker ushers the threemen out of her tent andfollows them, pausing at the

exit. She looks back at me,grimacinglikeshe’sinpain.Iknow she probably wants tosay something comforting orencouraging,andIalsoknowthat Agent Walker simplyisn’tequippedforthat.

“Takeafewminutes,”shesays gently, and that’sprobably the most empathyI’veeverseenfromher.

“I’m fine,” I replysharply, although Idon’t feel

fine.Notatall. I’mrootedinplace and struggling to keepmybreathingeven.

“Ofcourse, Iknow that,”Walker says. “Just—I don’tknow, you’ve had a roughtwenty-four hours. Take abreath. I’ll be back in a fewminutes.”

As soon as Walker’sgone, I immediately collapseinto the chair in front of herlaptop.Ishouldn’tbetakinga

minute. There’s too much todo. My body isn’tcooperating, though. Thisisn’tliketheexhaustionIwaspushing through yesterday—it’ssomethingelse.Myhandsare shaking, and I can hearmy heartbeat thumping loudinmyhead.Itremindsmeofyesterday’s explosions—thescreams, the dead. Runningfor my life, passing by thecorpses of people I wasn’t

good enough to save. Andmoreofthattocome.

Unless I can do theimpossible.

I feel like I’m going tothrowup.

Needing something tofocus on, something to pullmeoutofthisfunk,IturnonWalker’slaptop.IknowwhatI’m hoping to find, what Ineed to hear. In addition tothe video she showed me of

Setrákus Ra’s threat, Walkerhasa fewother filesopenonher desktop. I’m not at allsurprisedtoseethevideoI’mlooking for there, alreadyopen.

FIGHT FOR EARTH—SUPPORTTHELORIC

I turn the volume up andclickplay.

“This is our planet, butwearenotalone.”

Daniela was right: Sarah

does sound like she’s tryingtocomeoffasolderandmoreprofessionalthansheactuallyis, like a newscaster ordocumentarian. It makes mesmile, all the same. I closemy eyes and listen to hervoice. I don’t evennecessarilylistentothewords—althoughit’sdefinitelyniceto hear your girlfrienddescribeyouas ahero to thehuman race.Hearing Sarah’s

voice starts to settle mynerves, but it also creates afeeling of longing that I’vebeen too panicked to indulgeoverthelastcoupleofdays.Iimagine us back in Paradise,way more innocent, hangingout in my bedroom whileHenri’soutrunningerrands...

I’m not sure how manytimes I’ve replayed the clipbefore Sam enters Walker’s

tent. He clears his throat togetmyattentionandholdsupasatellitephoneineachhand.

“Mission accomplished,”Samsays.Hecraneshisneckto see the laptop screen.“What’reyouwatching?”

“The, um, the video thatSarahmade,” I reply, feelingembarrassed.Of course, Samdoesn’t know that I’ve justplayed the video a dozentimes, that I’m listening to

mygirlfriend’svoicetotrytoattainsomekindofzenstate.I sit up straight and try tolooklikethestrongleaderthevideoportraysmeas.

“Is it awesome?” Samasks, coming over. He setsoneof thephonesdownnexttome.

“It’s . . .” I trail off, notsure what to say about thevideo. “It’s pretty corny,actually. But, right now, it’s

alsokindofthegreatestthingever.”

Sam nods and pats myshoulder, understanding.“Why don’t you just callher?”

“Sarah?”“Yeah. I’ll call Six and

check in with TeamSanctuary,”hesays,soundingeager. “Find out where theyare. Maybe they’ve alreadymade it back to Ashwood

Estates. I’ll let them knowwhat’s up with us and we’llfigure out a place to meet. Ishouldprobablycallmydad,too.LethimknowI’malive.”

IrealizeSamislookingatmethesamewaythatWalkerdid,likeI’msuddenlyfragile.I shakemy head and start tostandup,butSamputsahandonmyshoulder.

“Seriously, dude,” hesays. “Call your girlfriend.

She’sgottobeworriedsick.”I let Sam push me back

into the chair. “All right,” Isay. “But if anything’shappened to Six and theothers, or you can’t reachthem—”

“I’ll come get you rightaway,”Samsaysasheheadstowards the exit. “I’ll giveyou some privacy until thenextcrisis.”

WhenSam’sgone,Ipush

both my hands through myhair and leave them there,squeezing my head, like I’mliterally trying to keep ittogether. After a moment ofcomposingmyself,Ireachforthe phone Sam left behindandpunchinthenumberthatI’vecommittedtomemory.

Sarah answers on thethird ring, breathless andhopeful.“John?”

“You have no idea how

badly I needed to hear yourvoice,” I reply, glancingsidelong at Walker’s laptopscreenandfinallyclosingit.Ipress the phone tight to myear, shut my eyes andimagine Sarah is sitting nexttome.

“Iwassoworried,John.Isaw—we all saw whathappenedinNewYork.”

Ihavetobitetheinsideofmy cheek. The image of

Sarah Iwascallingup inmymind’seyeisreplacedbyoneof buildings crumbling underthe bombardment of theAnubis.

“It was—I don’t knowwhat to say about it,” I tellher. “I feel lucky to havemadeitout.”

I don’t mention the guiltI’ve been feeling, or howhard it has been to keepgoing. I don’t want Sarah to

knowthataboutme.Iwanttobe the heroic guy from hervideo.

Sarah doesn’t sayanythingforafewseconds.Ican hear her breathing, slowand shaky, the way it getswhenshe’stryingtokeepheremotions from bubbling out.When she finally speaks, hervoiceisaquietanddesperatewhisper, coming from faraway.

“Itwas sohorrible, John.All those poor people.They’re dying, the world’sbasically ending, andall—allIcould thinkaboutwaswhatmight havehappened to you,why you weren’t calling. Idon’t—I don’t have a charmonmyankle tokeep trackofyou.Ididn’tknowif...”

IrealizethatSarah’sreliefat hearing my voice is theangry kind, the kind that

comes when you’ve spentsleepless nights worryingabout a person. I rememberhow it felt when theMogadorians had taken her,howitfelt likeapieceofmewasmissing.Ialsorememberhow much simpler thingswere then—avoid the Mogs,rescue Sarah, there weren’tmillions of lives hanging inthe balance. Crazy to thinkthatusedtoseemlikeacrisis.

“My sat phone gotdestroyed or I would’vecalled sooner.Wemade it toBrooklynwherethearmyhasset up. I’m fine,” I reassureher, knowing that I’m partlytryingtoconvincemyself.

“I’ve felt like a ghosttheselastcoupledays,”Sarahsays quietly. “Mark and me,we’ve been hitting theinternet hard, working onprojects to help, you know,

win hearts and minds. Andwe finally met GUARD inperson, which—oh my God,John, I have so much to tellyou.But Ineedyou toknowfirst that during all thiskeeping busy, I’ve felt likeI’m just going through themotions. Like I’m out ofbody. Because all I couldthink about was you gettingblownupwiththosepeopleinNewYork.”

I should ask Sarah abouttheidentityofthemysterioushacker she and Mark havebeen working with. I shouldfind out the details of whatshe and Mark have beendoing. I know I should.Except in that moment, all Ican thinkabout ishowmuchImissher.

“Iknowpartofthereasonyou went to find Mark wasbecauseyoudidn’twanttobe

adistraction,”Isay,tryingtosound more reasonable thandesperate. “Notbeingable totalk to you, to see you, totouch you—that might be abigger distraction thananything. You’ve beenhelpingsomuch,but...”

“I miss you too,” Sarahreplies, and I can tell whenshespeaksthatshe’stryingtofind her resolve, to be toughlike shewaswhen I dropped

her off at the bus station inBaltimore. “We made theright decision, though. It’sbetterthisway.”

“Itwasastupiddecision,”Ireply.

“John...”“I don’t know how I let

you talk me into this,” Icontinue. “We should’venever separated. Aftereverything that happened inNew York, everything I had

tosee—”My breath catches for a

moment as I remember thefires, the destruction, thewounded and the dead. Irealize that I’m shakingagain,anddefinitelynotfromexhaustion.IfeellikeImighthavehitmylimit,likethere’sonly so much brutality mybrain can endure. I try tofocusonSarahandongettingmy words out, on making

sense and not sounding toodesperate.

“I need you with me,Sarah,”Imanagetofinish.“Ifeel like these are the lastbattles we’re ever going tofight. After New York, I—I’ve seen how quickly it canall be taken away. I don’twant us to be apart ifsomething happens, if this istheend.”

Sarah gathers a deep

breath. When she speaksnext,hervoiceisfirm.

“This is not the end,John.”

I realize how I mustsound to her. Weak andscared,notatalllikethealienhero she portrayed in thatvideo. I’m embarrassed byhowI’macting.Aloneforthefirst time since the attack inNew York, without constantskirmishes to distract me,

with things finally sloweddownenoughformetothink—the result is me breakingdown while on the phonewith my girlfriend. We’vebeeninbadsituationsbefore,fought some brutal battlesand seen friends die. But,until now, I’ve never felthopeless.

WhenI’msilentforafewmoments, Sarah continues,her voice gentle. “I can’t

imaginewhatitwasliketobeinNewYorkduring...that.I can’t imagine what you’regoingthrough—”

“It was my fault ithappened,” I tell her quietly,glancing to the tent flap incase someone outside mightoverhear. “I could’ve killedSetrákusRaat theUN.Ihadtime to prepare for thisinvasion.AndIfailed.”

“Oh, John. You cannot

possibly blame yourself forNew York,” Sarah replies,her tone understanding butinsistent. “You are notresponsibleforthemurderousrampage of an alien psycho,okay? You were trying tostophim.”

“ButIdidn’t.”“Yeah, and neither did

anyone else. So either all ofus are equally to blame, ormaybe it’s the evil

Mogadorian’s fault and wecanleaveitatthat.Yourguiltisn’t going to bring anyoneback, John. But you canavenge them. You can stopSetrákus Ra from doing itagain.”

I laugh bitterly. “That’sjust it. I don’t know how tostophim.It’stoomuch.”

“We’llfindaway,”Sarahreplies, and her certaintyalmost convincesme. “We’ll

dothistogether.Allofus.”I rub my hands over my

face, trying to get myselftogether. Sarah’s telling meexactly what I need to hear.Asusual, I knowshe’s right,atleastonalogicallevel.Butthat doesn’t loosen the knotof guilt tying upmy guts, ormakethefutureseemanylessoverwhelming.

“They look at me like ahero,”Isay,scoffing.“Iwalk

around this camp and thesoldiers, the survivors,everyonelooksatmelikeI’msomekindofsuperman.Theydon’tknow—”

“I guess my video reallyworked,” Sarah quips, tryingto lighten the mood. “Theylookatyou thatwaybecauseyouareahero,John.”

I shake my head. “Theydon’t know that I have noideawhat I’m doing. I don’t

knowhowtofightabattleonthis scale. Nine’s missing,Ella’s taken and basicallygettingtortured,Idon’tknowwhat’s taking Six and theothers so long to get backfromtheSanctuary,butwhentheydowemighthave togoback anyway because that’sright where Setrákus Ra isheaded.Meanwhile, therearetwenty-five warships overtwenty-five different cities. I

don’tknowhow todealwiththis,Sarah.”

“Well,”Sarahreplies,hervoicecalmandcollected,likeI haven’t just dropped aninsurmountable pile ofproblems at her feet. “It’s agood thing you’ve gotfriends. Now let’s take thisone thing at a time. Let metellyouaboutGUARD.”

CHAPTERTWELVE

SARAH TELLS MEEVERYTHING ABOUT HERTIMEwithMark,andI reallycan’t believe what she saysabout GUARD. After allthese years, it’s incredible. I

try to keep my voice down,though, to hide this amazingnewsfromAgentWalkerandherfriendsinthegovernment,at least for the time being.After Sarah’s filled me in, Itell her everything that’shappened to me, andeverything that we’re stillfacing.Shedoesn’tfalter.Shetellsme that we can do this.Shetellsmewecanwin.

Shemakesmebelieve.

When I finally come outof Walker’s tent, I’m notshaking anymore.UnburdeningmyselftoSarah,hearing her voice,remembering what I’mfighting for—all this isenoughtogetmeonmyfeet,moving,readytochargebackinto battle. I still don’t haveall the answers, but I’m nolonger afraid to confront thequestions.

Outside the tent, Sam isstill on the phone. He’spacing back and forth,gesturing emphatically withhisfreehand.

“Six, that’s crazy,” heinsists. Obviously, Six isaliveandwell.AndofcourseSam is already trying to talkher out of something. “Youhaven’t seen the size of thisthing. It tore through wholecity blocks like they were

madeoutofpaper.”Sam spots me, then

widens his eyes like Six issaying something crazy inresponse.

“Here’s John,” Sam sayssharply into the phone.“Maybe he can talk somesenseintoyou.”

Sam holds out the phonetome.

“They’re okay?” I askSam,acceptingthephone.

“Yeah. They released thespirit of Lorien on Earth,whichisprobablywhyIhaveLegacies, but now they’restranded in Mexico, and Sixis talking about fighting theAnubis when it shows up atthe Sanctuary,” Sam saysbreathlessly. I stare at him,trying to wrap my mindaround all that as I lift thephonetomyear.

“John? Sam?” There’s

Six’sfamiliarvoice,soundingannoyed. “Someone talk tome.”

“Hey, Six,” I say. “Goodtohearyourvoice.”

“You, too,” she replies,her smile audible. “Wantmeto catch you up on thedetails? Or should we get tothepartwhereyoutrytalkingme out of fighting SetrákusRaandhiswarship?”

I can’t help grinning at

her bluster. Between talkingtoSarah andnowSix, thingsno longer feel so massivelyoverwhelming. We’redefinitelyupagainstit,butatleast I’m not up against italone.

“I want you to catch meup,” I tell Six. “But first, IreallyneedtotalktoAdam.”

“Oh,” Six replies,sounding surprised. “Sure.Hangonasecond.”

Samfixesmewithalook,like I should’ve immediatelytoldSixandtheotherstofleethe Sanctuary. I’m not surethat’stherightmoveyet.WeknowSetrákusRa isheadingthere, but he doesn’t knowthatweknow.Thatgivesusarare advantage. Ella showedme the Sanctuary in hervision. She told me to warnSixandtheothers.Maybeit’sthere that the final battle

against Setrákus Ra will befought. If that’s the case, atleast it’ll be fought in themiddle of nowhere.Civilianswon’tbeindanger.

Adam gets on the phone,soundingweary. “How can Ihelp?”

“Yourwarships—Imean,the Mog warships, they’reprotectedbyforcefields.Tellmehowtobringthemdown.”

Adam snorts. “You’re

kidding,right?”“I need to give the

governmentsomething,”ItellAdam.“SetrákusRahassetadeadline for their surrenderandiftheydon’tseeawaytodefeathisarmada theyaren’tgoingtohelpus.”

“John, those warshipswere designed before theinvasion of Lorien,” Adamreplies. “The shields aremeanttosustainattacksfrom

a planet full of Garde.There’s no weapon on Earthshort of a nuclear bomb thatcould even potentially breakthrough them and attemptingsuch an attack over a majorpopulation center would becatastrophic.” Adam pauses,andIcanheardirtcrunching.He’s moving towardssomething.“Although...”

“What? I’ll take anythingyoucangiveme,Adam.”

“Maybe brute force isn’tthe answer. I’m staring at anairstrip of disabledSkimmers,” he says. “Itoccurs tome that there are ahundred or so assigned toeach warship. They act asscoutsandtransportsquadsofground troops. They comeand go from the warshipsquite a bit, which makeslowering the warship’s forcefield each time impractical.

So, the Skimmers areoutfitted with anelectromagnetic fieldgenerator that masks themfrom the warship’s shield,allowing them to passthroughunharmed.”

I should’ve thought ofthat.NowthatAdam’sjoggedmy memory, I realize that Isaw this technology at workback at the West Virginiamountain base. When

Setrákus Ra first arrived onEarth,hisshipmovedthroughthe base’s force field like itwasn’t even there. When Itried to chase him down, theshieldtotallyfriedme.

“Would it be possible tostrip that technology out ofthe Skimmers and put it intosomethingelse?”IaskAdam.“Like, for instance, a fighterjet?”

Adam considers this.

“Possible, yes. But while itwouldn’thavetoworryaboutthe warship’s shields, itwouldstillbetargetedbythecannons.”

I remember what Ellashowedmeduringourshareddream—the docking baywhere she and Five tried toescape.MaybewecanusetheMogs’ own technologyagainstthem.

“We could get like ten

people onto one of thoseSkimmers,right?”Iasknext,considering a new plan ofattack.

“Twelve,plustwopilots,”Adam answers quickly.“You’re considering a lessobviousassault.”

“Yeah. Ifwecouldboardone of those warships, howmany people do you thinkwe’dneedtoovertakeit?”

There’s a bit of

excitement in Adam’s voicenow.“Thatwoulddependonhow many of those peoplehad Legacies. Have Imentioned, John, thatwhen Iwas a child I dreamed aboutflying one of thosewarships?”

I smirk at that. “Youmight just get your chance,Adam. Thanks for the info.CanyouputSixbackon?”

Adam says good-bye and

handsthephonebacktoSix.“You thinkweshould try

boarding the Anubis?” Sixasks me. “Sam was justencouraging me and theotherstorunasfastandasfarfromthatthingaspossible.”

“I’m not sure what weshould do yet, but I want toknowour options,” I reply. Ilook at Sam and can’t helpfrowning. He’s not going tolikewhat I have to say next.

“Stayput,Six.Helpisontheway.”

Ashorttimelater,SamandIwalk along the pier, lookingfor Agent Walker. Wherevershewentwiththosetwoarmyguys and their civilian, it’staking longer than expected.Up ahead, there’s a largemilitary presence on theconcrete dock that juts intothe East River. When we

arrive, a small group ofsoldiers are hard at workpulling empty kayaks fromthe water and dumping themin a pile out of the way sothat themilitary shipshaveaclear place to dock. Thisplacewasn’texactlydesignedfor battleships. In the lasttwenty-four hours, it’s beenturned into something of astagingarea,withabunchofnavy destroyers floating

ominously in the narrowwaterway, their guns pointedat the smoking remains ofdowntownManhattan.

“How’sMalcolmdoing?”I ask Sam. He made a shortcalltohisdadafterwegotoffthephonewithSix.

“Mostly relieved thatwe’realive.Andveryexcitedabout my new . . . thing,”Sam replies, glancing aroundto make sure no one’s

listening. “He and the FBIagentsWalkerleftbehindgotscooped up by thegovernment during theevacuation of Washington. Iguess he’s getting the VIPbunker treatment. They’vegot him in the sameunderground complex as thepresident.”

“Maybe he could put agoodwordinforus.”

“I told him,” Sam says.

“Right now, he says theythink he’s some crazyscientist that specializes inalienswithalotofpets.”

“TheChimærae.”“Dad thinks it’s best if

they pass as normal animalsfor now. I know we’vedecided to trust AgentWalker’s little group ofrebels, but there’smore thanjust her crew inWashington.Some of the scientists down

there, well, Dad thinks theymight be a little too curiousaboutalienbiology.”

I think about how Adamrescued the Chimærae fromMogadorian experimentation.Much as I want to trust thattheU.S.governmentisbetterthan that, I don’t. “That’ssmart,” I reply. “Keep themfrom getting dissected orsomething until we needthem. In the meantime, they

canlookafteryourdad.”“Yeah...”Samtrailsoff.

I can tell there’s somethingelse he’d rather be talkingabout, mostly because hehasn’tletupsincewegotoffthe phone with Six. “John, Istill can’t believe you toldthemtostaydownthere.”

I’m planning to call Sixback once I figure out howmuch support I can drum upfrom Walker and the

government. At least untilthen, they’re staying put atthe Sanctuary. They’ve gotsome time until Setrákus Rashows up. “You honestlythink Six would’ve retreatedif I told her to?” I reply. “Idon’t like putting them indangereither,Sam,but...”

“John, come on. TheAnubis almost killed usyesterday!Wewere likeantsagainst that thing. Not even

there. What chance do theyhave?”

“EllatoldmeSetrákusRawants what’s inside theSanctuary, which I’massuming is this Loric EntitySix told us about. We can’tjust let him go thereunopposed.Nothinggoodcancomeofhimgettingwhathewants.”

“But how are they goingto fight him off?What good

is going to come of themstaying down there?” Samasks,raisinghisvoice.“Theycan’t even hurt him. Notwithout—”

“I know what thesituation is, Sam,” I snap,losingmycool.“We’regoingto find a way to get downthereandhelpthem,allright?Ellashowedme—sheshowedmetheSanctuary,shetoldmeto warn Six and the others

and she also toldme thatwecan win. That she’s seen away.Itallstartsthere.”

IleaveoutthepartswhereElla toldmethat therewouldbe sacrifices and where sheimplied that I might be theone to kill her. That part ofherprophecyI’mgoingtobeworking my ass off tochange. I know Sam is onlypressing me because he’sworried about the others and

Sixinparticular.I’mworriedabout them, too. But I alsotrustSixtokeepherheadandmakeherowndecisions.

Before Sam can puttogether a rebuttal, I spotWalker ahead of us and pickupmypace.TheFBIagentissurrounded by a huddle ofhigh-ranking militaryofficials. I have tonudgemyway through a crowd ofsoldiers to get close. I get

some disgruntled looks atfirst, dressed as I am like acivilian who just survived anatural disaster. When theystart to realize who I am, apathclearsrealquick.I’mnotsosurprisedbythistreatmentanymore,andItrynottoletitmakeme feeluncomfortable.One of the soldiers evensalutes me, although hisbuddy standing beside himelbowshimhardandrollshis

eyes.Walker sees me coming

and breaks away from themilitary brass. I notice themnoticingme,butitseemslikeWalker was right about thehigher-ups wanting to avoiddirect contact with usdangerousLoric rebels.Theymove away and gather againfarther down the pier, manyof the soldiers going alongwith them. Once there, they

start pointing towards theEast River and exchangingwords. Something about thewater’s definitely alarmingthem. I start to amp up myhearing to eavesdrop onwhat’s got them so spooked,butWalkerisalreadyrightinfrontofmeandtalking.

“Good,you’rehere.Iwasjustcomingbacktogetyou,”Walker says. She’s holdingthetabletcomputerbelonging

tothecivilianwhoshowedupat her tent earlier, althoughthat guy’s no longeranywhere tobe seen.Walkermusthavecommandeeredhistablet and sent him on hisway.

“I know the weakness ofthe warship shields. I knowhowwecanbeatthem,”ItellWalker,cuttingtothechase.

Her eyebrows shoot up.“Damn, John. That was

quick. That’s definitelysomethingthearmyboyswillbeinterestedin.”

“Good.”Imakeapointedglanceattheofficersgathereddown thepier. “Ineed togetto Mexico, Walker. We’retalking in the next couplehours. There’s going to be abattledown there that I can’tmiss.Ineedwhateversupportthey’rewillingtogiveme.”

“Is there an ‘or else’

you’re waiting to drop onme?” Walker asks, herexpressiondarkening.“I’lldowhatIcan,butIalreadytoldyou the military’s position.That comes direct from thecommanderinchief.”

“Yeah,well,tellthemtheparts they need to beat theshields? They’re sitting on arunway in Mexico. So theybetter scramble some damnjetsandgetmedownthere.”

Walkerholdsupherhand,letting me know she’s heardme. “All right, all right. I’lldo my best. But we’ve gotothercraptodealwithbeforewe go jetting off to yourspecial Loric safe zone orwhateverthehellitis.”

“Whoa,” Sam says. He’swanderedclosertotherailingand is staring into thewater.“They’vegotasubmarineoutthere.”

“Yeah,” Walker replies.“Before you go anywhere.John, I want you to take alookatthis.”

She slides up next to meand clicks play on the tablet,starting a video. It’s shakyfootage from earlier thismorning, when the Anubisleft Manhattan and glidedover the Brooklyn Bridge.Thecameraworkisjitteryandthe audio is convoluted with

screamsandsoldiersshoutingorders to each other.Eventually, the sinisterwarshippassesoutofsight.

“What am I supposed tobelookingfor,Walker?”

“That’s what I said. Imissed it the first time, too,”Walker replies, running thefootage back again.“Apparently,thethousandsofhighly trained militarypersonnel didn’t notice this

happen in real time either.Watchtherivernow.”

Sam leans in next to us,squinting at the video.“Something falls off theship,” he states flatly,pointingatthescreen.

He’sright.Aroundobjectabout the size of SetrákusRa’s pearl-shaped getawayshipdropsfromthewarship’sbelly. It hits the East Riverwith a large splash and

immediately sinks out ofview.

“Ever seen anything likethatbefore?”Walkerasks.

I shake my head. “I’dnever even seen one of thewarships until the AnubisattackedNewYork.”

Walkers sighs. “Sowe’restillinthedark.”

“Are they sending thatsub down to look forwhatever that was?” Sam

asks.Walkernods.“Theriver’s

only about a hundred feetdeep, but they don’t want torisk sending divers down incaseit’ssomekindofweaponortrap.”

“What else could itpossibly be?” I ask Walker,puttingmyhandsonmyhipsandturningtowardstheriver.AddthismysteriousobjecttothelonglistofthingsI’vegot

toworryabout.“The higher-ups are

hoping it was an accidentaldrop, that something fell offthe warship that we couldpotentially study or useagainst the Mogadorians, geta better understanding ofwhatwe’reupagainst.”

“Setrákus Ra doesn’t doanythingbyaccident.”

“So you’re saying weshouldn’t send anyone down

there?” Walker asks, oneeyebrow raised. “You aren’tcurious,John?”

BeforeIcanreply,there’sa screech of tires from theend of the pier. One of thearmyjeepscomes in fastandhas to slam on the brakeswhen it reaches the knot ofsoldiersmilling around. Twosoldiers, a driver and herpassenger, jump out of thecar.Thedriverthrowsoffher

helmet, revealing a sweatyshockofdarkblackhair.Sheyanksopenthebackdoorandthe other soldier comesaroundthecartohelpherlifta third soldieroutof thecar.Helookswounded,althoughIcan’ttellhowbadlyfromthisdistance. Other militarypersonnel gather around,trying to help these newarrivals.

“Whereare they?” shouts

the woman. “Where’s thealien? Where’s that FBIbitch?”

A lump forms in mythroat. SetrákusRa put out abountyonmeand the restofthe Garde. Maybe thesesoldiers have decided it’stime tocollect.All the same,Istepforward.I’mnotgoingtohide.Thesoldiersclusteredat the end of the pier arepointing in my direction,

anyway. There’s nowhere togo.Iglanceovermyshoulderand see the high-ranking oldmen, the colonels andgenerals and whatever thehellelse,they’veallturnedtowatch this scene play out.They don’t seem all thatinterested in interveningshouldthisturndangerous.

Or maybe I’m just beingparanoid.Maybesensing thatI’vetensedup,Walkerputsa

handonmyarm.“Letmehandle this,” she

says.“We don’t even know

what this is,” I tell her,striding forward to meet thesoldiers.

“He’s all messed up,”Sam says, eyeing the soldiernow being carried by thedriver and her spooked-looking partner. The front ofthe injured soldier’s fatigues

are soaked through withblood.He’s barely consciousandhas to be held up by theothers. The male soldiersupporting him doesn’t lookinjured,butstill looksalmostdead on his feet. Shell-shocked. Only the driverseemsatallwithit,andshe’sglaring daggers at AgentWalker.

“What happened,soldier?”Walker asks as the

trio stops a few feet in frontofus.Icanseethelastnameembroidered on the driver’sshirtisSchaffer.

“Weweredoingwhatyousaid.Outlookingforhimandhis friends,” Schaffer replies,jerking her chin in mydirection.Sotherewereotherunits in the city besides theone that pulled us out of thesubway station. “We thoughtwe’dfoundasurvivor,butwe

gotattacked.”“Mogadoriansdidthis?”I

ask,takingasteptowardstheinjured soldier. The front ofhis shirt is slashed open andso is the bulletproof vestunderneath it. That happenedwhile he was out trying tohelp me. “Hold him steady.Letmehealhim.”

With Schaffer and theother soldier holding theirinjured partner up, I start to

carefully peel off hisshreddedshirtandbulletproofvest. All the while, Schafferglaresatme.

“You’re not listening,”Schaffer snaps. “We found akid,lookedlikehewasmadeofmetal.Thoughthewasoneof you Garde freaks, so wetoldhimwe’dbringhimbackhere to you. He came at uswith a blade. He flew at us.Moved faster than anything

should. Took our weapons,anddidthattoRoosevelt.”

Iswallowhard.Onlynowdo I notice that the soldierhasn’tjustbeenslashedup.Amessageiscarvedintohim.

5

“Where ishe?” Iask,myvoicelikeice.

“He sent us back here totell you,” Schaffer replies.

“Hesaidhe’llbeattheStatueof Liberty at sunset. Wantsyoutomeethim.”

“Was there anyone withhim?”Samasks.

“Big, dark-haired guy.Unconscious,” Schaffer says.She turns back to me. “Hesaid to tell you what willhappen if you don’t come. Idon’t know what this crazycrap’ssupposed tomean—hesaid meet him at sunset or

he’llgiveyouanewscar.”

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

WE STANDAT THE EDGE OFTHE GRASS IN FRONT of theSanctuary, side by side, ourbacks to the temple.Together, we look out at thehorizon, to the north. That’s

the direction Setrákus Ra’swarshipwillbecomingfrom.We’vegotuntilsunset.

The three of us are thelastlineofdefense.

The day has only gottenhotter. At least that lets mepretend the sweat dampeningthe back of my shirt is allfromtheheat.

I point towards the treeline. “The Mogs did us afavor cutting down all that

jungle,” I say as I cock myhead, trying to gauge thedistance. “Weshouldbeableto see the ship coming fromatleastamileout.”

“They’ll see us, too,”Adam replies, his voicesomber. “I don’t know, Six.Thisseemslikemadness.”

I’d been waiting forAdam to say something likethat.Iknewfromthelookonhis face during our

conversation with John andSam that hewasn’t on boardwith us staying to fightSetrákusRaandhiswarship.

“Setrákus Ra cannot beallowed to enter theSanctuary,” Marina says,before Icanreply.“That isaLoric place. A sacred place.Hewoulddefile it.Whateverhe wants, we must stop himfromgettingit.”

I glance from Marina to

Adam, and shrug at theMogadorian. “You heardher.”

Adam shakes his head,growing more frustrated.“Look,Iunderstandthisplaceis special to you, but it’s notworthtradingourlivesfor.”

“I disagree,” Marinarepliescurtly.She’sdefinitelyalready made up her mind.There’snowayshe’sleavingthe Sanctuary now, not after

allthat’shappenedhere.“We accomplished what

we needed to here,” Adamargues.“Someofthehumanshave Legacies now. There’snothingSetrákusRacandotochangethat.He’stoolate.”

“We don’t know that,” Ireply, glancing over myshoulderat theSanctuary.“Ifhegotintherehecould...Idon’t know. Reverse whatwe’ve done, maybe. Or do

somethingtohurttheEntity.”Adam frowns. “He’s

controlled your home planetfor more than a decade andneverbeenable to takeawayyour Legacies. Notpermanently,anyway.”

“Because Lorien washere,” Marina repliesemphatically. “It’s beenhiding here and now he’sfound it. We can’t let himtouch the Entity. The

consequences could becatastrophic.”

Adam throws up hishands. “You’re not listeningtoreason!”

I glance away fromAdam, towards the landingstrip cluttered with disabledSkimmers. Of course, myeyes find their way to PhiriDun-Ra.Stillgaggedandtiedto a wheel strut, she’s madean effort to sit up straighter,

probablytryingtolistenintoourconversation.Icantellbythewaythatherfacecrinklesaround the duct tape thatshe’s smiling at me. Iremember what she saidearlier this morning, whenshe was trying to convinceme that Adam was secretlyouttogetus.

“You don’t think we canwin, so you’re afraid tofight,” I say bluntly,

regrettingthewordsalmostassoon as they’re out of mymouth.

Adam whips around tolook at me, then followsmygaze to Phiri. Hemustmakethe connection between mystatementandherearlierrant.He disgustedly shakes hishead and walks a few stepsawayfromme.

Marina nudges me,whispering,“Six...”

“I’m sorry,Adam,” I sayquickly.“Seriously.Thatwasalowblow.”

“No, you’re right, Six,”Adam replies dryly,shrugging. “I’m a cowardbecause I don’t want to dietoday.I’macowardbecause,as aboy, Iwatched from thedeckofoneofthosewarshipsas your home planet wasobliterated. I’m a cowardbecause I think we should

find a better way. A smarterway.”

“All right, Adam,” I say,feeling a tightness in mychestathiscasualmentionofLorien’s destruction. “Wehearyou.”

“It might not be smart,”Marinaadds.“Butit’swhat’sright.”

Adam rounds on us, histone acidic. “In that case,whichoneofyou isgoing to

doit?”“Dowhat?”Iask.“Kill Ella,” he replies.

“WeallheardwhatJohnsaid.Setrákus Ra has her boundwithhisownversionofyourold Loric charm. You can’thurthimwithoutfirsthurtingher. I’ve never evenmet thegirl and I can tell you rightnow, I’m not going to do it.Sotellme,whichoneofyouisgoingtokillyourfriend?”

“No one,” I sayresolutely, locking eyes withAdam.“We’regoingtofigureoutawaytostopSetrákusRawithouthurtingher.”

Adam glances up at thesun,as if trying to figureouthowmuchdaylightwe’vegotleft.

“Great,” Adam says.“Fantastic.Our resources aresomebroken-down ships andwhateverthehellwecanfind

inthejungle.Tellmehowthehell you’re going to stopSetrákus Ra in our situation,Six.”

“John said there’d bebackup coming, the military—”

“Hesaidhe’d try,”Adampractically shouts at me.“Look, I trust John, but he’sthousands of miles away.Help is thousands of milesaway.Righthere?It’sjustus.

We’reit.”“Helpisrightbehindus,”

Marinasays.Hervoiceisstillcalm, but there’s a strainthere. What Adam’s beensaying has gotten under herskin. “The Sanctuary willgiveusawaytofight.”

Adam takes this in for amoment before rolling hiseyes.“Amiracle.That’swhatthe two of you are hopingfor?Amiracle!Igetthatyou

woke that thing in there up,and I know it let you talk toyour . . .your friendone lasttime.But that’sall it’s goingto do, okay? It is donehelpingus.Don’tbelieveme?Maybewecouldasksomeofthe Loric how much thatEntity helped during the lastMogadorian invasion. If theyweren’talldead.”

The air around me getscold. At first, it feels pretty

good in this overbearingjungleheat,untilIrealizethatit’sMarinafuminginherownspecialway.She takesa steptowards Adam, her fistsclenched, the whole serene-sister-of-the-Sanctuary thingdroppedinahurry.

“Don’t talk about whatyou don’t know, youmonster!” she yells, jabbingher finger in the air at him.An icicle shoots from

Marina’s index finger andstabs into the dirt at Adam’sfeet.Immediately,itbeginstomelt.Adam takesa surprisedstepback,staringatMarina.

“Enough,”Isay,steppingin between the two of them.“This isn’t getting usanywhere.”

From the airstrip, PhiriDun-Ra makes a series ofmuffled gagging noises. Irealize that she’s laughing at

us.Ituneherout,turnaroundand take Marina by theshoulders.Herskiniscoldtothetouch.

“Much as I love the airconditioning right now, youneed to walk away for aminute,”Itellher.

Marinagivesmealookofdisbelief, like she can’tbelieveI’msidingwithAdamagainst her. I shakemy headgently and raise my

eyebrows, letting her knowthat’s not what this is. Shesighs, pushes a hand throughher hair and walks towardstheSanctuary.

I turn to glare at Adam.At first, he doesn’t look atme. He’s too busy watchingtheicicleMarinafiredathimturntowater.

“Lucky she didn’t takeyoureyeout,”Isay,onlyhalfjoking.

“I know,” he replies,finally looking up at me.“Six, look, I’m sorry. Ishouldn’t have brought upLorien.That’snot—that’snotmyplace.”

“You bet your ass itisn’t,” I say, taking a stepcloser to him. “It’s all right,you’re freaking out a little,I’mgonnachalkituptothat.Butyeah,don’ttalkaboutourdead families and massacred

planetagain,okay?BecauseIseriously wanted to punchyouintheface.”

Adam nods.“Understood.”

“I’m still not sure youdo,” I reply, lowering myvoiceandgettingevencloser.“Let me make it perfectlyclearforyou,Adam.I’vegotnointentionofdyingoutheretoday. You think I don’t getthat the odds are against us?

Dude, I don’t need thatexplained to me. But youdidn’t magically fix one ofthose Skimmers while Iwasn’tlooking,didyou?”

He frowns at me. “YouknowIdidn’t,Six.”

“Then we’re stuck hereuntil reinforcements arrive.And if we’re stuck here,we’regoingtofight.Yougetme?”

“We could run,” Adam

replies,pointingtothejungle.“Wedon’tneedaSkimmertoescape.”

“Look at it this way.Booking it into the jungle isnever going to stop being anoption,” I admit to him. “Ifthe Anubis gets here andthings don’t go our way,we’llrun.”

“Will we?” Adam asks,his gaze sliding off me andtowardsMarina.“Allofus?”

I turn my head to subtlywatchMarina.Herbackis tous as she takes deep breaths,calmingherself.She’sstaringat the Sanctuary again, likeshe’sbeendoingmostof theday. Marina’s developed analmost religious devotion tothe old temple. I understandwhy—our experience withthe Entity was pretty heavy,maybemoresoforagirlwhowasraisedaroundabunchof

nuns.Nottomention,theguyshe loved is buried in there.TheSanctuary’sbecomebotha religious symbol and agravesitetoher.

“I’ll drag her away if Ihave to,” I tell Adam,meaningit.

Adam seems satisfiedwith that answer. The franticlookhehadwhenheberatedus is gone, replaced by coldMogadorian calculation. I

never thought I’d actually behappytoseethosefeaturesonsomeone’sface.

“I can start removing theforce field cloaking modulesfor John and keep trying torepair the Skimmer, butneither of those things isgoing to help us defend thisplaceor survive an attackbytheAnubis.”He looks atme,eyebrows raised. “So,what’sourplanfornotdying?”

Goodquestion.I takea lookaround.The

plan aspect of this wholething is something I’m stillworking out. How can westop Setrákus Ra from doingwhatever he wants to theSanctuary?HowcanweevenhurthimwithoutendangeringElla? Once again, my gazedrifts towards Phiri Dun-Ra.She isn’t laughing at usanymore, instead she’s

watching us like a hawk. Ithink of her hands, currentlytiedtothewheelstrutbehindher back, and the way theywere bandaged up, the dirt-stained dressings coveringelectrical burns she sufferedfrom the Sanctuary’s forcefield. The Mogs spent yearsouthere, trying to force theirway into the Sanctuary toearnfavorwiththeirBelovedLeader.It’stoobadwedidn’t

see a fuse box or controlpanel inside the Sanctuary toturnthatforcefieldbackon.

“At leastweknowwherehe’s going,” I say out loud,still thinking. “Setrákus Rawants inside the Sanctuary,he’s gotta come down fromhis big bad warship. Thatgivesusachance.”

“A chance to do what?”Adamasks.

“We can’t hurt Setrákus

Ra without hurting Ella,whichmeans we can’t reallystop him frommuscling intotheSanctuary.Butifhe’sgotElla and the Sanctuary,well,maybe we should takesomethingofhis.”

Adamcatchesonquickly.“Areyouthinking...?”

“You did mention youalways wanted to fly one ofthose warships. WhateverSetrákus Ra wants in the

Sanctuary, he won’t be ableto take it anywhere,” I say,feeling the beginnings of aplan starting to take shape.“Because we’re going torescue Ella and steal hisship.”

Our preparations beginmostlyinsilence,tensionstillintheairbetweenMarinaandAdam. We start by goingthrough the equipment that

theMogadorians left behind.There are crates piled in oneofthelargertents,averitablearsenalofweaponryandtoolsthat the Mogs shipped downhereonly tohave it allbreakagainst the Sanctuary’s forcefield. There’s a whole arrayof Mogadorian blasters, buttherestofthegearappearstohavebeenmanufacturedhereonEarth. There are crates ofweaponsstampedasproperty

of the U.S. military, miningequipment shipped fromAustralia and what Adamtells me are experimentalEMPs covered in Chineselettering.Adamwentthroughthisstuffearlierwhenhewaslooking for spare Skimmerparts, so he knows how it’sorganized.

“We want explosives,” Itell him. “What have theygot?”

Carefully, Adam movessome crates around beforeopening up one packed withblocks of a beige substancethatremindsmeofclay.

“Plastic explosives,” hesays.“C-4,Ithink.”

“You know how to workwiththatstuff?”

“A little bit,” Adamreplies, and starts gentlypushing aside objects in thecrate. Besides the C-4, there

are also some wires andcylinders that I assume havesomeroleindetonation.Aftera quick search,Adam smirksand holds up a small paperbooklet. “There’sinstructions.”

“Perfect,” Marinamutters.

“How many bombstotal?”Iask.

Adamdoesaquickcountof the clay bricks. “Twelve.

But I can break them up,make them smaller if youwant. The smaller the brick,the smaller the explosion,though. And we’ve only gotthe dozen blasting caps, sothe smaller ones would needtobewiredtogether.”

Beforereplying toAdam,Ipokemyheadoutofthetentand do a quick count ofSkimmers parked on thelanding strip. Sixteen of

them, including the oneAdam’sbeenworkingonandthe one Phiri Dun-Ra’s tiedto.

“Weshouldbegoodwithtwelve,” I tell Adam. “Don’tblowyourselfup,okay?”

“I’lltrymybest.”“Great. Come on,

Marina.”I grab an empty burlap

sack from the Mog supplytent before setting out

towards the landing strip.Marinafollowsnexttome.

“What exactly are wewiring to explode, Six?” sheasks.

“Hold that thought,” Isay, approaching theSkimmerwherePhiriDun-Raisrestrained.Shewatchesmeapproach,eyeshotandangry,not smiling through her ducttape anymore. I think sheknows what’s coming. She

struggles a bit against herbonds but can’t do much tostop me from pulling thatburlapsackoverherhead.

“Sick of looking at her?”Marinaasks.

“Yeah, that. And I don’twanthertoseewhatwe’reupto.”IleadMarinaawayfromour prisoner, towards theother Skimmers on theairstrip.“We’regoingtowirethe ships. I figure Setrákus

Ra’s not coming alone, he’llhave other Mogs with him.Wedon’thavetheforcefieldto keep them out of theSanctuary, but we can damnsureblowthemupiftheygetclose.”

Thanks to Phiri Dun-Ra,none of the Skimmers are incondition to move on theirown.Onebyone,MarinaandI use our telekinesis to pushthe ships into position. With

the two of us working intandem, the weight isn’t thatbad, at least oncewe get thewheels rolling.We space theSkimmers about thirty yardsapart in a semicircle in frontof the Sanctuary’s entrance.The ships end up on almostthe exact same line as theSanctuary’sforcefield.

Now that we’ve movedmostoftheSkimmers,there’sa big empty space on the

landing strip. “Let’s hopeSetrákusRaparkshisbig-asswarship in the most obviousplacepossible,”Isay,tracingmy finger through the airfrom the landing strip andtowards the Sanctuary’sentrance. “There’s only onewayintotheSanctuary,sohispeoplewillhavetowalkrightthrough the ships, which iswherewe’regoingtohidethebombs.”

“That will at leasteliminate his first wave,”Marinasays.

“Yeah,andhopefully it’llget them nice and confusedand looking for an attack, sothatAdamandIcansneakinbehind them and board theAnubis.”

Marina frowns at me.“Wait. Where am I in allthis?”

Before I can answer,

Adam emerges from theMogadorian armory with aduffel bag filled with plasticexplosives.Hetakesalookatwhat we’ve done so far andnods approvingly. Then, hewalks over to us, sets theduffel bag down andproduces a large remotecontrol.

“Check this out,” Adamsays.“IguesstheMogsweretrying to use sequenced

explosions to take down theforce field, maybe thinkingtimed detonations atmultipleangles would bring the thingdown.”

He hands me the remotecontrol. It’s got a row oftwenty switches, eachwith acorresponding red and greenlight.Twelveoftheredbulbsare currently lit up. Adamcomes up next to me,explaining how the device

works.“The blasting caps all

have remote detonators,” hesays, and flicks the left-mostswitch on the controller onenotch up. The little lightabove the switch changesfrom red to green. “I justarmedthefirstbomb.”

Iglance to theduffelbagat our feet, presently filledwith a ton of plasticexplosives, then back to the

controller. There’s a littlemetal tooth that you need toguidetheswitcharoundforitto reach its third notch,probably to keep anyone’sfinger from slipping. Still,I’malittlenervousaboutthisdemonstration. “Uh, okay . ..”

“Safety first.” Adamflickstheswitchbackintoitsoriginalposition,theredlightcomingbackon.“Ifyouwere

topresstheswitchallthewayup,theblastingcapwouldgetthe signal to fire its charge,and the bomb woulddetonate.”

Inodonce, thenhandtheremote control over toMarina.“Yougetallthat?”

“Yes, but . . .”Her browfurrows as she accepts thecontroller.

“Youaskedwhereyou’regoing to be,” I say. “You’re

going to be hiding in thejungle, controlling theSanctuary’sdefenses.”

Marina considers this fora moment, a smile slowlyspreadingacrossher face. “Itwillbemypleasure.”

Adam walks down theline of ships, sticking lunch-box-sized parcels of plasticexplosives on the underbellyofeachSkimmer.AcautiousMogadorian might notice

them, yeah, but not before itwouldalreadybetoolate.

Meanwhile,Marina and Imaneuver the last twoSkimmers past the oneswe’ve wired to explode.These we position onopposite sides of theSanctuary, both at the veryedge of the jungle, and bothpointing towards theSanctuary’sentrance.

“We can create a cross

fire here,” I say, opening upthe cockpit on one of theSkimmers. “If yourtelekinesis is strong enoughtoworkthecontrols...”

“It will have to be,”Marinareplies.

Adam comes over,powers on the Skimmers’weaponsystemsandexplainstoMarina which buttons shewould need to press todischarge the cannons.

Marina spends a long timestudying the controls,memorizing them,committing them to hermind’s eye. Then, she walksslowly away from theSkimmers, and heads to apatchofjunglefarawayfromthe wired-up ships but closeenough to have a clear viewof the entire battlefield. It’sfrom this hidden spot thatshe’lldefendtheSanctuary.

Marina concentrates. ShereachesonehandouttowardstheSkimmer.

“Ugh,” she says, after amoment, rubbing the bridgeof her nose. “I don’t know,Six. It’s hard to use mytelekinesis on something Ican’tsee.”

We try a different tactic.Adamand Iwalk around theedge of the jungle, proppingupMogadorianblastersinthe

overgrown grass and trees.We camouflage them withloose branches and leaves,well enough that a Mogwarriorwouldn’tnotice themright off, but not so hiddenthat Marina can’t see them.Fromher spot, she testseachone, telekinetically pullingthe trigger so that a burst ofblaster fire sizzles into theclearing in front of theSanctuary.

“Nice,”Isay.“Youdon’teven have to hit anyone,Marina. You just have tomakethemthinktheattackiscomingfromallsides.”

Now that we’re finished,there are only twoSkimmersleft on the runway: the onewe came down here in thatAdam’sbeentryingtorepair,and the one that’s got PhiriDun-Ra tied to it. I’msatisfiedwithoursetupsofar.

It feels good to be doingsomething,atleast.

“This is good, Six,”Marina says, her armscrossed, looking at theMogadorian ships nowarranged like guards in frontof the Sanctuary. “Perfect ifSetrákus Ra sends in hiswarriors.Butwhatifhe’soutthere on the front linehimself? Hurting him wouldmean hurting Ella. We can’t

riskthat.”“You’re right,” I reply.

“We’ll have to figure out away to at least slow himdown.”

I start towards thepassageway that leads intotheSanctuaryandpretendnotto notice when Adam lagsbehind, touching Marinagently on the elbow as hedoes. They slow but onlywalk a few steps behindme.

With my enhanced hearing,it’s pretty much impossibleformenottoeavesdrop.

“I’m sorry about before,”Adam says to her quietly. “Igotcarriedaway.”

“It’s all right,” Marinareplies kindly. “I shouldn’thavecalledyouamonster. Itjustslippedout.Idon’treallythinkthat.”

Adam laughs once, self-deprecatingly. “No, you

know, I’ve wondered a lotover the years if that—ifthat’s not a good word forus.”

Marina makes a noise,abouttosaysomethingmore,butAdamcutsheroff.

“It’s okay—I’m sorryagain, about everything. Iknow what it’s like to losesomeone you care about. Ishouldn’t . . . I won’t be socavalier about leaving this

placeagain. Igetwhy it’ssoimportant.Whatitmeans.”

“Thankyou,Adam.”I turn around, pretending

not to have been listening totheir entire conversation.We’re in front of what usedto be the Sanctuary’s hiddendoor. It’s a narrow stonearchwayleadingtostairs thatrun all the way down to thehidden chamber beneath thetemple.

“So,” I say,handsonmyhips. “How do we stall themostpowerfulMogadorianinthe universe without hurtinghim, while at the same timestealinghiswarshipout fromunderhim?”

Adam raises his hand. “Ihaveaquestion.”

I can see the wheelsturninginhishead.“Shoot.”

“This entire plan ispredicated on chance—

Setrákus Ra going for thedoor,SetrákusRasendingoutwarriors, Marina being ableto distract them with somebombsandghostweapons.”Iopen my mouth to respond,worried he’s getting freakedout again, but Adam keepsrolling. “It’s the best optionwe’ve got. I agree with you.But, assuming it works,assuming we do manage tosteal the Anubis while

Setrákus Ra sits down here.What then? What do we donext?Westillcan’tkillhim.”

“But he won’t be able tokilluseither,”Ireply.Iknowit’s not exactly the brilliantstrategicgemAdam’shopingfor, but I honestly haven’tthought that far ahead. I’vebeen too focused on ourimmediatesurvival.

“Perhaps we couldnegotiate,” Marina suggests

halfheartedly. “For Ella, ortheSanctuary...”

“Despitehowferventlyhewould tell you otherwise,Setrákus Ra has no honor,”Adamsays.“Therecanbenonegotiating.”

“Then it’ll be astalemate,”Isay.“Andthat’sbetterthanlosing,right?”

Adam considers mywords, digging his heel intothe dirt in front of the

archway.“All right,” Adam says.

“Then I suggest we dig ahole.”

“Ahole?”“Apit,”Adam continues.

“Infrontofthedoor.Alargeone.Then,wecoveritupandletSetrákusRafallintoit.”

I push my toe into thedirt. Thanks to the shadowsof the Sanctuary and thenearbyplant growth, it’s soft

andalittledamp,notlikethehard-packed and sunbakeddirt of the runway. All ourLegacies, that stockpile ofMogweapons,abunchofC-4—and now we’re talkingabout digging a hole. “Well,he’s exactly the kind ofasshole who doesn’t watchwhere he’s going, especiallyifhe’ssportingamajorbonertogetintotheSanctuary.”

“There’s an image,”

Adamreplies.“Once he’s down there I

caniceover thetopfrommyhiding spot,” Marina says,gettingonboard.“Thatcouldslowhimdownfurther.”

“Well, at least it’ll behilarious towatchhimfall inahole,”Iaddoptimistically.

“It’ll have to be prettybig,”Adamsays, rubbinghischin thoughtfully. “He canchangesizes.”

“Good thing we’ve gotLegacies to help with thedigging,” I reply. “Even if itonly buys us a few minutes,that might be enough to getusonboardtheAnubis.”

“Onemorething,andyoumight not like this idea,”Adamsays toMarina,beforegesturing towards theSanctuary’s door. “Butmaybe we should cave thatin. It’ll be onemore thing to

getinSetrákusRa’sway.”It’sagoodidea,butIlook

over atMarina before sayinganything. She thinks about itfor a moment and thenshrugs. “They’re onlystones,” she says. “What’simportant is that we protectwhat’sinside.”

“ShouldIgetsomeoftheC-4?”Adamasks.

“IthinkIcanhandleit,”Ireply,alreadytappingintomy

Legacy and channeling asmall storm. The air getsheavy as I pull together adarkcloudaboveourheads,asmall pattering of raindropsfalling loose from it.With adownward motion of myhand, four bolts of lightningslicedownatanangleMotherNature couldn’t hope toduplicate.Thestrikesarcintothe Sanctuary’s doorway andexplode into the decrepit

limestone, collapsing thepassage in on itself with aburstofmustyair.

I step up and take a lookat my handiwork. Thedoorway is now filled withrubble, with some of theinterior wall obviouslycollapsed as well. It won’tkeep an army of Mogs outforever and Setrákus Rawilldefinitelybeable todislodgethe rubble with his

telekinesis. Still, it’s betterthannothing.

Meanwhile, with athoughtful look on her face,Marina takes measured stepsaround the entrance to theSanctuary, keeping count.When she’s walked a near-perfect square in front of theentrance, Marina looks overatme.

“Aboutthirtyfeetoneachside,doyouthink?”sheasks

me.“Forthepit?”“Ithinkthat’ddoit.”“Let me try something,”

Marina says, and thenbeginstoconcentrate.

She walks a thirty-footline away from theSanctuary’s entrance, herhands fanning the air as shegoes.Awallof icebegins totake shape along Marina’sline,althoughitsbottomedgedoesn’tmakecontactwiththe

ground.“Helpmeholditinplace,

would you?” Marina asks,glancingatme.

I’m not quite sure wherethisisgoing,butIplayalong.Using my telekinesis, I holdupMarina’sgrowingsheetofice. I notice that the ice isthickeratthetopandnarrowstoalethallysharpedgeatthebottom, almost like aguillotine blade. She walks

the same lines as a secondago, this time generating iceasshegoes.Afteracoupleofminutes,Marinahascreatedahollow cube of ice, roughlythirtyfeetbythirtyfeet,withno top or bottom. The icehovers above the ground,dripping water, and Marinahas to continually use herLegacy to keep it frommelting.

“What happens now?”

Adamasks,lookingon.“We lift it up,” Marina

says, referring to the two ofus. “And then we slam itdown with as much force aswecanmuster.Ready,Six?”

I do as instructed, usingmy telekinesis to levitateMarina’s ice sculpture abouttwentyfeetabovetheground.

“Ready?” she asks,lookingatme.“Now!”

Together,wedrivetheice

into the ground. There’s athudding sound as thesharpened edges drive intothe dirt, followed by thesound of glass breaking ascracksformrapidlyintheiceand begin to spread. All inall, theicedoesn’tgetdrivenvery far into the earth, aboutfour feet at most. Marinaseemspleasedwiththeresult,though.

“Okay, okay! Hold on a

second!”She races around the box

of ice, its four walls nowembedded in theground,andbegins to reinforce thewalls,thickening and hardening theice as she touches it. Whenthe cracks in the ice aresealed up and the brokenchunks filled in, Marinakneels down at one of thecornersandputsherhandsontheice,asclosetotheground

aspossible.“Allright,I’mnotsureif

this partwill actuallywork,”shesays.“Heregoes.”

Marina closes her eyesandconcentrates.AdamandIexchange a look, both of usprettyconfused.Still,westayquiet forwhat ends up beingmore than five minutes,watching Marina work herLegacy. I want to put myforeheadonthecoldice,butI

worry that might screw upwhatevershe’sdoing.

“I think I got it,”Marinasays at last, standing up androlling her neck. “Six, let’slifttheicebackup.”

“Now youwant it out oftheground?”Iask.

Marina nods excitedly.“Quick! Before it melts toomuch.”

So,weconcentrateonthecube again. It feels much

heavier this time and as welift it, I realize why. Marinaspread the ice under theground, connecting the fourwalls of her cube.When welifttheice,itcomesupwitharippingandcrunching sound,as the remaining roots of thegrass are torn apart. The icecube floats up on ourtelekinesis and, inside it, sitsafour-footdeepcrosssectionof the earth, perfectly

maintained.“Gently now,” Marina

says, as we transport the iceand earth off to the side. “Igotinthereprettydeep,butitcouldstillbreakapart.”

“Brilliant,” Adam says,grinning at the floatingmound. “We won’t have tocover the hole with, like,really big branches. Oncewe’ve dug it the rest of theway, we can just lay that

piece back on top. It’ll looknormal when Setrákus Rastepsonit,butyoushouldbeable to cave it in from adistance with yourtelekinesis.”

Marina nods. “That wasmythinking.”

We lower theimmaculately shaped box ofdirt and grass to the groundwithagentlethump.WithoutMarina constantly

augmenting it with herLegacy, the ice soon beginsto melt away. The edges ofour pit’s lid get a littlemuddy,butthat’lldryquicklyconsideringtheheat.

Adam strides forward,kneelinginfrontofthethirty-by-thirtyholeintheground.

“Myturn,”hesays.He places his hands right

into the dirt and a secondlater I can feel vibrations

flowing out from him. Theseismic ripples are focusedprimarilyinfrontofhim,buthis control isn’t preciseenough to keep them fromfanningout.Foramoment, Ifeel a little bit queasy as theground shifts beneath myfeet, but I’m able to quicklygetagrip.ThesoilinfrontofAdam begins to loosen andshift, thepacked-downlayersbeginning to break apart into

sizablechunks.Adam looks over his

shoulder at me. “How’sthat?”

Iusemytelekinesistoliftacrumblysectionofdirt andstone up from the pit, thenchuck it into the jungle. It’llbe easier to dig throughnowthat Adam’s broken up thedirt,butit’sstillgoingtobeapainintheass.Igivehimanapprovingnod.

“It’sastart,”Itellhim.He standsup. “I’mgoing

togolookfor...ashovel.”Adam can barely finish

histhought,hiseyessuddenlypinned to theskybehindme.I whip around, hearing thesoundofanengine.

No. It can’t be. It’s toosoon.Wearen’tready.

“Six?” Marina asks, hervoice catching. “What isthat?”

It’s a ship. Sleek andsilver,withoutthehardanglesandguns like theothercraftsI’ve seen the Mogs flying.It’s like nothing I’ve everseen before, yet it’s alsooddlyfamiliar.

Theship’scominginfast,andit’sheadedrightforus.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

“SCOUTS?” MARINA ASKSME. I CAN FEEL HER iceLegacy kicking back on, incaseweneedtofightthisnewarrival.

“That’s not aMog ship,”

Adam says, stepping upbesideme.

“No,” I reply, becauseI’vealreadyfiguredthatout.Iput my hand on Marina’sarm.“It’sokay.Don’tyou...don’tyourecognizeit?”

“I . . .”Marina trails offas she takes a closer look atthe incoming ship. Thespaceship zips in over thetreesandpivotseffortlesslyintheair, cutting its speedwith

a flourish over the recentlycleared Mogadorian runway.Although it’s dented andscuffed,andevenhasabitofrust on the edges, the shipstill shines a glittering silver,its armored paneling madefrom materials not found onthis world. It hovers for amoment, the sun glinting offthecockpit’s tintedwindows,andthengentlylands.

“That’s one of ours,” I

say. “Like the one thatbrought us here. To Earth, Imean.”

“How is that possible?”Adamreplies.

“Are these ourreinforcements?” Marinaasks, not taking her eyes offthe ship. “Did John mentionanythingaboutthis?”

“He said he was sendingSarah, Mark and somethingelse . . .”Ianswer themboth

dazedly. “Something we’dhave to see tobelieve.”Whocould be piloting a Loricship? Where did it comefrom? I take a halting stepforward.

A metal ramp unfurlsfromthebackoftheshipandI tense up. I have a hazymemoryofrunninguparamplike that as a child, Katarinaat my side, explosions andscreaminginthebackground.

Here we are again, in themiddle of a secondMogadorian invasion, andonce again there’s a Loricshipinfrontofme.Onlythistime, I don’t knowwhether Ishould be running towards itorawayfromit.EventhoughJohn told me help wascoming, I can’t shake thefeeling this could be a trap.My paranoia has gotten methisfar,noreasontoignoreit

now.“Get ready for anything,”

I tell the others. “We don’tknow what’s coming out ofthere.”

And then a familiarbeagle bounds down theramp.

Bernie Kosar, tonguehanging out of his mouth,leaps ontome first, his frontpawsbracedagainstmy legs.His tail is ablur ashegreets

Marina next and then evenjumps onto Adam. I hear anunfamiliar soundandquicklyrealize that it’s theMogadorianlaughing.

When I look back to theship, Sarah Hart now standsat the top of the ramp, herarms open in greeting and asmileonherface.

“Hey, guys,” Sarah sayscasually. “Look what wefound.”

Marinaletsoutalaughofdelighted surprise and jogsforward,meetingSarahatthebottom of the ramp andimmediately wrapping her ina tighthug. It’sbeenawhilesince we’ve seen Sarah—she’dalreadygoneoffonhersecret ex-boyfriend missionwhen Marina and I returnedfrom Florida. She has herblond hair pulled back in atightponytailandhersmileis

bright, but there are somelinesunderher eyes,which Inoticearea little red-rimmedthe closer I get. Sarah’s alsosporting some fresh scrapesandbruisesthatherbigsmilecan’thide.Yeah,she’shappytoseeus,butshe’salsotired,stressed and a little beat-up.Regardless, she looks betterthan we do—filthy from acouple of days in the jungle,sunburnedandexhausted.But

Idon’tholditagainsther.“You’re here,” I say to

Sarah, hugging her, too. Intruth, I’ma littledistracted. Istill can’t take my eyes offtheship.

“It’s good to see you,Six,”Sarahreplies,squeezingmedespitethesweatandgrit.“John said you could usesome help and a lift. Webroughtboth.”

Who exactly the “we” is

becomes apparent a secondlater. The Mark James whoexitstheshipbehindSarahisa hell of a lot different fromthe guy I briefly foughtalongside in Paradise. He’sretired the whole gel-haired-jock thing. Mark’s dark hairislongerandscruffier.Ithinkhe may have lost someweight, his muscles leanernow than I remember. He’sgot an overtired look on his

face and squinty eyes thatsuggest he’s not used to somuchsunshine.

“Whoa, shit,”Mark says,stopping halfway down theramp. “You’ve got one ofthembehindyou.”

“That’s Adam,” Sarahreplies. “I thought I told youabouthim.”

“Yeah, I guess you did,”Marksays,shieldinghiseyeswhile he openly stares at

Adam. “It’s just spooky tosee one of them, you know,hangingaroundlikeanormal.Sorry, bro,” Mark adds,noddingtoAdam.

“It’s all right,” Adamreplies diplomatically. Hegestures over his shoulder towhere Phiri Dun-Ra ishooded and tied to aSkimmer. “I’m not the onlyMoghere,asyoucansee.ButIamthefriendliest.”

“Noted,”Markreplies.Sarah starts to make the

necessary introductions. I cuther off before she can reallygetstarted.

“I’msorry,butwheredidyou get this ship?” I ask,walking by her and up theramp.

“Yeah, about that,”Sarahreplies, motioning meonwards like I should keepexploring. “You’ll probably

wanttotalktoher.”“Who?”Sarahgivesmealooklike

Ishouldquitaskingquestionsand just go, so I do. Thisexchange raises Marina’seyebrowstoo.Shefollowsmeup the ramp into the ship.Afew steps inside, and I’m hitwithmajordéjàvu.We’re inthe passenger area. It’s awide-open space, completelydevoid of any furniture. The

walls give off a gentle lightindicatingthattheshipisstillpowered on. I have a vaguememory of being lined up inhere alongside the otherGarde,ourCêpanpushingusthroughaerobicexercisesandsome light martial artstraining.

Iwalkover to theclosestwall and trace my fingersacross the surface. The softplastic material responds,

shining brighter, the trailfrom my fingers lit up. Thewalls act as one big touchscreen. I pull a commandfrom my memory, quicklydrawing a Loric symbol onthewall. The symbol flashesonce to show it’s beenaccepted and then, with ahydraulichiss,theflooropensup and a couple dozen cotsrise into view.Marina has tohop backwards as one opens

up right where she wasstanding.

“Six,isthis...?”“It’s our ship,” I say.

“The same one that broughtustoEarth.”

“I always assumed that itwasdestroyedor...”Marinatrailsoff,shakingherheadinwonderment. She traces herfingers across the oppositewall, inputting anothercommand. The entire wall

turns into a big high-definitionscreendisplayingapicture of a happy-lookingbeaglechasingdownatennisball.

“In English,dog,” says arecorded voice with anoticeable Loric accent.“Dog. The dog runs. Enespañol,perro.Elperrocorre...”

Earth language training.Howmanytimesdidwehave

tositthroughthisvideoasweflewtowardsournewplanet?I’d forgotten about it, orblocked it out, but all theboredom of my childhoodcame rushing back. Awholeclaustrophobic year spent inhere, watching that dog runthroughabrightgreenfield.

“Oof,turnitoff,”IsaytoMarina.

“You don’t want to seewhatthedogdoesnext?”she

asks with a little smile. Sheswipes her hand across thewallandtheprogramstops.

Iwalkover to oneof thecotsandcrouchdownnexttoit. The sheets smell mustyand a little like the greasyinner workings of the ship.They’ve probably beenstoweddownthereforthelastdecade. I push aside theblanketsandthethinmatress,inspectingtheframe.

“Ha,lookatthis,”Isay.Marina leans in over my

shoulder. There, carved intothe metal frame by a boredlittlegirl,isthenumbersix.

“Vandal,”Marinalaughs.Thelowhumoftheship’s

engine slowly decreases tosilence and the touch-screenwalls flicker and turn off.Someone has just powereddowntheship.

“Just like you left it,

right?”MarinaandIboth turn in

thedirectionofthevoiceandwind up facing a woman asshe slowly emerges from theship’s cockpit. My firstreaction is that she’sbreathtakingly beautiful. Herskinisadarkshadeofbrown,her cheekbones high andpronounced, hair dark andbuzzed short. Even thoughshe’s dressed in a baggy

mechanic’s jumpsuitcomplete with fresh greasestains, the woman looks likeshebelongsonthecoverofafashion magazine. I quicklycometorealizethatwhat’ssostunning about her isn’tpurelylooks.It’sanindistinctqualitymost people onEarthwouldn’t be able to put theirfinger on but which I noticeimmediately.

ThiswomanisLoric.

She looksalmostnervoustoseemeandMarina.That’sprobablywhyshetooksuchalong time topowerdown theship. Even now, the womanlingers in thecabindoorway,asuncertainofusasweareofher. There’s a jumpinessabouther,likeatanymomentshe might retreat into thecockpit and lock the door. Ican tell she’s trying topsychherself up to keep talking to

us.“You must be Six and

Seven,” she says after amoment of getting nothingbut stunned looks from thetwoofus.

“You—you can call meMarina.”

“Noted, Marina,” thewoman says with a gentlesmile.

“Who are you?” I ask,findingmyvoiceatlast.

“My name is Lexa,” thewoman answers. “I’ve beenhelpingoutyour friendMarkunderthenameGUARD.”

“Are you one of ourCêpan?”

Lexafinallymovesoutofthedoorwayand takes a seaton one of the cots. Marinaand I sit down across fromher. “No, I’m not a Cêpan.MybrotherwasGardebuthedidn’t make it through

trainingattheLorienDefenceAcademy. I was enrolledthere too, as an engineeringstudent,whenhe...whenhedied.After that Ikindof,ah,fell off the grid.Asmuch asyoucouldonLorien.Ididn’texactly fit into one of theirprescribed roles. I workedwith computers a lot,sometimes not so legally. Iwas nobody special,basically.”

“Butyouendeduphere,”Marinasays,herheadtilted.

“Yeah. Eventually, I gothired to retrofit an antiqueshipforamuseum...”

That detail clicks forme.“YouflewthesecondshiptoEarth,”Isay.

“Yes. I came here withCrayton and my friendZophie. You probably knowthis by now, but we weren’tpart of the Elders’ plan. We

managed to escape Lorienbecause of Crayton—well,because Crayton worked forElla’s father,andbecausewehad access to that old ship.Ella’s father, he knew whatwas coming. That’s why hehiredmetofixitup.Iwasn’teven really a pilot. I had tolearn,well...onthefly.”

IsnortatLexa’sbadjokeandsmileather,butmymindis racing. There are more of

us.MaybetheLoricaren’tasextinct as we thought. Ishould be excited about this,but instead I feel suspicious.I’m probably just beingparanoidafterwhathappenedwith Five. Still, I think ofCrayton and how he raisedElla while secretly huntingfor the rest of theGarde.Henevermentionedthathecamehere with two other Loric.Myeyesnarrowafraction.

“Crayton never told usabout you,” I say, trying tomake it sound not too muchlike an accusation. Craytondid withhold a lot from us,after all. Ella’s real origindidn’t even come out untilafterhedied.

“I guess he wouldn’thave,”Lexareplies,frowningslightly. “His only concernwas keeping Ella alive. Weagreed not to have contact

with each other. It was saferfor everyone if we kept ourdistance. You know how theMogs are. They can’t tortureanyinformationoutofyouifyou don’t actually knowanything.”

“What aboutyour friend?Zophie?Where’sshe?”

Lexa shakes her head.“She didn’t make it. Herbrother was the pilot of thisship.Yourship. Zophiewent

looking for him, actuallythought she’d found himthroughtheinternet,but...”

Marina fills in the blank.“Mogs.”

Lexa nods sadly. “Afterthat,Iwasalone.”

“You weren’t alone,though,”Isay.“Wewereoutthere.Alotofus—hell,allofus,we lost ourCêpan. Someof us pretty damn quick.Wecould’veusedsomeguidance.

Why did you wait so long?Why didn’t you try to findus?”

“Youknowwhy,Six.Forthe same reasons that yourCêpandidn’t try to findeachother.Itwasdangeroustotrymaking contact. Everyinternet search riskedexposure. I did what I couldfrom afar. I funneled moneyand intel to groups thatwereworking on exposing the

Mogadorians. I started awebsite called ‘AliensAnonymous’ to try spreadingthe word, to maybe exposewhat they were up to withMogPro.That’showImetupwithMark.”

I think about what itmust’ve been like for her, astranger in a strange land,with no one to rely on.Actually, I don’t have toimagine what she went

through. I lived it myself. IknewthedangersandIneverstopped looking for theothers. I can’t keep thebitterness out of my voice.“Dangerous for us? Ordangerousforyou?”

“Forallofus,Six,”Lexareplies. I can tell that mywordsstungher.“Iknowit’snot even a fraction of theresponsibilitytheEldershungon the nine of you but . . . I

didn’t ask for this either. Itookacake job inamuseumand next thing I know I’mflying an antique ship to aplanet in a completelydifferent solar system withoneofthelastlivingGardeascargo. I lost my brother, mybestfriend,mywholelife.”

She takes a breath.MarinaandIarebothsilent.

“Itoldmyselfthathelpingyouallfromafarwasenough.

So,IdidwhatIcouldfromadistance. I erased whateverinformation I found aboutyouallonline.Itriedtomakeyou invisible, not just to theworld, but to me. Maybe itwas cowardice. Or shame. Idon’t know. I knew deepdown that I should be doingmore. I always intended toget this ship, though, andcontact you, once you wereoldenoughandonceI...”

“You’re here now,”Marina says gently. “That’swhatmatters.”

“Icouldn’tstayawayanylonger. I’d already fled oneplanet during an invasion. Idecided it was time to stoprunning.”

Thathitshomeforme.Ina way, after spending yearshidingfromtheMogadorians,we’vealldecidedit’s timetostop running. I only hope it

isn’ttoolate.“Would it be okay if I

gaveyouahugnow?”MarinaasksLexa.

The pilot is taken bysurprise,butshenods.Marinawraps her up in a big hug,burying her face in thewoman’sshoulder.Lexaseesmewatching and givesme atight, almost embarrassedsmilebeforeclosinghereyesand letting herself be

squeezed. She sighs, andmaybe I’m just imaginingthis, but some invisibleweight seems to lift fromLexa’sshoulders.Idon’tjoinin.Thegroup-hug thing isn’treallyforme.

“Thanks for coming,” Isay after a moment.“WelcometotheSanctuary.”

With that, I lead the twoof them out from the ship. Itakeonelastlingeringlookat

the passenger area beforetamping down that memoryof fleeing Lorien. I’m not achild anymore.This invasionis going to play outdifferently.

Outside,Adam andMarkare in the middle of adiscussion. Sarah stands afew feet away from them,closer to the ship, obviouslywaitingforus.Sheraiseshereyebrowsquestioninglywhen

she sees me and I let out adeepbreathinresponse.

“Crazy who you run intoin Mexico,” I say, trying toplayoff theshockandmixedfeelings of encounteringLexa.

Together,wewalkovertoMark and Adam. Mark,already sweating through hisT-shirt,lookslikehe’shavingtrouble wrapping his mindaroundsomething.

“A hole,” he says flatly.“You’re going to killSetrákusRawithaholeintheground.”

Adam sighs, pointing tothe sections of the junglewhere we’ve hidden Mogartillery.“You’rereallystuckontheholeaspectoftheplan.I told you, we’ve got guns,bombs—”

“But for Setrákus Ra,you’vegotahole.”

“I realize it’s low-tech,but our options are seriouslylimited,”Adamreplies.“Andwe aren’t trying to kill him.That’s not even a possibilityconsidering any damage wedo to him will be reflectedonto Ella. We just want toslow him down and buyourselvessometime.”

“Timetodowhat?”Markasks.

Adamglancesatme.“To

rescue Ella, steal the AnubisoutfromunderSetrákusRa’snoseorboth.”

“Whydon’twejustbail?”Markasks,thumbingtowardsthenewly arrivedLoric ship.“I get that all these boobytraps might’ve been a goodidea when you were, like,stranded. But we can leavenow.”

“That’s not an option,”Marina replies. “The

Sanctuary must be defendedatallcosts.”

“At all costs?” Markrepeats, glancing back to theship, thenovertothetemple.“What the hell is so specialaboutthisplace?”

I notice that Lexa’s beenawfully quiet during thisdiscussion. Her eyes arelocked on the Sanctuary, herface blank, sort of like howMarina looks when she goes

into one of her reverenttrances. Lexamust sensemewatching her, because sheabruptly shakesherheadandmeetsmygaze.

“This place . . .” Shesearches for the right words.“There’s something specialaboutit.”

“It’s a Loric place,”Marina replies. “The Loricplace now, actually. Thesource of our Legacies

residesinside.”“We just sealed the

entrance or I’d give you thetour,” I put in. “Could’veintroducedyoutothecreaturelivinginthere.Prettyniceforan Entity made out of pureLoricenergy.”

Lexa flashes me a quicksmirkbefore replying. “I canfeelit...whatever’sinthere.I can feel it in my bones. Iunderstand why you’d want

toprotectthisplace.”“Thank you,” Marina

replies.“Thatsaid . . .”Andnow

Lexaglancesinmydirection.“Keep in mind that my ship—our ship—is ready. If youneed it. It has outrun theirwarshipsbefore.”

Inodsubtlyandexchangea quick look with Adam.Marina might not want toadmitweneedone,butwe’ve

got an exit strategy all thesame,andit’snowalotbetterthanrunningintothejungle.

“Man, so whatever’sinside there, it’s like incharge of the Legacies?”Mark asks, looking at theSanctuary with his hands onhiships.

“Wethinkso,”Ireply.“So, that’s what decided

thatnerdySamGoodeshouldgetsuperpowersandthatI . .

.”Mark trails off, grimacing.“Shit. I should’ve been nicerinhighschool.”

I try not to laugh. Johnmust have filled Sarah andMark in on humans gettingLegacies thanks to ourmessing around in theSanctuary. Idon’tknowhowtheEntitydecidedwhowouldget Legacies, but I wouldn’treallyexpectaguylikeMarktomake the cut, even if he’s

been risking his ass for usover the last couple ofmonths. Sarah, on the otherhand...

“Whataboutyou?” I say,facingher.

Sarah shrugs and looksdownatherhands, likeshe’sexpecting rays of light toshoot out of them at anymoment.

“Nothing yet,” she says,frowning.“Still justaregular

oldhuman.”Sarah tries to play this

off, but I can tell it’sbothering her.After all she’sdone for us, for John inparticular,itdoesstrikemeasa major oversight on theEntity’spart topassheroverwhenchoosingwhichhumansreceiveLegacies.

“The way John told it,Sam only discovered he hadLegacies when a piken was

bearingdownonthem,”Isay.“Maybeyoujusthaven’tbeenin a situation where they’vedeveloped.”

“Yes,” Marina says,jumping in. “Speaking fromexperience, Legacies have ahabit of manifesting whenyoureallyneedthem.”

“Oh, great,” Mark says.“So, if we hang around hereto face certain death, maybethere’s a chance I’ll at least

diewithsuperpowers.”“Yep.Maybe,” I reply to

him.“Or maybe the Entity

didn’tchooseanyone,”Adamsays. “Maybe it’s all justrandom.”

“Says the MogadorianwithLegacies,”repliesMark.

“Whatever, it’s okay,”Sarah says, clearly trying tochange the subject. “I’m notcountingonithappening.So,

whatever. That doesn’tmeanwecan’thelpinotherways.Ijust got off the phone withJohnbeforewelanded.”

“Isheonhisway?”Iask.“He’s supposed to bebringing the big guns withhim when he comes downhere.”

“I don’t know if that’sgoing to happen,” Sarahreplies,her facecreasedbyafrownthatIknowmeansbad

news is coming. “Thegovernment isn’t exactlycooperating. Like, they wantto fight, but they don’t wanttolose.”

“What the hell does thatmean?”

“They’re being littlebitches,” Mark explainshelpfully.

“They don’t want tothrow themselves into aconflict against Setrákus Ra

unless they know they canwin. So, they’ll support us,but they won’t fight himdirectly.Notyet,anyway.”

“Pathetic,”Isay.Sarah looks at Adam.

“John still wants you to getthosecloakingdevicesoutoftheSkimmers.”

“So he can turn thattechnology over to the armythat won’t help us?” Adamasks,aneyebrowraised.

“Prettymuch.”“Already taken care of. I

took them out before wewired the ships to explode,”Adamreplies,glancingatme.“Whetherornotweturnthemover? We can decide thatlater.”

“Why the hell would weiftheyaren’tgoingtohelpusfight?” I ask Sarah. Thiswhole deal sounds an awfullot like what Agent Walker

described to us back atAshwood Estates. MogPro.Even now,with their biggestcity practically a smokingcrater, thegovernment isstillplaying angles and trying toscam cool swag from thefriendlyaliens.

“Because diplomacy?”Sarah replies, shrugging likethe situation is out of hercontrol. Which it obviouslyis. As usual, we’re on our

own. “John thinks they’ll bemoreinclinedtohelpusoncehe can show them a way tobeattheMogs.”

“When’s he gettinghere?”Marinaasks.

Sarah’s face falls. “Morebad news there. Five hastaken Nine hostage in NewYork.”

IhearacrackleoffrostasMarina’s fists clench tight.“What?”

“Yeah, not good,” Sarahreplies. “John and Sam aretryingtotrackhimdownandstop him from doing—well,whateverthehell thatpsychohasplanned.”

“I should’ve killed him,”Marina mutters. I shoot aquick look in her direction.She’s been peaceful whilewe’ve been at the Sanctuary,somuch like theoldMarina,all nonviolent and serene.

OnementionofFive,though,and the darkness comesrushingback.

Sarah continues, nothearing Marina. “Oncethey’ve got that sorted out,Johnwillbeonhisway,but...”

I look towards thejungle’s tree line. The sun isalreadystartingtogetlow.

“He won’t make it intime,” I say, feeling it inmy

stomach.“It’sjustgoingtobeus.”

“He’sgoingtotry,”Sarahinsists, and I can tell she’shoping to see her boyfriendappear on the horizon likesomeconqueringhero,heandSambackedbythefullmightof the U.S. armed forces. Idon’t hold on to any suchdelusions.

“We need to get back toit,” I say. “We need to get

ready.”“Orwecouldbail,”Mark

says, raising his hand.Whenthat earns him a dirty lookfromMarina,hebacksdown.“Allright,allright.ShowmewhereIneedtodig.”

Wegettowork.First,AdammovesDust’s

twisted body onto Lexa’sship. The Chimæra seems abit more alert now, like thetension is going out of his

muscles, but he still can’tchangeformsand isnowherenearfightingshape.He’sjustgoing to have to sit this oneout.

Lexa wants to see thecloaking devices we strippedoutof theSkimmers, so thenAdam and I show her wherewe piled them in theammunition tent.Eachone isa solid black box about thesizeofalaptop.

“Theywere hooked in totheSkimmerconsoles,behindthe piloting controls,” Adamsays, fingering the ports andcords on the back of one ofthe devices. “I tried to keepthemasintactaspossible.”

We gather them up in aduffel bag and bring themontoLexa’sship,readytobedelivered to our generousfriends in the government,who, in trade, will be giving

usawholelotofnothing.Of course, that’s all

assuming we get out ofMexicoalive.

“Willitwork?”Iaskher.“Ithinkso,”Lexareplies.

She strips the rubber off acable and then connects theexposedwire to the cloakingdevice’spowerport.“Iguesswewon’tknowforsureuntilwe try flying through theirwarships’shielding.”

Careening towards amassive warship while onboard a refurbished Loricvesselthatmayormaynotbeable to pass through theimpenetrable force fieldsurrounding it. There’s asituation I’m not lookingforwardto.

“Ifitdoesn’twork...”“We’dexplode,”shesays,

before I can even finish thequestion. “Let’s not rush

tryingitout,okay?”While Adam and Lexa

continuetopatchthecloakingdeviceintotheLoricsystems,the rest of us get toworkonthe pit in front of theSanctuary’s entrance. Adamdid manage to find a fewshovels buried among theMogadorian equipment—apparently, they gave uptrying todig theirwayundertheforcefieldprettyearlyon.

Markseemsalittletoohappyto take off his shirt and starttossingshovelfulsofdirtoverhis shoulder. Bernie Kosargleefully jumps in, too, theChimæra morphing into alargemole-likecreature.Withhis three-toed claws, BernieKosar sends funnels of dirtrainingmessilyoutofthepit.It seems like he’s having ablast. Mark, on the otherhand, doesn’t last too long.

Thejungleheatquicklytakesa toll. “This sucks,” Ioverhear him complain toSarah, wiping sweat off hisforehead.

“Wait until the Mogsshowupandstartshootingatus,”Sarahreplies.“You’llbewishingwehadmoremanuallabor.”

Pretty soon we reach alayer of earth that’s just toorockytogetthroughbyhand.

It’s easiest if Adam comesoverandusesaquickseismicburst tobreakup theground,andthenMarinaandIuseourtelekinesis to lift the bigchunks free of the pit andhide the displaced dirt in thejungle.

Eventually we’ve got anhonest-to-goodness pit dug.Now that we’re finished,Marina and I carefully use

our telekinesis to lift oursurgically removed dirt cubeback into place. It’ssuspended over the pit prettyprecariously and it sags alittle in the middle, but itlooks natural enough if youdon’t know the difference.I’mprettysureit’llcaveinassoon as Setrákus Ra reachesthe middle, and drop himdown about thirty feet, so hewon’t be able to jump right

out. Hopefully, between thisand our other traps, wedistracthimenoughtogetonboardtheAnubis.

Back in beagle form,Bernie Kosar sniffs aroundthe pit’s now-hidden edge,wagginghistail.Heseemstoapprove.

“What’s next?” Markasks, dusting off his hands.“Wegoingtosetupsometripwires that trigger hidden

crossbowsorsomething?”“I haven’t seen any

crossbows lying around,”Adam replies, rubbing hischin.“However,wemightbeable to fashion some spearsfrom the tree branches. Howareyouatwhittling?”

EitherAdamdoesn’tquiteget that Mark’s beingsarcastic, or he really likessettingtraps.

“Yeah, let’s table that for

now,” Mark replies, inchingaway.

Sarah and companyactually had the foresight topack some supplies.Everyone takes a break,passing around bottles ofwater and food.We all do aprettygoodjobofpretendingnot to be scared as hell ofwhat’scoming.

Istandalittlewaysawayfrom the rest of the gang,

eating my sandwich andconsidering the Loric shipparked on the runway.Something’s nagging at me,but I can’t figure outwhat itis. It’s like there’s a littlevoice shouting a warning inthe back of my mind and Ican’t quite make out thewords.Seeingmelockedinastaring contestwith her ship,Lexaapproachesme.

“You think this will

work?”sheasksme,incliningher head towards ourdefenses.

“Are you asking me ifwe’re going to win the wartoday thanks to a bighole inthe ground and some gunshiddeninthejungle?”Ishakemyheadsolemnly.“Noway.But maybe we can screw upSetrákus Ra’s planssomehow.”

“I know this probably

doesn’t mean much comingfrom me,” Lexa beginshesitantly, clearlyuncomfortable.“Butyou’reagood leader, Six. You’reholding it together. YourCêpanwould be proud.Hell,allofLorienwouldbeproudof the fight you guys areputtingup.”

I can tell Lexa doesn’tmean just today, she meansall our time on Earth,

surviving against theMogadorians.Iwatchheroutof the corner of my eye. Irecognize in Lexa a similarquality to one I’ve alwaysstrived for myself. She’s asurvivor. I wonder if she’swhat I’ll become if this wargoes on for long; a personwho avoids makingconnections because she’salreadyexperiencedtoomuchpain. Maybe I’m already a

littletoomuchlikethat.“Yeah,” I reply

awkwardly.“Thanks.”Lexaseemssatisfiedwith

this short exchange. SheprobablygetsmeinthesamewayIgetherandunderstandsIdon’twantsomebigmushymoment.With one hand, shegestures towards the westernexpanseofjungle.

“Whenwewerelanding,Ispottedasmallclearingabout

amileoff.I’mgoingtomoveour ship over there, awayfromtheSanctuary. I’lldriveit under the canopy, so theywon’tbeabletoseeit.”

“Good thinking,” I reply.“Don’twant to give away toSetrákusRathatwe’rehere.”

“Yeah. There’s a goodchance he’ll think youretreated.”

“Element of surprise ispretty much the only thing

we’vegotgoingforus.”“Sometimes that’s all it

takes,”Lexareplies,andthenleaves me, striding offtowards her ship. Our ship,shecalledit.

I watch her go. There’sstill that little voice shoutingin the back of my mind,louder now, but stillunintelligible. I don’t knowwhatit’stryingtotellme.

“Six?Doyouhearthat?”

It’s Marina, walking upnext to me with one handpressed to her temple likesomething is giving her amigraine.

“Hearwhat?”Iaskher.“It’s like—it’s like a

voice.” She swallows. “OhGod, maybe I’m losing mymind.”

And that’swhen I realizewhat’snaggingatmeisn’tthevoice of my conscience or

some other mental warningsystem gone haywire. It’sliterally a voice in my head.Onethatdoesn’tbelongthereandisdesperatelytryingtobeheard.

“You’re not crazy. I hearit,too.”

I focus on the shrillbuzzingand,at thatmoment,it becomes perfectly clear, ifstill distant, like it’s comingthroughatunnel.

Six!Marina!Six!Marina!Canyouhearme?

Marina and I lock eyes.That little telepathic voicebelongs to Ella. Johnmentioned that her Legacieshad gotten stronger, but hertelepathy must be seriouslyjuiced up if she’s able tobroadcast to both me andMarina like this. With everysecond that passes, her voicebecomesclearerinmyhead.

Thatcanonlymeanshe’sgettingcloser.

“Ella!” I say thesewordsout loud, not really used tocommunicatingtelepathically. “Where areyou?What’shapp—?”

She cuts me off with atelepathic shout. What areyou guys doing there? I toldJohn! He was supposed towarnyou.

“Hedidwarnus,”Marina

says. “We’re here to try tohelp you. And to protect theSanctuary.”

NO! No no no. Ellasounds a little deranged anddefinitely panicked. He wassupposedtowarnyou.

“Warn us about what?” Iask.

Warn you to run! Ellascreams.Youhavetorun!

RUNORYOUDIE!

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

MARINA AND I STARE ATEACH OTHER, BOTH OF usfrozen.

That’s the thing aboutdeath prophecies deliveredover telepathic group chat.

It’s not exactly clear whothey apply to. Is Ella talkingabout me? Marina? Both ofus?Everyonehere?

Hell, I don’t believe thefuture is set in stone. I don’tbelieve in fate. We’re notrunning now. Not withoutfirst trying to execute ourplan. After a moment ofuncertainty, I see a flare ofdetermination light inMarina’seyes.

“I’m not running,” shesays.

“Me neither,” I reply,already regretting these lastfew seconds we spentstanding still. “Go! Get theothersintoposition!”

Marina runs towardsSarahandtheothers.Iboltinthe opposite direction, acrossthe landing strip, trying tochase down Lexa. She hearsthe commotion and turns

aroundatthetopoftheramp,aneyebrowraisedatme.

“He’searly,”Itellher.“Shit.”“Fly low so they won’t

see you. I’m not sure howclosetheyare.”

CLOSE! Ella screams inmy brain. I flinch at theloudness.

“YouknowI’vegotsomeweaponsonthisthing,right?”Lexa asks, pointing her

thumb towards her ship. “Icanhelpfightthemoff.”

“No. It’s our only escapeplan. We can’t risk the shipgettingdamaged.”

“You got it, Six,” Lexareplies.“I’llgetithiddenandberightback.”

“No,” I say, shaking myhead.“Don’t comeback.Wecan’t risk our pilot gettingclipped either. Get the shipparkedandhidden,thenwait.

If things go bad here, Iwantyou tobe ready togetus thehell out. We might need torun.”

“All right,” Lexa says,keeping her cool. She pointsinto the jungle to the south,wherebrokenstonepiecesofan ancient causeway are stillvisible.“I’llbeamile in thatway,Six.Astraightlinefromhere. Mark’s got a radio forthecockpitifyouneedtoget

intouch.”“Gotit.”“Good luck,” Lexa

replies. What she reallymeansissurvive.

Lexa gets our ship in theair and flies it low enoughthatthetopsofthetreesbrushagainst its underbelly. Assoon as she’s out of sight, Iglance first towards thehorizon—noAnubisyet—andthen run towards the jungle

on the eastern side of theSanctuary. It’s where theothers have gathered, a goodplace to hide out—there’splentyofdensefoliageandanoverturnedlogwecanuseforcover.Fromthere,wecanseeboth the front of the templeand the side door. It’s theperfect place to trigger ourtraps. We’ll also be able tosee the Anubis coming inwhen it does,which can’t be

longnow.“Ella?” It feels weird to

be speaking her name outloud,butIcan’tgetdownthiswholetalking-inside-my-headthing. I wonder if Marina isstillloopedintothetelepathicconversation.“Whatthehell?YoutoldJohnsunset!”

Setrákus Ra didn’t stopforreinforcements.He’stoo...excitedtogethere.

Well, that’sgoodnewsat

least. Setrákus Ra didn’treplenish his troops afterleaving New York. Thatmeanswewon’thavetodealwith so many. Even so, I’mstillmorethanalittlefreakedout by Ella’s first direannouncement.

“What did you meanbefore?Who’sgoingtodie?”

I...Idon’tknow.Itwasa vision. Not entirely clear.But I saw blood. So much

blood. And I’m not worth it,Six! You could leave now,escapeand...

IsensethatEllaisholdingsomething back, not beingtotallyhonestaboutwhatsheknows.John toldme thatherLegacieswereampedup,butthat her clairvoyance wasn’tfoolproof. I’m not about tochangeourplanbasedonhervision of a future that wemightstillbeabletochange.

“We’re staying,” I sayfirmly,hoping shecandetectthe resoluteness inmymind.“We’re getting you off thatship.Doyouhearme?”

Yes.“Wecoulduseyourhelp.

Howcloseareyou?Whatdoyousee?”

Five minutes, Six. We’refiveminutesout.

Fiveminutes.Holyshit.“What’s he sending

againstus?”He’s coming down

personally. One hundredwarriors, ready to go. AndI’ll be there. Iwon’t be ableto help you, Six. I can’t . . .my body doesn’t workanymore.

Onehundred.That’salot.Wecanhandlethem,though.At least if we catch a goodchunkofthemwhenweblowuptheSkimmers.

“There’s gotta besomething we can do, Ella.Justtellmehowtohelpyou.”

You can’t, her voicecomes back, sad andresigned.Don’t worry aboutme.Dowhatyouneedtodo.

Adam joins me as I runtowardstheedgeofthejunglewheretheothershavealreadyhidden. Instead ofimmediately running to ourhiding spot, he took a detour

into the Skimmer we flewdown here and collected thevicious Mogadorian swordthat once belonged to hisfather. The sword looksheavy strapped acrossAdam’sback,buthekeepsupwithme.

“Almost forgot it,” hesays, catching me looking atthesword.

“Isn’t there anexpressionabout bringing a knife to a

gunfight?”Iask.He shrugs. “You never

knowwhenabigsharp thingmightcomeinhandy.”

We skid to a stop at theedgeof thejungle,wheretherest of our group is alreadyhunkered down behind afallen tree. Adam turnsaround and watches the sky,his mouth a tight line, armscrossed.Mark is holding thedetonator control for our

bombs that Adam showedhimhow to use earlier.WithMark acting as ourdemolitionsexpert,Marina isfreed up to focus ontelekinetically firing theblasters we’ve hiddenthroughout the jungle. Sarahstandsnext tothem,ablasterheld in one hand, her otherhand pressed to her temple,paleandfrowning.

“I don’t accept that,”

MarinasaysasIslideinnextto her. I realize that she’shaving a conversation withElla,too.

“Accept what?” Markasks,confused.Sarahshusheshim. Taking another look ather,IrealizethatSarahisalsotuned in to Ella’s telepathicchannel. She knows deathmightbecoming.

“We’re going to steal hisship right out from under

him. We’re going to rescueyou.” I say these things outloud, steel in my voice,knowing that Ella can hearme.

I’m sorry. That won’thappen, Ella saystelepathically.Icantellbytheway her eyes well up withtears that Marina can hearher, too. Sarah covers hermouth and swallows hard,lookingatmequestioningly.

“Bullshit,”Isay.“Don’t you dare give up

hope,” Marina practicallyyells into the empty space infront of her. “Ella? Do youhearme?”

Ella doesn’t respond. Icanstillfeelherthere,almostlikeatickleinthebackofmymind. I know she’s listeningin.Shejustisn’tansweringusanymore.

“I don’t care what she

says or how manyMogs wehave to go through,” I say,addressing Marina now. “Ifwedoonethingtoday,we’regetting Ella away fromSetrákusRa.Get hold of herand get her back to Lexa’sship.”

“Agreed,”Marinasays.“Maybe that’ll work,”

Sarahadds,thatlookofshockgone from her face, replacedby a thoughtful look. Like

Marina and me, she isn’tbackingdownfromthethreatof death. “I mean, wasn’tthere something with yourguys’ old Loric charm thatbroke it when you gottogether?”

“Yeah,”Ireply.“So?”“So,maybeSetrákusRa’s

messed-up version works inthe opposite way,” Sarahexplains. “Maybe that’s whyhe’s been taking Ella with

him everywhere he goes.He’sgottokeephercloseforittowork.”

“Makes sense to me,”Mark says, shrugging. “NotthatI’m,like,anauthorityonthisshit.”

It’sdefinitelyapossibilityworth testing out, especiallysince we planned to rescueEllaanyway.

I turn toAdam.The planwas for the two of us to go

invisible and board theAnubis while the othersprovided the distraction.“What do you think? Go forthewarshiporgoforElla?”

“Yourcall,”hereplies.“You might have to get

rightunderhisnose toget toElla,”Sarahsays.

“Which means he couldturn off your invisibility,”Marinaadds.

“Shit,”Isay,mindracing.

“Allright.Maybewecangetthem separated when wespringourtraps.Ifweseeanopportunity, let’sgoforElla.Otherwise, we stick to theplan and take the Anubis.” Ipoint south. “There’s someold stonework that way. Ifyou head south from there,that’s where Lexa hid ourship. If things get bad outhere, if the Mogs figure outyour position, I want you

threetomakeabreakforit.”“And leave you behind?”

Marinaasks.“We’ll be invisible, at

least,” I reply, lookingbetweenher andSarah. “Juststay alive. That’s what’simportantnow.”

Sarah nods grimly andMarina turns away, lookingtowards the Sanctuary. Evenafter Ella’s warning, I doubtshe has any intention of

retreating.BeforeIcansayanything

else,Adamgrabsmyarmandpoints towards the landingstrip.

“Damn it! Six,we forgotaboutourfriend.”

I look to where Adampoints and see Phiri Dun-Rasquirming wildly against herbonds.Inourrushtogetintoposition, I completely forgotabout our Mogadorian

prisoner. Even though she’shooded, Phiri Dun-Ra musthave heard the commotionand knows we’re distracted.She’s going nuts on herrestraints,doinganythingshecan toget loose.We tiedherto that wheel strut prettytightly,soIdon’t thinkshe’sgoing to break free. All thesame, it’s probably not agood idea to leave her outtherewhen theAnubis shows

up.“Setrákus Ra will know

something’s up if he seesher,”Adamsays, readingmymind.

Mark lifts up his blasterand looks down the sights,thebarrelaimedinPhiriDun-Ra’s direction. “Want me totake her out? I think I canmaketheshot.”

Marinaputsahandonhisblaster andmakes him lower

it. “If we wanted to executeher,Mark,don’tyouthinkwewould’vedoneitalready?”

Adam gives me a look,likemaybeit’snotabadideato finally put Phiri Dun-Raout of our misery. He’swanted to kill her all day,though.AndIcanunderstandwhy.

“Should’ve stuck her inthe pit,” Sarah saysregretfully.

“We have to get her outofsight,”Isay.

I reach out with mytelekinesis and undo PhiriDun-Ra’s bonds. It takesmea few seconds—like Marinafiringoff thehiddenblasters,suchaprecisetaskisnoteasytoaccomplishatthisdistance.Phiri Dun-Ra must thinkshe’s done this on her own.Sheripsoffherhoodandgag,then springs to her feet,

stumbling, surprised to havethe ropes suddenlygiveway.The trueborn rubs her wristsfor a moment, looks aroundand then takes off runningtowards the jungle oppositeof us. She’s headed righttowards where we’ve hiddensomeoftheMogblasters.

“Six?” Marina asks, anoteofwarning inhervoice.“Do you know what you’redoing?”

Ido.BeforePhiriDun-Racan make it far, I use theropeswe’dtiedherupwithtotelekinetically lasso her feet.Shefallsforwardhard,prettymuch landing on her face.Then, I drag her towards us,dust and dirt scrabbled up asshe claws at the ground andtriestoescape.Herfrustratedscreams are loud enough toscareupsomebirds fromthenearbytrees.

“Weneedtoshutherup,”Adamsays.

“Marina, reel her in,” Ireply.

AsMarina takes over thetelekinesis, I focus on theclouds rolling in on theevening sky. I don’t want tocreate a full-fledged storm—not with the Anubis andSetrákus Ra so close.Luckily, I don’t need one.There’sadarkcloudupthere

with just enough charge togenerate a small lightningbolt. I send this arcing downinto Phiri Dun-Ra, zappingher good. I guess there’s achancethiscouldkillher,butI don’t really have time toworry about that. The Mogspasms as the electricityshootsthroughher,thenstopsstruggling against Marina’stelekinesis. She doesn’tdisintegrate, so I guess she’s

stillalive.When Marina’s dragged

PhiriDun-Raovertothetreeline, Adam grabs her underthearmsandpullshertherestof the way. He shoves herbehind the log we’re hidingbehindandbeginsretyingherwristsandankles.

“So, you guys are takingprisonersnow?”Markasks.

“She might come inhandy,”Ireply,shrugging.

“We can’t keep draggingheraround,”Adamsaysashefinishestighteningtheknots.

“We’llleaveherhere.Shementioned loving the jungle,right?”Isay,withasmileonmy face. We’ve got biggerthingstoworryaboutthanthefateofPhiriDun-Ra.

“Let’snotjinxourchanceat survivalbymaking lotsofplans,”Marksays.

Before anyone can reply,

the jungle around us getsstrangely quiet. I’d gotten soused to the incessantsquawking of tropical birdsthat it’s absolutely jarringwhenit’sgone.Eventhebugnoises taper off. Across theclearing that theMogs madearound the Sanctuary, to thenorth, awhole flock of birdsflies out from the trees andscatters.

TheAnubisishere.

I hold out my hands andarms. “Grab on,” I telleveryone. “I’ll keep us allinvisible untilwe’re ready toattack.”

Marina takes one of myhands and Sarah takes theother.Mark, detonator at theready, gets hold of myshoulder. Adam is last. Hegives me a nod, probablyrememberingwhenItoldhimhow strange it was to hold

hands with a Mogadorian.Until this is over, the two ofuswillbeattachedatthehip.I nod back, over it, and hesqueezes in next to Marina,his hand on my upper arm.Only Bernie Kosar doesn’tget close to me. Instead, ourChimæra transforms into atoucanandfliesintoanearbytree.

It’ssortoffunny,thefiveof us crowded together like

this. It almost looks likewe’reposingforapicture.

I turn us invisible just asthe Anubis glides into view.The warship is bigger than Ieven imagined. The wholeship is made fromoverlapping panels of ametallic gray alloy thatalmost look like scales. It’sshaped like one of thoseEgyptian bugs—a scarab—except with a whole ton of

guns, the massive cannonjuttingoffthefrontofitshullparticularlycatchingmyeye.

“God,”Sarahwhispers.“Holyshit,”Marksays,a

little louder. His handtightens on my shoulder. AstheAnubislumberscloser,theentire clearing and theSanctuary itself are stuck initsshadow.

“Easynow,” I say, tryingto keep from freaking out

myself. “Stay still and stayclose.Theycan’tseeus.”

Theenormousshipcomestoastopsothatit’shoveringabove theMog encampment.Even considering the largeswath of jungle the Mogscleared, thewarshipissobigthat it won’t have room toland.

Adam must realize thatthe Anubis hovering abovethebattlefieldkindof screws

upourplans.“We’regoingtoneedtofindawayupthere.”

“If he lands any groundtroops,we can pick themoffand fly their own Skimmersback up there,” I reply. It’sexactlythetacticJohnandtheabsent U.S. military want toemploy against the Mogwarships, so who better thanustobetheguineapigs.

“What’shedoing?”Sarahwonders. “What are they

waitingfor?”Ella stopped

telepathically broadcasting tous a few minutes ago, andnowI’mwonderingifit’sjustmyimaginationthatIcanstillfeelherpresence lingering inthebackofmymind.Ifshe’sstill there, though, if she canhearme, we could definitelyusethehelp.

“Ella?” I ask, feelingstupid saying her name out

loud like this. “Canyouhearme? What’s going on upthere?”

There’snoresponse.“Marina?Sarah?Isshe..

.?”“Nothing, Six,” Sarah

answers, one disembodiedvoicetalkingaboutanother.

“I think she’s gone,”Marinaadds.

But then it happens. Awhisper in the back of my

mind. Ella’s voice, forlornandhopeless.

Youshould’verun.In the air above us, a

humming sound begins toemanatefromtheAnubis.It’snoticeable because of howamazingly silent the warshipisotherwise. It starts lowbutbuilds up quickly. Prettysoon, my teeth are vibratingbecause of it. I scan theunderbelly of the warship,

expecting to see SetrákusRa’s soldiers descending inSkimmers, but the skies areclear.

“What thehell is that?” Iask, hoping Adam willanswer.

“It’s . . . it’s poweringup,”Adamreplies.Hisvoiceis shaky and I feel his handget looser on my arm, likehe’s stunned and forgettingthatheneedstoholdontome

toremaininvisible.“Powering up what?” I

ask.“The main weapon,” he

answers.“Thecannon.”I can see it. The dark

hollowofthecannon’sbarrelbegins to glow as energycoalesces there. Thehumming gets louder as thecannonfillswithpureenergy,like a Mogadorian blasterovercharging. In seconds, the

Sanctuary and the junglearounditareallbathedintheazure light. I want to shieldmy eyes, but Marina andSarah are grippingmy handstight.

“This isbad,”Marksays.“Reallybad.”

“Adam?” I shout to beheard over the chargingweapon. “How powerful isthatthing?”

Asagroup,weallshuffle

backwards.I’mbarelyabletokeep track of everyone andmaintainourinvisibility.

“We need to move,”Adam replies, the awe gonefrom his voice, replaced byterror. “We need to getback!”

Everyone’s alreadybackingup,leavingonlyPhiriDun-Ra hidden behind theoverturned log. Marina tugsagainst my grip. She’s not

moving.“Marina!” I yell. “Come

on!”“We said we wouldn’t

run!”sheshoutsback.“But—!”The hum reaches a

crescendo and the energybuilt up in the warship’scannon discharges with adeafening shriek.A solid arcof electricity the size of tenthousand lightning bolts

shears directly into theSanctuary and slices rightthrough it, the ancientlimestone glowing red-hot.The cannon’s blast cutsthrough the temple, top tobottom, like itwasnothing. Ihave only a moment toconsider the Sanctuary, stillstanding but cut down themiddle. I can see lightthrough the cracks in theonce-solidwall.

A second later, thecondensed energy from thecannonexpandsoutwardsinabrightsurgeoflight.

TheSanctuaryexplodes.“NO!”Marinascreams.We screwed up. Setrákus

Radidn’tcomeheretoclaimthe Sanctuary.He came heretodestroyit.

Idon’thavetimetothinkabout what that means orwhat happens next. Adam

yanksme backwards andwegostaggering into the jungle,just as chunks of the templebegintoraindownaroundus.IlosemygriponMarinaandshe pops back into visibility.Mark’s hand falls off myshoulder and he reappears aswell. Only Sarah and Adamkeepholdingontome.

Marina actually goesrunning forward, like she’sgoing to be able to fight

againstthatwarship.“Stop!” I yell. “Marina!

Stop!”Mark reacts quickly, his

football reflexes comingnaturally. He lunges towardsher, wraps his arms aroundMarina’s waist and tacklesher.

“Get off me!” Marinascreams atMark.She shoveshim away, icy handprintsformingonhischest.

Then, something elseexplodes. One of theSkimmerswewiredwithC-4.It must’ve taken a direct hitfromapieceoftheSanctuaryand triggered the bomb.Shrapnel whizzes by allaroundus,sizzling-hotpiecesofbentmetal tearing throughtheleavesofthetrees.

Mark sucks in a breathand topples over. There’s ajagged piece of thick cockpit

glassjuttingoutofhischest.“Mark!” Sarah screams,

wrestling free from me andrunningtowardshim.

MarinaseesMark’sinjuryandgasps.Sheturnsherbackon theSanctuary and falls toher knees beside him,yanking out the glass andimmediately starting to healhim.

BranchesbreakabovemyheadandIlookupintimeto

see a basketball-sized chunkof limestonehurtling towardsme. On reflex, I use mytelekinesis and catch it inmidair,tossingitaside.

Idon’tcatchthenextone.It hits me on top of the

head. Before I even realizewhat’s happened, there’ssomething sticky and warmcoating the side of my face.Adam grabs me under thearms as I fall to my knees.

We’rebothvisiblenow.Musthave lostmyconcentration. Itry to getmy legs underme,to refocusonmy invisibility,butIcan’tdoeither.Myheadswims and I have to blinkbloodoutofmyeyes.

“Help!” Adam yells toMarina.“Sixishurt!”

I try to hold on toconsciousness, but it’s hard.The world is going black,even as everything we’ve

fought forgoesup in flames.Ella warned us there wouldbe death. Feeling almostdetached from my body, Iwonderifthisisit.

As I slip away, I hearElla’svoiceinmyhead.

I’msorry,shesays.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

IDON’THAVETIMEFORTHISSHIT.

Fivewants tomeetmeatsunset at the Statue ofLiberty. It sounds like theplan of some supervillain.

He’s holding Nine hostageandplanstokillhimifIdon’tshow up. I don’t knowwhathe wants from me. At theUnited Nations, it seemedlike hewas trying to help usinhisownpsychoticway.Attheveryleast,hestoppedmefrom unintentionally hurtingElla. Of course, he can’tpossiblyknowthatI’montheclockhere, that everyminutewasted on his screwed-up

games is a minute not spenthelping Sarah, Six and theothers.Ifhedidknow,wouldheevencare?

I sent Sarah andMark toMexico with the newlydiscovered Loric hacker-turned-pilotwhoI’mdyingtomeet. I sent them therebecause they’re literally theonlysupportIcoulddrumupfor Six and the rest of theGardewhoareinforamajor

fight.At least they can escape

now. They aren’t stranded.Six and Sarah are smartenoughtocuttheirlossesandgetoutofthere.ThisiswhatIkeeptellingmyself.

I do a quick mentalcalculation. Even if AgentWalker could somehowconvince themilitary to loanmeoneoftheirfastestfighterjets, I still won’t be able to

make it to Mexico ahead ofSetrákusRa.Notatthispoint.

That doesn’t mean I’mnotgoingtotry.

“Canyouatleastgetmeaboat?” I askWalker. Havingleft the chaos of the docksbehind,we’rebackintheFBIagent’stent.

“TotakeyoutotheStatueof Liberty?” Walker nods.“Yeah,Icanarrangethat.”

“Right now, though,” I

reply.“Iwantitrightnow.”“Five said sunset. That’s

still almost an hour away,”Samaddsgrimly.Iknowhe’sbeen doing the same mentalcalculations that I have. Heknows we won’t make it totheSanctuary.Notunlessweleave Nine to whatever fateFivehasinstoreforhim,andneitheroneofusiswillingtogodownthatroad.

“I’m not waiting. We

aren’t on Five’s time. He’sprobably sitting there rightnow, setting up a trap orsomething.Whatever thehellhedoes.We’regoingearly.Ifhe’s not there, then we’ll bewaitingforthebastard.”

“Good idea,” Sam says,nodding.“Let’sdoit.”

“Make it happen,” I tellWalker, and step outside hertent.

From here, in Brooklyn

Bridge Park, we can seeLiberty Island. The greenoutlineofthefamousstatueisvisibleagainstthesmokysky.It won’t take us long to getthere. From this distance, Ican’t discern any details. IfFiveis thereor ifhe’ssetupsome kind of trap for us, Ican’t tell. It doesn’t reallymatter. Whatever we find,we’regoingtofacehead-on.

Sam follows me outside.

“What’rewegoingtodo?”heasksme.“Imean,withFive.”

“Whateverwehave to,” Ireply.

Hefallssilentandcrosseshis arms, also gazing outacrossthewateratthestatue.

“You know, I alwayswanted to see the Statue ofLiberty,”isallhecanthinktosay.

Insidethetent,IcanhearWalkerdoinga lotofyelling

into her walkie-talkie.Eventually, she succeeds incommandeeringusoneofthecoast guard’s speedboats. Itdoesn’t have the artillery ofone of the navy boats Ispottedintheharbor,butit’llget us to Liberty Island in ahurry. Walker also puts thecallout toher trustedagents,assembling a crew of threeguys who I recognize fromthe anti-MogPro task force

that helped us go after thesecretary of defense. I guessthey’retheoneswhosurvivedthebattlewithSetrákusRaatthe United Nations. One ofthem is the guy I healedduring that first skirmish inMidtown,theonewhocostarsin the video Sarah posted allover the internet. He looksalmost embarrassed when heshakesmyhand.

“Agent Murray,” he

introduces himself. “Nevergotachancetosaythankyou.Fortheotherday.”

“Don’tworry about it,” Itell him, then turn to AgentWalker. “We don’t need thebackup.Justtheboat.”

“Sorry, John. Can’t letyou two go out there alone.You’re government assetsnow.”

Isnort.“Oh,weare?”“Youare.”

I’m not going to wastetimearguingaboutthis.Theycancomeiftheywant.Istarttowards the docks, Sam nextto me, and Walker and heragents fanned out around uslike bodyguards. As usual, Iget a lot of stares from thesoldiersmillingaround.Someofthemlookliketheywanttohelp, but I’m sure they’reunder orders not to getinvolved with us. Agent

Walkerandwhat’sleftofhersplinter group of ex-MogProagents are all the help thegovernment’swillingtograntusat thispoint.At least theyupgraded their weapons, theagents having traded in theirusual standard-issuehandguns for some heavy-dutyassaultrifles.

“Hey! John Smith fromMars!Waitup!”

I turn in time to see

Daniela squeeze her ganglybody through a group ofsoldiers and trot towards us.The agents surrounding usimmediately raise their riflesand, seeing this, Danielaskids to a stop a few yardsaway and puts her hands up.SheeyestheFBIagentswithacockygrin.

“It’s all right, calmdown,” I tellWalker and herbunch, waving Daniela over.

“She’soneofus.”Walker raises an

eyebrow.“Youmean...?”“A humanGarde,” I say,

keepingmy voice low. “Oneof the people Setrákus Rawantsturnedovertohim.”

Walker sizes up Daniela.“Great,”shesaysdryly.

Daniela just amps up thewattage on that smirk. “Youguys heading off on anadventureor something?Can

Icome?”I frown at how lightly

she’s taking this andexchangealookwithSam.

“Did you find yourmom?” Sam asks her, andDaniela’ssmilefaltersabit.

“She’s not here, and shenever checked in with theRed Cross,” Daniela replies,shrugging like it’s no bigdeal.Eventhoughshetriestokeephertonelight,hervoice

is shaky and I can tell sheexpects the worst. “Probablygotoutofthecitysomeotherway.I’msureshe’sallright.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Samreplies,forcingasmile.

“We’re on our way toconfront a rogue Garde,” Itellherbluntly.Walkergivesmealook,butIseenoreasontolie.Allhandsondeck.

“Whoa. You guys, like,gorogue?”

I think about Five andhow he turned on us and Ithink about Setrákus Ra andthe uncountable horrible actshe’s committed. He used tobe a Garde too, maybe evensomethinghigherthanthat,ifCrayton’slettertoEllacanbebelieved. Then, I look atDanielaandconsiderherandthe other humans with newLegacieswhowehaven’tmetyet. Will they all fight for

good? Or will some of themturn out like Five andSetrákusRa?

“We’re people, just likeanyoneelse,”Itellher.

“Except with awesomepowers,”Samadds.

“Like anyone else,” Icontinue, “we can go badwithouttheproperguidance.”

Daniela turns on that slysmile again. It’s almostinfuriating,butI’mstartingto

realize it’s just a defensemechanism. Whenever shefeelsuncomfortable,she triesreallyhardtoreturnthefavor.“Yeah. Got it. You going tobemyguide,JohnSmith?Mysensei?”

“We called them Cêpan,actually. Our trainers. Butthey’regone.Now,weprettymuch figure stuff out forourselves.”

Agent Walker clears her

throat. I think she wants metogetridofDaniela,butI’mnot turning away any help.Noway.

“You can comewithus,”Isay.“Butyoushouldknow,the guy we’re going after isextremelydangerous.”

“Unhinged,”Samadds.“He’s already killed one

of us,” I continue. “And Idon’tthinkhe’llhesitatetodoit again. When we’re done

with him, our friend AgentWalkerhereisgoingtogetuson a plane somehow, andwe’re going to find away tokilltheMogadorianinchargebefore his invasion goes anyfurther.”

“You trying to scare meoff?”Daniela asks, hands onherhips.

“I justwant you to knowwhat you’re in for,” I reply.“Along theway, I can try to

help you with yourtelekinesis.Maybe figure outwhat else you can do. Butyou’vegottabeupforit...”

Daniela looks over hershoulder. I realize that,morethan anything, she wants togetoutofhere.Shewants tokeep busy and avoidconfronting the very realpossibility that she lost herentire family during theattackonNewYork.

“I’min,”shesays.“Let’ssavetheworldandshit.”

SamgrinsandIcan’thelpbut smile a little bit too,especially when I noticeAgent Walker rolling hereyes. With Danielaincorporated into our littlebubble of secret agents, wecontinueontothepier.

“Hey,” Sam says toDaniela, keeping his voicelow. “Just so you know, the

Mogs were taking prisonersin New York. They weren’t,like, killing everything thatmoved.”

“Yeah, I saw them pullthat shit in myneighborhood,” Danielareplies.“Sowhat?”

“So, just because she’snot here doesn’t mean yourmom’s...youknow.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Danielasays this gruffly, but I think

sheactuallymeansit.The coast guard boat is

ready and waiting for us, achain-smoking captain in awrinkleduniformprepared totake uswhereverwe need togo. I let Walker fill him inandafewminuteslaterwe’reoff, bouncing hard over thewaves. Across the water, Ican see flashing lights fromthe New Jersey side,helicopters bobbing in and

out of view. Looks like themilitary set up a perimeterovertheretoo,reallytryingtomake sure the Mogadoriansstay contained in Manhattan.I look towards the city andfind the place frighteninglycalm. There are still Mogsthere,I’msure,patrollingthestreetsandmaybesettingupastronghold.Ihopemostoftheresidentsmanaged tomake itacross the bridge and, if not,

thenIhopeSam’srightaboutthe Mogs keeping them asprisoners instead of killingthem. That means they canstillbesaved.

As Liberty Island growslarger in front of us,Danielanudgesmeintheribs.

“You’re meeting thisdude at the Statue ofLiberty?”sheasks.

“Yeah.”“Man, that’s some real

touristshit.”Prettysoon,wepullupat

the Liberty Island docks. Ahalf dozen ferry boats floatthere, empty, one of themwith scorch marks along itsside. The entire place isdeserted; no one’s spendingtheinvasioncheckingouttheStatue ofLiberty. It’s almostpeacefulhere.Aswehopoutoftheboat,Itrytogetthelayof the land. I forcemyself to

think like Five, wonderingwhere the best place for anambushwouldbe.

I have to tiltmy head upto take in the statue. We’recoming at her from the sideholding the book. The gold-platedtorchgleamsinwhat’sleft of the daylight. The biggreen lady sits atop a hugegranite pedestal that in turnsitsatopanevenbiggerstonebasethattakesupalmosthalf

the island. To the right,there’sasmallparkthatlooksperfectly maintained. Hewon’tbehidinginthepark—that’s just not how Fiveoperates.

The boat captain staysbehind, but the rest of usstridealongthedocktowardsthestatue.IthinkaboutwhenI first met Five, how hepicked some creepy monstermonument in the backwoods

to revealhimself. I guess theguy has a thing forlandmarks. Or maybe thatcrummy wooden monsterstatue was a clue, a stand-infor themonster hiding insideFive. If that’s the case, IwonderwhathischoiceoftheStatue of Liberty means.Probably nothing, I think,remindingmyself that Five’satotalnutcase.

Next to me, Daniela

snickers. “You know, I’venever actually been here.Lived in the city my wholelife.”

“Yeah, it’s like a fieldtrip,”Samsays. “A field tripwhereattheendadudemadeofsolidsteeltriestostabyoutodeath.”

“Noone’sgettingstabbedtodeath,”Isay.

Asweentertheplazathatstretches around the statue’s

base,Ikeepmygazecenteredon theupper pedestal.That’swhere I’ve decided Five ismostlikelytobe.Hecanfly,so it’d be easy for him toreach that area, and it wouldallowhimtokeepaneyeoutforourarrival.Idon’tseeanymovement up there, though.Maybe he isn’t here yet. Ormaybe he’s hiding inside thestatue.Icranemyneckmore,trying to glimpse inside the

statue’s crown, but it’simpossible.We’ll have to goinsidetomakesurethestatueisclear.

“Look,” Sam says,lowering his voice. “Overthere.”

Iturnmyheadtotheleft,towardstheperfectlysculptedlawn that stretches out fromthe statue’s foundation.There’s movement. Aglitteringshapeslowlystands

upfromthegrassandtakesafalteringstepinourdirection.I was looking in the wrongplace.

“You’reearly,”Fivecalls.“Good.”

TosayFivelooksmessedup would be anunderstatement. His clotheslook like they’ve gonethrough a thresher—ripped,bloodstained and caked withdirt and ash. His skin is a

silverysteel,makingmethinkthat he’s ready to fight, eventhough it looks like he canbarely stand up. His featureslookswollenandoutofplacedespitetheirmetalliccoating,his nose crooked, and therearevisibledentsinthesideofhis shaved head. He’shunched over, one armdanglinguselesslyathisside.His other arm wears thatwrist-mounted blade of his.

The day’s fading sunlightglintsoffhisskin.

Immediately, Walker andher team fan out, flankingFive. They’ve got their gunsleveled at him. Daniela goesthe opposite way, taking astepbehindme.

“Uh, you should’vedescribed this rogue dudebetter,”shesays.

Five takes a look atWalker’s agents and sneers.

Even though he looks worn-out, having a bunch of gunspointed at him seems torekindle his intense temper.His remaining eye tweaksopenwider and he stands upstraighter.

“Don’t make me laughwith this shit,” Five says toWalker, then turns towardsAgentMurraywhen themanchambers a round. “I’mbulletproof,bitch.Comeon,I

dareyou.”There’s something weird

about Five’s voice. It soundstinny and raspy, almost likehe’shavingtroublebreathing.

The agents are smartenoughnottogettooclose.Iknow how fast Five is,though.Ifhewantedtocomeat one of them, he’d be abletoclosethegapinasecondortwo with his flight. I strideforward onto the grass,

hopingtogethisattentiononme before he does anythingcrazy. Sam stays right atmyside, Daniela a few stepsbehind. That’swhen I noticethe lumpy shape in the grassnexttoFive.It’soneofthoseblueplasticconstructiontarpswrapped around what isobviously a body, all of thattightly bound together bythick coils of industrial-strengthchain.

ThatmustbeNine.“Givehimtome,”Isayto

Five,notwastinganytime.Five looks down at the

bodyandit’salmostlikehe’dforgottenitwasthere.

“Sure,John,”Fivereplies.Five bends down and

hooks his hands through thechains. He hoists up Nine’sbodyandgrimaces.He’shurtand tired, and I can tell thisshowistaxinghimmorethan

he counted on. With ananimal grunt, Five tosses thebody across the thirty yardsthatseparatesus.IcatchNineinmidairwithmytelekinesisand lower him gently to theground.Immediately,Iripoffthechainsandunrollthetarp.

Nine lies unconscious inthe grass in front ofme.Hisclothes are in as bad acondition as Five’s and hisinjuries are similarly

gruesome. There are blasterburns on his arms and chest,one of his hands is brokenlikesomethingcrusheditandthere’s a bad gash on hishead. It’s that last thing thatreally worries me. BloodsoaksthroughNine’smaneofdarkhair—alotofit—andhiseyesdon’topenwhenIgentlyslaphischeek.

Sam puts a hand on myshoulder.“Ishe...?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Fivegroans, answering Sam’squestionforme.“Ihadtohithimprettyhardtoknockhimout, though. You’ll probablywanttogetonthat,doc.”

I place my hands on thesideofNine’shead,butpausebeforeIstarthealinghim.It’sgoing to require myconcentration and thatmeansIwon’tbeabletokeepaneyeonFive.Ilookupathim.

“You going to doanythingstupid?”Iaskhim.

Five holds up his hands,palms out, even though oneofhis armswon’tgoashighas the other. Then, he flopsbackwards into a sittingposition.“Don’tworry,John.I’m not going to hurt any ofyour little friends.” All thesame,hisone eye scansovermycrew,sizingeachofthemup. Five’s gaze lingers on

Daniela.“You’renocop,”hesays.“What’syourdeal?”

“Don’ttalktome,creep,”shereplies.

“Don’tegghimon,”Samsaysquietly.

Fivesnortsandshakeshishead, more amused thananything. He pinches ahandful of grass in front ofhim, rips itupand tosses thetuftawaywithasigh.“Getonwithit,John.Idon’thaveall

day.”I’mstillwarythisissome

kind of trap, but I can’t putoffhealingNineanylonger.Ipressmyhandstothesideofhis head and let my healingenergies flow intohim.First,the gash on his head closesup.That’s just thesuperficialinjury, though. Intuitively, Ican feel the deeper, moreserious traumas affectingNine. His skull is fractured

and there’s some swelling inhis brain. I focusmyLegacythere, although I’m carefulnot to push in more energythan I need. The brain’s adelicate thing and I don’twant to scramble Nine’s anymore than it was before hegot his head smashed in. Hemight stillhaveaconcussionwhenI’mdonewithhim,butat least the most seriousdamagewillbereversed.

It takes me a couple ofminutes of just concentratingon Nine. I’m vaguely awareof the tense silence aroundme.WhenI’mfinished,Itakemy hands off his head. Theother injuries can wait untilwe’renotinthepresenceofatotallunatic.

“Nine?Nine,wakeup,” Isay,shakinghim.

After a moment, Nine’seyes flutter open. His body

tenses and his eyes dartaround wildly. It’s like he’sexpecting to be attackedagain. When he recognizesme andSam, he calms downand his expression becomesdreamy and out-of-it. Hegrabsmyarm.

“Johnny!Igotthatsonofa bitch. I put one rightthroughhim,”hemumbles.

“Gotwho?”Iask,andgetno response. Nine’s head is

alreadylollingawayfromme.Icananddidhealhisinjuries,but I can’t make him notexhausted from fighting forthe last twenty-four hoursstraight. He’s way out of it.We’reprobablygoingtohavetocarryhim.

IlookupfromNinetoseeFive still seated in the grass,watching us. Seeing thatNine’soutofthewoods,Fivebeginsaslow,sarcasticclap.

“Bravo,John.Alwaysthehero,” he says. “What aboutme?”

“Whatabout you?” I saythroughclenchedteeth.

“No, actually, I’d like ananswertothatquestion, too,”Walker says, her gun stilltrainedonFive.“Heattackedour soldiers and helped theMogadorians. He’s basicallyawarcriminal.Youjustwanttoleavehimhere?”

“Don’t you have somekind of top secret spaceprison for evil metal guys?”Danielawhisperstome.

“Hell with him,” Samsays. He’s the only onewhogets that we have moreimportantthingstodealwith.He waves dismissively atFive and bends down overNine, trying to help him up.“Comeon,John.Wegottagetoutofhere.”

I’m about to help Samwhen Five speaks up again.“That’sit?”heasks,soundingalmost sullen. “You’re justgoingtoleave?”

I straighten up and glareathim.“Whatthehelldoyouwant, Five? Do you knowhowmuchofourtimeyou’vealready wasted with yourstupid theatrics?” I gesturetowards Manhattan, plumesof smoke still rising into the

air there. “You’re not apriority right now,man.Younoticed we’re at war, right?You’re not so far gone thatyou missed your old Mogfriends killing thousands ofpeople,didyou?”

Five actually lookstowards the city,contemplating thedestructionthere.Hisbottomlipjutsout.“They aren’tmy friends,” hesaysquietly.

“Yeah, no shit,” I reply.“Too bad you’re onlyfiguring that out now. Theyusedyou,Five,andnowtheydon’twantyouanymore.Andneitherdowe.You’reluckyIdon’t come over there andfinishwhatNinestarted.”

My temper flares as Iremember all the crap Fivehas pulled in the short timeI’ve known him. In spite ofmy words, I take a sudden

steptowardshim.Samputsahandonmyshoulder.

“Don’t,” he says. “Let’sjustgo.”

I nod, knowing Sam’sright.Istillhavetogetafewlastshotsin,though.Ineedtoget thisstuffoffmychest.“Iguessyoucanbealonenow,”I say to Five. “That’s kindawhat you wanted all along,isn’t it? So, go run back toone of your tropical islands

and hide, or whatever it isyouwant todo. Just stayoutof ourway and stopwastingourtime.”

Five looks down at thegrass in front of him. “Youdidn’thavetocome,”hesaysbitterly.

That actually makes melaugh. The sheer insanity ofthisguy.“Youmadeuscomehere. You said you’d killNineifwedidn’t.”

Five’s forehead makes ametalclinkingnoisewhenheknocks against it, like he’strying to remembersomething.“That’snotwhatItold those army losers whenthey found me,” he says. “Itold them you’d get a newscar.”

“Why arewe still talkingtohim?”Samasks,hisvoicerising a bit in bewilderment.He leans back down over

Nine, loops Nine’s arm overhisshouldersandgruntsashetriestolifthimup.

Five’s single eye holdsmine. He’s locked in onme,totally ignoring everyoneelse. I know he’s baitingmeinto something, I just don’tknow what. Sam’s right thatweshouldn’tbewastingtimehere,butIcan’thelpmyself.

“What’re you saying?” Iaskhimgrudgingly,knowing

that it’s exactly what hewants.

Inresponse,Fivetakesoffhisshirt.

The simple action seemstotakealotofeffort,likeit’shardforFiveto lifthisarms.TheshirtsnagsonsomethingasFivepulls itoverhisheadand he yelps. It takes me amoment of looking at hischest, metal-plated just likethe rest of him, to realize

there’ssomethingwrong.Five has a piece of steel

stickingoutofhissternum.Itlooks like a broken-off polefromastreetsign.Heturnstothesideslightly so that Icansee the jagged other endpoking out through his back.Each end comes out only afew inches, and both aretwisted andwarped like Fivehad to shorten the pole byripping itwithhishands. It’s

straight through and, at thevery least, has to bepuncturing one of Five’slungs and part of his spine.The steel pole could even berightupagainsthisheart.

“I was already in mymetal formwhen he drove itthroughme. That didn’t stophim, though,” Five explains,wheezinghiswordsabit.HelooksatNinewithsomethingclose to admiration. “My

instinctskickedin.IusedmyExterna in a way I hadn’tbefore,madethemetalpartofme. I can feel it cold insideme,Four.It’sweird.”

Five seems almost casualabout this. I take a tentativestep towards him and hesmiles.

“I’mtiredandIcan’tholdmy Externa forever,” Fivesays.“SoIwantedittobeuptoyou.You’re thegoodone,

John. The reasonable one.Andyouwerealwaysrightinfront of me in the order,keeping me alive all thoseyears,whether you knewmeor not. Sowhat’s it going tobe?”

I take another cautioussteptowardshim.“Five...”

“Live or die?” Five asks,andthen,withoutwarning,heturnshimselfbackintoflesh.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

FIVE CHOKES ON THE NEXTBREATHHETAKES.Abubbleof blood spews from hismouth. His skin, no longercovered by a layer of steel,goes pale in a hurry. His

remainingeyegoeswideand,inthatmomentbeforeIwatchit rollback inhishead, I seefear there. Maybe Fivethought he wanted this. Butnow, looking death in theface,heisscared.

Five collapses backwardsinto the grass, seizing andstruggling to pull in painful-sounding breaths. Tenseconds. Impaled by a signpole, that’s how long I’d

guessFivehaslefttolive.He betrayed us. He told

the Mogs where they couldfind us and got Nine’s safehouse blown up. Because ofFive,SetrákusRawasabletokidnap Ella, and Sam’s dadwas almost killed. Hemurdered Eight. With thatneedle-shapedbladethatevennowtearsupchunksofdirtasFivespasmsinthegrass,Fiveexecuted one of his own

people.Hedeservesthis.But I’m not like him. I

can’tjustwatchhimdie.“Goddamn you, Five,” I

say throughgritted teeth as Irunforwardandslideintothegrassnexttohim.Ipressbothmyhandstohischestandusemy healing Legacy, puttingenoughenergy intohim toatleast stanch some of theinternal bleeding, buyingmyself time to do the bigger

healing. Five comes back tohimself a little, his one eyefindsmineandIthinkIcatchthecornerofhismouth twistinto a knowing smile. Then,he passes out from pain andshock.

I need to get this metalpole out of him.Obviously Ihaven’t read a whole lot ofmedical textbooks, but I’mpretty sure removing it willfurther damage Five’s

insides. Therefore, I shouldbe healing him at the sametime that metal is removed,hopefully to minimize thedamage.IwrestleFive’slimpbody into a sitting position,propping him up againstme.Then,IwaveSamover.

“I need you to use yourtelekinesis to push the metalout of him,” I tell Samquickly. “That way I canconcentrateonthehealing.”

“I...”Samhesitates.Hestares at Five’s mortallywoundedframeandswallowshard.“Idon’tthinkso,John.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“Imean,Idon’tthinkyou

should save him,” Samreplies, his voice moreresolutenow.Heglancesoverhis shoulder at Nine’sunconsciousbody.“Nine,uh...IthinkNinewasrightwithhowhehandledthis.”

MyhandisonthebackofFive’s neck. I can feel hispulse getting slower. Istabilized him, but it won’tlastlong.He’sfading.I’mnotsure it’ll work if I try usingmy telekinesis at the sametimeasmyhealing.

“He’sdying,Sam.”“Iknow.”“Thishasgonetoofar,”I

say. “We’re not killing eachother, not anymore.Helpme

savehim,Sam.”“No,” Sam replies,

shakinghishead.“He’stoo—look, I’m not going to stopyou.IknowIcouldn’tevenifI tried. But I’m not helpingyou.I’mnothelpinghim.”

“Hell, I’ll do it,”Danielasays, pushing by Sam andkneeling on the ground nexttome.

I stare at Sam for asecondlonger.Igetwhyhe’s

refusing to help, I really do.I’m sure Nine wouldn’t beleaping to my aid if he wasconscious either. Still, I’mdisappointed.

I turn my attention toDaniela. She’s staring atFive’s impalement like it’sthe craziest thing she’s everseen. She reaches out onehandtowardswherethemetaldisappears into his chest, butcan’t quite bring herself to

touchit.“Why?” I ask her. “You

don’tknowFiveorwhathe’sdone.Whywouldyou—?”

Danielacutsmeoffwithashrug. “Because you asked.Nowwedoingthisornot?”

“We’redoingthis,”Isay,setting my hands on eithersideofFive’swound. “Push.Gently. I’ll heal him as wego.”

Daniela squints at the

piece of metal, her handshovering a few inches awayfromFive’schest.Iwonderifshehasthecontrolforthis.Ifshe exerts too muchtelekinetic force she couldend up rocketing the steelpolerightoutofFiveandI’mnot sure I’ll be able to healhis torn-up insides fastenough.We have to go slowand steady, or risk Fivebleedingout.

Slowly, Daniela starts topush the metal. Five’sbreathing quickens when shedoesandhebeginstosquirm,althoughhiseyesstayclosed.She keeps her focus and hasbetter control than Ianticipated. Ipressmyhandsto Five’s chest, one on eachsideofthewound,andletmyhealingenergyflowintohim.

“Gross, gross, gross,”Daniela mutters under her

breath.I keep sending energy

intoFive,sensinghisinjuriesmending but also feelingmyLegacythwartedbythemetalstillinhisbody.That’suntilIhearawet thunk in thegrassand realize Daniela’ssuccessfully pushed the postout of Five. When thathappens, I really amp thingsup, healing his lungs andspine.

When I’m done, Fivebreathes easier. He’s stillunconsciousand, for the firsttime I can remember, looksalmost peaceful. Thanks tome, he’s going to live. Nowthat the moment has passed,I’mnotsurehowIfeelaboutthat.

“Damn, man,” Danielasays.“Weshouldbesurgeonsorsomething.”

“I hope we don’t regret

this,”Samsaysquietly.“We won’t,” I say,

glancing at Sam. “I did this.He’smyresponsibilitynow.”

With that in mind, andconsideringhe’sstillknockedout,Iquicklyundothewrist-mounted blade from Five’sforearm and toss it into thegrass at Sam’s feet. Sampicks it up, carefullyexamines themechanismandthenhits thebutton to retract

the blade. He tucks theweapon into the back of hisjeans.

Iremindmyselfthatevenwithout his blade Five isn’tfully disarmed. I open upbothofhishands,lookingforthe rubber ball and ballbearingthathecarriesaroundto trigger his Externa. Heisn’t holding them, so I startpattinghimdown.Whentheydon’tturnupinhispockets,I

know there’s only one placetheycanbe.

Cringing, I peel back theyellowed gauze pad thatcovers Five’s ruined eye.Jammed into the emptysocket is the glinting ballbearing and its rubberypartner. It can’t becomfortable to have thosetwo things stuffed inside hishead. This is the life I’vesaved—aguywhoseeslosing

an eye as an opportunity formore efficient storage. I usemy telekinesis to scoop thetwospheresoutofFive’seyesocket and chuck them intothe grass. He moans, butdoesn’tcometo.

“That’s nasty,” Danielasays.

“No kidding,” I reply. Ilook over at Agent Walker.She’s been watching thiswhole scene in silence. I

knowsheprobablysidedwithSam and thinks I should’velet Five die. That’s how Iknow I did the right thing.“Getmesomethingtotiehimupwith,”IsaytoWalker.

Having just watched mescoop out hidden treasuresfrom Five’s eye cavity, ittakes Walker a moment toreact to my request. Shereaches behind her, unclipsherhandcuffsandtossesthem

tome.I catch them and

immediately toss them back.“You know that’s a terribleidea, right? He turns intowhateverhetouches,Walker.Go get me some rope orsomething.”

“I’manFBIagent,John.Idon’t carry rope aroundwithme.”

“Check the boat,” I say,shakingmyhead.

Annoyed that I’m givingher orders in front of theother agents, Walker sendsAgentMurray jogging off tocheck if there’s any rope onthecoastguardboat.

“You’resoft,Johnny.”I turn around to see that

Nine’s regainedconsciousness.He’ssittingupwith his forearms bracedagainst his knees, his headhunched a bit like it’s still

botheringhim.HelooksfrommetoFiveandback,shakinghishead.

“You know how hard itwas to shove that signpostthroughhim?”Ninesighs.

Iwalkoverandcrouchinfrontofhim.“Youmad?”

Nine shrugs his burlyshoulders,seemingoddlyzen.“Whatever,dude.I’lljustkillhimagainlater.”

“I really wish you

wouldn’t.”Nine rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,yeah.Allright,man.Iget that you’re against thedeathpenaltyandallthatshit.Did he beg you to save hislife,atleast?Iwould’velikedtohaveseenthat.”

“He didn’t beg,” I tellNine. “In fact, I think hewantedtodie.”

“Sick,”Ninereplies.“Ididn’twanttogivehim

whathewasafter.”“Uh-huh. I know we

usually lose when the badguysgettheirway,John.But,man, I think this one was awin-win.”

“Idisagree.”Nine rolls his eyes, then

looks towardsFive. “Wecannever trust him, though.Youknowthat,right?”

“Iknowthat.”“Andif itcomesdownto

it, I’m not gonna hesitate todo it again. You won’t beabletostopme.”

“You must still beconcussed,”Isaytohimwithasmile,deflectingthebluster.I gesture to his chest andarms, still covered in scrapesand blaster burns, and hisbroken hand. “You want metofinishhealingallthat?”

Nine nods. “Unless youonly do work on murderers

now,”hereplies.While I heal Nine,

Daniela comes over andintroduces herself. She getsthe usual Cheshire grin fromthe big idiot. We bring himuptospeedoneverythingthathappened while he wasbrawling across the citywithFive. When I’m finished,Nine turns to look out at thewater and the burning citybeyond.

“We should’ve donebetter,” he says quietly,shakingouthisarmsandlegs,stretching his muscles.“Should’ve gotten him whenwehadthechance.”

“Iknow,”Ireply.“It’sallI’vebeenthinkingabout.”

“We’ll have morechances,” Nine says, thenclaps his hands and turns toAgent Walker. “So, youbringing us to Mexico or

what,lady?”Walkerraisesaneyebrow

at Nine. Just then, AgentMurray returns, joggingbackwith his arms full of thickrope he must’ve freed fromthe boat.He hands it over tomeandIproceedtotieupthestill-unconscious Five,bindinghiswrists andanklesas tightly as possible. Thecuffsofhis jeanshitchupasI’myankingclosed theknots

and I catch a glimpse of hisscars. So similar to mine,identifying us as part of thesame nearly extinct people.HowdidFiveevergettothispoint? And what happensnext?

“What’re we going to dowithhim?”Samasks,readingmymind.

“Prison,” I respond,realizing this is what I wantonly when I say it. “Just

because I saved his lifedoesn’t mean there won’t bejustice. We need a paddedroom for him, one where hecan’ttouchanythingremotelyhard.”

“That can be arranged,”Walkersays.

She makes this offerquickly. Itmakesmewonderif she and the governmenthave already designed placeslike that for us, prisons

capableofholdingusinspiteof our Legacies. Maybe thatwas something MogPro wasworkingon.

“Arrange it after youfigure out how to get us toMexico,” I tell her. “We’renot waiting any longer,Walker.”

“Whatdoesthatmean?”“It means that if the

presidentorthosegeneralsorwhoever the hell’s in charge

over there don’t get us on ajet in the next ten minutes,we’rejustgoingtotakeone.”

Walker snorts at this.“Youcan’tflyajet.”

“Bet you somebody’llvolunteer when I startbreaking faces,” Nine says,stepping forward to backmyplay.

AgentMurrayunclipshisown walkie-talkie from hisbeltandoffersittoWalker.

“Just make the call,Karen,”hesighs.

Walker gives Murray anicy look and produces herownsatellitephoneandwalksa few steps away from us.Despite our history, I’mpretty convinced thatWalkerreally does want to help us.It’stherestofthegovernmentthat isn’t convinced we’re agood bet to win this war.She’s doing everything she

can in the face of that. Ourwindow to be of any help toSix, Sarah and the others isgetting smaller and smaller,though. I can’t stand aroundanymore hoping that thesepeoplewill supportus inourfight. We’re going to savethem,whethertheywantustoornot.That’sallthereistoit.

“You guys aren’t reallygoingtoattackthearmynow,are you?” Daniela asks,

keepinghervoice low so theagentsdon’toverhear.

“Shit, I can barely standup,”Ninerepliesquietly.

“Wedoneedtogetdownthere,though,”Samsays,andI know he’s thinking aboutSix as much as I’m thinkingabout Sarah. “If she can’thelp us,what’rewe going todo?”

Ninelooksatme.“You’dactually go through with it,

wouldn’tyou?”“Yeah,” I say. “If they

won’t help, we’ll makethem.”

Daniela whistles throughher teeth. “That’s intense,man.”

I look over at Walker.She’skeepinghervoicequiet,but is making a lot ofemphatichandgestures.

“She knows what’s atstake. Walker will come

through.” As I say this, Iproduce my own satellitephone.IshouldcheckinwithSarah and Six, see wherethey’reatandmakesuretheyaren’t going to try taking onSetrákusRabythemselves.

BeforeIcanhitthebuttonto dial, there’s a strange andloud whooshing sound fromthewater.Weall turn in thatdirectionjust in timetoseealargemetalliccylinderflyout

oftheriver.Itsoarshighintotheair,jetsofwatershootingoff it as it spins towards thenearby docks. The thing isbig—bigenoughthatwhenitlands, with a shriek ofcrumpling metal, bricks goexploding outwards from theimpact. I see the captain ofour commandeered coastguard boat go divingoverboard into the water toavoidtheflyingdebris.

It’sthesubmarinewesawintheharborearlier.

“What—how is thatpossible?”Samexclaims.

Something tossed thesubmarine right out of thewater.

Weruntowardsthedocksto check for survivors,althoughitdoesn’tlookgood.Thebackhalfofthevesseliscrumpled in like a crushedaluminum can and there are

jaggedtrenchesclawedinthesub’s side paneling. We canseerightthroughthewallsaswe get closer—the shipdefinitely took on water.Loose wires from the friedelectrical systems spit sparksasweapproach.

“Careful,” I say. “Don’tgettooclose.”

“What the hell could’vedone this?” Nine asks, hishandsbracedonhiskneesas

hecatcheshisbreath.As if in answer, the

captain of our boat screams.One minute he’s treadingwater and waiting for us totellhimit’sallclear,and thenext there’s a dark shadowgrowing underneath him.He’s sucked beneath thewaves with a sharp cry andswallowedwholebythebeastthat slowly rises from thedepthsoftheHudsonRiver.

We all take a step back,then another. Two of theagents break off into sprintsin the opposite direction,horrified by the size of thecreature before us. Waterflows off the monster’sknobby skin, which istranslucenttothepointwhereI can see the black bloodpumping through its power-line-sizedveins.Itishairless,neckless and hunched.

Crooked fangs protrude fromits lower jaw and make itimpossible for the thing tofullycloseitsmouth,asteadystream of yellowish droolspillingforth.Gillsthesizeofhelicopterpropellersspasmasthe monster takes its firstbreathofair.It’sonallfours,its hind legs bowed, its frontlegs more like thick gorillaarms, and already it’s almostas tall as the Statue of

Liberty.The tough-girl attitude

drops pretty quickly forDaniela. She screams andNinehas to clapahandoverhermouth.Idon’tblameher.Themonster is terrifyingandI’ve fought plenty of theMogadorians’ twistedcreationsbefore.

“Holy shit,” Samwhispers. “It’s a freakingtarrasque.”

MyheadwhipsaroundtoSam in disbelief. “You’veseenoneofthesebefore?”

“No, I—I—,” hestammers. “It’s a D&Dthing.”

“Nerd,”Ninemumblesasheslowlybackpedals.

Daniela shoves Nine’shandaway,gettingittogetherenough to glare atme. “Youdidn’ttellmetheyhave,uh—freakingMogasaurs!”

This must’ve been whatSetrákusRadropped into thewater when the Anubis leftthismorning.Onelastgiftforthe decimated city of NewYork. A reminder for themilitary presence of who’sreally in charge. I let myLumencourseovermyhands.I’ll have to generate a lot offire if I’m going to make amarkonthisbeast.

“I know you can see this

thing!” Walker shouts intoher satellite phone, probablyblowing out the eardrum ofwhoever she was having ahushedconversationwithjustmoments ago. “Air support!Get me some goddamn airstrikes!”

TheMogasaurtiltsitsflatface towards the sky. Theviscous membranes that Itake to be nostrils start totwitch.Thenitopensitseyes

—each one milky white,arrangedinadiamondpatternonthebeast’sbroadforehead.It’s hard to make out at thisdistance, but I could swear Isee a glimmer of cobalt bluein each of those eyes. Fromthecenterofeacheye,wherethe pupil would be, I candefinitely see a ripple ofbluish energy firing into thecreature.

The color, the energy—it

remindsme of our pendants.Could this be the result ofwhat Setrákus Ra was doingwhen I glimpsed him onboard the Anubis? But whatdoes that mean? Besidesbeing as big as a building,whatcanthismonsterdothattheotherswe’vefacedcan’t?Are the stolen pendantspoweringitsomehow?Orarethey doing something elseentirely?

Still standing just off theshore, the Mogasaur swingsits head around and looksdirectlyatus.

“Shit,” Nine says,stepping back. “Is it comingthisway?”

“Now!” Walker screamsintothephone,backingupaswell.“It’sagoddamngiant!”

“Ithinkitcansenseus,”Isay. “I think—I thinkSetrákus Ra left this here to

huntus.”“Okay,” Daniela replies.

“Igottago.”As if in answer, the

Mogasaurletsoutadeafeningroarinourdirection,sprayingmist from the river and itsrotten-fishbreath all over us.Then, it lifts one of its frontarms out of the river muckand brings it crashing downon the dock.Wooden beamsexplode in splinters and the

concrete walkway caves in,twooftheferryboatspushedunderwaterliketoys.

It’scomingthisway.I lob a fireball at the

Mogasaur. Quickly, I realizeit’s too small to do anydamage. The fireball sizzlesand leaves a scorch mark inthe monster’s hide, but itdoesn’tevennotice.

“Run!”Ishout.“Fanout!Usethestatueascover!”

Nine, Daniela, Walkerand Murray all run backtowards the grass and thestatue. But Sam stays rootedin place, even as theMogasaur takes anotherboomingsteptowardsus.

“Sam!Comeon!”Ishout,grabbinghimbythearm.

“John?Doyoufeelthat?”IstareatSam.Bothofhis

eyes are changed—filled upwith crackling energy. They

look almost like two out-of-tune TVs, except the lightSam’seyesgivesoffisbrightazure.

“Sam?Whatthehe—?”Before I can finish my

question, Sam spasms onceand collapses. I manage tocatchhimandtrytodraghimbackwards.DanielaandNinesee this happen and stop intheirtracks.

“Johnny, what’s wrong

withhim?”Nineshouts.“Grab him and run!”

Danielaadds.Boom. Another explosion

behindus.TheMogasaurhasgottenall its limbsoutof thewater, practically crushingthe entire dock beneath it.Thesubmarineisstucklikeathorn in thepalmof its fronthand, and the beast istemporarily distracted tryingto shake it loose. I don’t

know what’s wrong withSam, but I don’t think thegargantuanbrutebehindusisthe cause. His affliction issomethingelseentirely.

“Hepassedout!”IyelltoNine.“He—”

I’m cut off as bothDaniela and Nine go allherky-jerky, their eyes fillingwith the same blue light.They slump to the ground atthe same time, collapsing on

topofeachother.“No!”And then it happens to

me.A tentacle of vivid blue

lightrisesupfromthegroundin front of me. For somereason, I’m not afraid. It’salmost like I recognize thisweirdenergyformation.Icansense that it runs deep intotheearth,andIcanalsosensethat if Agent Walker or the

Mogasaur or someonewithoutLegacieswastolookwhere I’m staring right now,they’dseenothingbutemptyspace.Thisisjustforme.

It’s my connection. MyconnectiontoLorien.

Faster than my eye canfollow, the finger of lightattaches to my forehead.Rightnow,I’msuremyeyesare spilling electric energyjustliketheothersdidbefore

theypassedout.I feel it happening. I’m

leavingmybody.Irecognizethissensation.

It’s exactly like when Ellapulledmeintohervision.

“Ella?” I say, althoughI’m pretty sure this worddoesn’t actually come out ofmy mouth. I’m pretty surethat my body’s currentlyprone on the docks, not allthat far from the biggest

monsterI’veeverseeninmylife.

Hi, John, Ella repliesinside my head. When shedoes, I can hear her sayingother words as well, likeshe’sholdingdownhundredsofconversationsatonce.

I don’t think to ask howthis is possible. Ella’ssupposed to be thousands ofmilesawaywithSetrákusRaor, hopefully, in the process

of getting rescued by Six.She’s not this powerful. Herpowersdon’tworklikethis.Idon’tthinkofanyofthat.I’mmorefocusedonmyphysicalbody, not to mention Nine,Sam and Daniela. WhateverElla’s doing to us, shecouldn’thavepickedaworsepossibletime.

“What the hell ishappening? You’re going togetuskilled!”

Any second, I expect tohear the crunch ofmy bonesastheMogasaurstepsonme.It doesn’t come. Instead,shapesbegin to forminfrontofmyeyes—blurry,indistinctforms, likeamovieprojectorthat’soutoffocus.

Don’t worry, Ella says,andagainthere’sthatechoofother voices. This will onlytakeasecond.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

HOW LONG AM I KNOCKEDOUT FOR? IT CAN’T bemorethan a couple of minutesbefore I’m awakened by icypinpricks along the side ofmyface.It’sMarina,pouring

her healing Legacy into me.Myhead’s inher lap. Iget astrange pulling sensation atmyhairlineasthetissuethereregrows,thegashItookfromfalling bricks quickly healedup.

Marina’s got her non-healinghandclaspedovermymouth,IguessincaseIwokeup screaming. I widen myeyes at her to show her thatI’mwith it and she takesher

hand away. Her face iscovered with chalky browndust from the explodedtemple.TherearetearstreaksrunningthroughthegrimeonMarina’sface.

“He destroyed it, Six,”she whispers raggedly. “Hedestroyed thewhole thing.” Isit up and assess oursituation. We’re still at theedge of the jungle, hiddenbehind the fallen tree trunk

and now a whole bunch ofdislodged chunks oflimestone. There are gaps inthe canopy above our headsfromwhere the pieces of theSanctuary came crashingdown. Luckily, no one elseappears injured, or elseMarina already took care ofthem.

Marina stays next to meas I crawl forward toapproach the others. Mark

and Adam lie on theirstomachs,sidebyside,justtothe right of the fallen log.They’ve got their blasterspointed out and are using ablock of stone for cover. Inotice bloodstains onMark’sshirt and remember that hetookapieceofshrapneltothechest right before I gotknockedout.

Itouchhisshoulder.“Youokay?”

He shoots a grateful lookin Marina’s direction. “I’mgood. Really don’t want tomakeahabit of that, though.You?”

“Same.”Sarah is right up against

the fallen log, peeking outfrombehind it. PhiriDun-Rais shoved in next to her.Shewasn’tcrushedbyanyof thedebristhatlandedinourarea,which just seems unfair. The

Mogadorian is stillunconscious or, more likely,playing possum. Imake sureto check her bonds quicklybefore sliding in next toSarah.Shegivesmealook—tight-lipped, squinty-eyed. Itreminds me a lot of John’sbrave face, actually. The onewherehe’sscaredshitlessbutwants to keep fightinganyway.

“What’rewegoing todo,

Six?”Sarahasks.“Staywithinarm’s length

in case we need to goinvisible,” I say, not just toSarah but to everyone.“We’vestillgotaplan.”

Mark snorts at that andhishandsshakealittleonhisblaster’s grip. He’s got thedetonator for our explosivesinthedirtnexttohim.

“There’s no Sanctuary toprotect,” Marina says

forlornly.“We can still take the

Anubis,”Ireply.“Andthere’sstillElla.”

“Man, I can’t see shitfrombackhere,”Markadds.

I turn invisible so that Ican poke my head out frombehind the log withoutrunning any risk of beingseen. Igetawaybetterviewof the landscape than whatMarkandAdamcanseefrom

their spotsbehindcover.ThedustfromtheAnubisattackisstill settling in the clearing;between that and the sunset,the entire area is cast in agritty golden haze. Threethick plumes of black smokecurl into the air—booby-trapped Skimmers that hadtheirbombsexplodewhentheAnubis discharged its fury.However, even though someof them are flipped over or

knocked into distant areas, Istill see a bunch of theSkimmers that we set toblow.

Sowemight still be abletosalvageoneofourtrapstofight off the Mogadorians.Butthepitwespentsomucheffort digging is gone. Or,moreaccurately,ithasgottenawholelotbigger.

The land where theSanctuary sat for centuries is

now a smoking crater. It’sabout sixty feet deep withstubborn chunks of thetemple’sbricksstillrootedinthe ground and small firesfrom the Anubis’s cannonblast only now guttering outin the heat-baked dirt. Thatforce field was in placeprecisely so something likethis wouldn’t happen. Wemade it into the Sanctuaryand this is the result. Total

destruction.Unless...Still invisible, I climb up

onto the log so I can get abetter angle on the crater.Sarah flinches at the noise Imake and brings her blasterupinmydirection.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Iwhisper quickly. “I’m tryingtogetalookatsomething.”

“What do you see?”Marinaasks.

I seeamellowblueglowthat emanates from the verycenter of the crater. I see thestonelipofthewellwherewedroppedour Inheritances, theplace where the Entityemergedfrom.

Ihopdown from the treetrunkandturnvisibleagain.IwantMarina to see the hopein my face because it’s veryreal.

“Thewellisstillthere,”I

tellher. “Hedidn’tormaybecouldn’t blow it up. TheEntityisfine.”

“Really?”Marina replies,wiping her hands across herface.

“Seriously,” I say.“We’ve still got anextraterrestrial god toprotect.”

“Thing should beprotecting us,” grumblesMark.

“Whatifhewasn’t tryingtoblowitup,though?”Sarahwonders. “What if thewholepoint is to, like, get at it?What if he had to clear thetempleaway?”

“Shit,” I reply, becausethat theory makes a lot ofsense.

“They’re coming down,”Adamhissesinwarning.

TheAnubisslowlymovescloser to the ground. Even

withthetempledestroyed,themassive warship is still toobigtolandintheclearing.Allthe same, thewarshiphoverssothatit’scenteredrightoverthecrater.Gearsclankastwowidemetal gangways extendfrom the sidesof theAnubis,a couple of sliding doorsopening at their tops. Fromthere, ranks of Mogadoriansbegin exiting the ship. Theylook tobe theusualbreedof

vatbornwarriors, all of themdressed in black body armorandtotingblasters.TheMogsexit the ship with speedyefficiencyandbeginsecuringthe area.We’re outnumberedatleasttentooneanditwon’tbe long until they eitherdiscover our position or findthe bombswe’ve attached totheSkimmers.

“Wehavetoattacknow!”I whisper harshly to the

others. I reach over and pullAdam close. “We’ll goinvisibleandflankthem.Youguysdetonate thebombsandget them distracted. Marina,areanyofthegunswesetupstillinposition?”

Marina narrows her eyesin concentration, then nodsonce. “Some. I’ll make itwork.”

Marksetsasidehisblasterand picks up the detonator,

armingourexplosives.Three-quarters of the bulbs don’tlightupatall, indicating thatwe lost those bombs in theAnubisattack.

“Ready,”Marksays.“Remember, if it goes

bad, run for Lexa’s ship,” Iremindthem.

Adam, peeking out frombehind the log, snaps hisfingersatus.“There,”hesaysgrimly. “There they both

are.”Setrákus Ra steps into

view at the top of the ramp.He’s as intimidating as Iremember—nearly eight feettall, pale, that thick purplescaronhisneckvisible evenat this distance. He’s clad insome kind of garishMogadorian armor made ofthesameobsidianalloyashisminions’, except his juts upinto clusters of spikes along

the shoulders and attaches toa fur-trimmed leather capethat runs all the way to theground. He looks every bitthevain intergalacticwarlordandheseemstorelishit.

HeholdshandswithElla,her small fingers claspedgently by his armored ones.Marina gasps when she seesher. I’m not sure I wouldeven recognize Ella if shehadn’tbeen screaming inmy

head just a fewminutes ago.Shelookssmallerandthinnerand paler, like the life hasbeen sucked out of her. No,that’s not quite right. Shedoesn’t necessarily looksicklyordiseased,Irealize.

ShelooksMogadorian.Ella’seyesareemptyand

her head hangs so that herchin is pressed against herchest. She doesn’t look evenremotely aware of her

surroundings.Hermovementsare robotic and dazed. ShefollowsSetrákusRa onto theramp with total compliance.TheMogs sweeping the areastop what they’re doing towatch their rulerandhisheirdescend from theAnubis, allof them doing this lame fist-on-chestsalute.

Setrákus Ra stops abouthalfway down the ramp. Hiseyessweepacrossthejungle,

searchingforus.“I know you’re out

there!” Setrákus Ra bellows,hisvoicecarryingthroughthehushed jungled. “I’m glad! Iwantyoutoseewhathappensnext!” Setrákus Ra shoutsover his shoulder, into theAnubis.“Lowerit!”

In response to hiscommand, a trapdoor openson the warship’s underbelly.Slowly, a large piece of

machinery telescopes outfrom the Anubis. It’s like alength of pipe with supportstruts and scaffolding builtaroundit.Thepipe’ssidesarecovered with complicatedcircuits and gauges. There’smore than just MogadoriantechtoSetrákusRa’ssteadilylowering device, though.Engravedintothemetalsidesbetweenalltheelectronicsarestrange glyphs that remind

me of the symbols scarredinto our ankles. Also, and Ican’tbeonehundredpercentsure about this, but it lookslike those engravings aredone in Loralite. Whateverthisdeviceis,itlookstobeasmuch a Loric-MogadorianhybridasSetrákusRa.

“Idon’tlikethelookofthat,”Isayquietly.

“Nope,”Sarahreplies.

“We should blow it up,”Marksuggests.

“Whatever he intends touse that for, we can’t let ithappen,”Marinaagrees.

“All right. Sowe destroyhis toy, rescue Ella and theneither take the Anubis orhightail it back to Lexa,” Isay.

“You make it sound soeasy,”Adamreplies.

Even though he can’t see

us,SetrákusRaisstillonhisrant. “For centuries I’veworked to harness the powerofLorien,toutilizeitinwaysmore efficient than natureintended.Now,finally...”

Blah,blah,blah.Quickly,I gauge the distance betweenEllaandthenearestwired-to-explode Skimmer. Pretty far.I don’t think she’ll be in theblast radius. As Setrákus Radrones on, I glance at the

others.“I’veheardenough.What

abouttherestofyou?”Everyone nods. They’re

ready.“Get low,” I say,

remembering how Mark gotstruckby shrapnel just a fewminutesago.

Everyone takes cover.Thisisit.

“Hitit,”IsaytoMark.Fingers flying across the

controller, Mark flips thedetonationswitches.

True, some of theSkimmers we wired toexplodebecamedisconnectedfrom their fuses when theAnubis bombed theSanctuary. And true, othersalready exploded during thatimpact. So we don’t get thewidespread destruction thatwe would’ve if our neatlyarranged Skimmer-bombs

had all detonated at once asplanned.

But it’s still prettyfreakingeffective.

The Mogs are too busyrespectfully listening toSetrákusRa’s latestpompousdouchebag speech to see itcoming. Five Skimmersscattered around the craterexplodeinblossomsofwhite-hot fire. I can feel the heatfromhere and have to shield

myeyes.AtleastthirtyMogsare dusted immediately, theirbodiescompletelyengulfedintheflames.MoreperishwhentheSkimmers’partsgoflyingin every direction. I watchonewarriorgetloppedinhalfvertically by a cartwheelingwindshield and anothercrushed beneath a flamingseatingcolumn.

Thebestpartisthepanic.The Mogs don’t know what

justhitthemandsotheystartfiring towards the explodedships, not certain where thereal threat is actually hiding.At least a few go down as aresult of friendly fire. Andthen Marina and I use ourtelekinesistofireoffsomeofthe blasters we hid in thejungle, confusing them evenmore.

A twisted wheel strutsmashes down on the ramp

right in front of Setrákus RaandElla.Maybeitwasalittlereckless of us to blow thoseships—I think Setrákus Rahadtodeflectthatwheelwithhistelekinesistokeepitfromhitting him and Ella.However, it’s good to knowthat he doesn’t want to seeElla hurt any more than wedo.

I grin. Setrákus Raactually looks surprised by

ourcounterattack.Hisspeechruined, the Mog leaderhurriedlywalkstherestofthewaydowntheramp,draggingEllaalongwithhim.

“Find them!” he screamsas he starts down the rockyincline of the crater, headingfor the Loric well. “Killthem!”

“Let’sdothis!”Iyell,notloudenoughtogiveawayourposition thanks to the

crackling fires coming fromthe husks of the Skimmers,butloudenoughtofireupmyallies.It’sdo-or-dietime.

I grab Adam’s hand andwe go invisible. I take thelead,bringingusinawidearcaround the Mogs that willeventuallygetusclose to thecrater and Setrákus Ra’sdevice. Marina keeps up thedistracting blaster fire, usingguns hidden in different

locations to keep the Mogsguessing. I memorized thelocations where we hid ourextra blasters, so I’m able toavoidthecrossfire.

Atleast,I’mabletoavoidit for about the first twentyyards. Then, dumb luckstrikes.Oneof theMogs,hisback on fire from theSkimmer explosions,stumbles towards us, firingwildly. Idiveoutof theway

andsodoesAdam.But we dive in separate

directions.Just like that,Adampops

backintothevisibleworld.“Shit,” he says, bringing

his own blaster up andgunning down the nearestMog.

“There!” shouts one oftheotherwarriors.

So much for doing thisguerrilla-style.

Seeing Adam in danger,Bernie Kosar is the first oneto launch into battle. Onesecond he’s a toucan,innocently flying towards thenearest group ofMogadorians, and a blink ofaneyelaterhe’s in theshapeof a muscular lion, slashingandsnappinghiswaythroughour enemies. A lot of theMogs are still scramblingfrom the explosions and

haven’t even seenAdamyet,so Bernie Kosar easily getsthedroponthem.He’sfasterand more ferocious than thelast time I saw him fight,angrier maybe, and Irememberthathenearlydiedback in Chicago. WhenevertheMogsdomanagetodrawabead on him,BernieKosarshape-shifts into a smallerform—a bug or a bird—makinghimselfanimpossible

target. Then, when he’s in abetter position to kill,BernieKosar turns back into hispredatorform.Thetransitionsare so smooth, it’s almostbeautiful.

Our pet Chimæra hasgotten really good at killingMogs.Andsohavewe.

ApairofMogstothelefthave managed to regroupenough to target Adam.They’re easily picked off by

blaster fire from our group’sactual position.Thatmust beSarah and Mark, and theydon’t stop shooting whenthose first two Mogs aredusted. There are a lot ofwarriors caught out on thescorched earth of what usedto be their runway. It’s allempty space and no cover. Isee Sarah put down twowarriorsinquicksuccession.

Marina runs out of the

jungle to Adam’s side andthen they’rechargingstraightinto the fray. Some of theMogsaretryingtoretreatandregroup, but others see themcoming. They square up andtake aim. Pretty soon the airisbuzzingwithblasterfireinall directions. The odds aresomethingliketwentytoone.

Notbad.Adam takes the lead,

bounding forward with big

strides, his every footfallsendingshockwavesripplingunder theMogadorians’ feet.When the ground quakes itmakes it nearly impossiblefortheMogstoproperlyaim.Some of them go topplinginto each other, blaster firezigzagging in every directionbut straight. One particularseismicblastresultsinaloudrendingnoiseastwosectionsof ground split apart, half a

dozenMogsplummetingintoadeepcrevasse.

Iguesswegotourpittrapafterall.

Marina takes it a bitslower, but she’s no lessdeadly.SheheadstowardstheMogswithbothofherhandsopenandcuppedathersides.Spiked chunks of solid iceform above her hands and,whentheygrowtothesizeofbaseballs,Marinasends them

telekineticallysailingtowardstheMogs.Screamingandoffbalance from one of Adam’stremors, one Mog comescharging at Marina with adagger. She barely looks athimassheraisesherhand ina stop gesture and flash-freezes his face.Marina cutsa frozen swath through theMogs, making a beelinetowards the crater andSetrákusRa.

Across the battlefield,Setrákus Ra has made it tothe bottom of the crater andthe Loric well. Ella standsnearby, listless andzombielike, her head lollingfrom side to side. She lookson as Setrákus Ra guides byhand the ominous devicethat’s attached to theAnubis.He positions the cylinder soit’s just a few feet above thewell.Then,SetrákusRasteps

backandraiseshishandslikea conductor, telekineticallymaneuvering the complicatedswitches and dials embeddedinthesidesof thetube.WithahumIcanhearall thewaybackhere,thethingbeginstopoweron.Thatcan’tbegood.

“We have to stop him!”Marinayells.

I know her words areintended for me, but I don’treply. Still invisible, I don’t

want to give away myposition. I wish I could usemyweatherLegacyanddropsome lightning on SetrákusRa. The Anubis is blockingtoomuchof thesky. Instead,I pick up a dropped Mogblaster.

Lately, I’ve spent somuch time maneuveringgroups of invisible peoplethrough bayous and junglesthatI’dalmostforgottenhow

freeing it is to be alone andinvisible.Freeinganddeadly.I glide easily through theranksoftheMogadorians.It’salmost like a dance, exceptthey don’t know we’repartneredup.As Igo, I raisemy invisible blaster and pullthe trigger, close range, headshotsonly.Allwhilemovingcloser to the crater andSetrákus Ra. The only thingthat could give away my

position is the brief flash oflight from my blaster’smuzzle, and that’s usuallyquickly obscured by theexploding ash particles ofMogfaces.

I’vewipedoutmore thantenMogs in no time at all. Itakeamomenttoglancebacktowards the jungle to makesure Sarah and Mark arehanging in there. Sureenough, they’re still shooting

away. Bernie Kosar stayedback that way too, keepingany Mogs from getting tooclosetothehumans’position.I realize Bernie Kosar isprobably under strict ordersfromJohntokeepSarahsafe.That’sgood.

The Mogs are alreadybeginning to thin out. Someare actually retreatingtowards the Anubis, whileothers have formed a loose

perimeteraroundthecratertoprotect theirBelovedLeader.Setrákus Ra doesn’t seem atall concerned with any ofthis.He’scompletelyfocusedon operating thatmachine ofhis.

As I fight my waytowards the crater, the tubebegins to emit a whooshingsound. I can feel theatmospherearounduschange—loose rocks are lifted up

fromtheground,andI feelavaguesenseofgravitypullingme towards the crater. Fullypowered on, Setrákus Ra’sdevice is starting to suck upthe surroundings. I see Ella,still standing idly in thecrater, still telepathicallysilent, her hair whippingtowards the cylinder. Thewell itselfbegins tocrumble,its bricks lifted loose andbriefly hoisted towards the

sucking machine beforethey’re deflected by a forcefield that’s probably similarto what protects the Anubis.This device of SetrákusRa’sisn’t interested in the groundand debris; it filters themaway,creatingaminitornadoofdirtandbrick.

Andthenithappens.Withan ear-piercing shriek like athousand tea kettlesexploding, the cobalt-blue

Loric energy shoots up fromthegroundandissuckedintothe cylinder. The entire areais cast in a flickering blueglow that causes even someoftheMogstolookaroundinwonderment. It’s unnatural,thewaytheenergyripplesupfromtheground,atfirstwildand uncontained, but quicklycaughtandchanneledthroughwhat I realize is a pipeline,transferring the Loric energy

into the Anubis. I found theEntity’sglowcomfortingandsereneback in theSanctuary,but now—the air crackleswith electricity, the flasheshurtmyeyesandthenoise...

It’s like the energy itselfisscreaming.It’sinpain.

“Yes! Yes!” Setrákus Rabellows with delight, likesome kind of mad scientist,his hands raised in rapture

towardstheenergyfunnel.Marina loses it. Caution

goes out the window as shesprints towards the crater.Two thick and sharpenedicicles manifest over herhands like swords and sheuses them to impale threeMogs on her way, spinningthroughtheranksof theonesguarding the crater. Then,she’s sliding down the rockyincline, towards Setrákus Ra

andElla.She’sgoing to takehim on by herself. I did thatonce—it didn’t work out sowell.

Isprinttocatchup.Thereare other Mogs along theedgeof thecraterbesidestheones Marina just punchedthrough and they’ve allturned to take aim on her.She’s distracted, an easytarget. But to me, stillinvisible, it’s the Mogs that

areeasy targets. I runbehindthem in an arc around thecrater’sedge,dustingeachofthem as quickly as I can.Before I cankill him,oneofthemmanages to squeezeoffa shot that sizzles into thebackofMarina’s leg. I don’teventhinkshenotices.

In fact, Marina doesn’teven notice Setrákus Ra. Ordoesn’t care. She attacks thepipelinedirectly,bombarding

it with spiked orbs of ice.When those are eitherswallowed by the swirlingdustandbrickordeflectedbythe machine’s force field,Marina charges forward.She’sgoing to take the thingapartbyhandifshehasto.

Setrákus Ra catches herbythethroat.Hemovesfasterthan a creature his size hasanyrightto.AsIsprintdownthe side of the crater, still

invisible, Setrákus Ra liftsMarina by the neck so thather feet are dangling off theground. She tries to kick athim,butheholdsheroutatasafedistance.

“Hello,girl,”SetrákusRasays, his tone happy andvictorious. “Come to watchtheshow?”

Marina claws at hisfingers. She obviously can’tbreathe. I’m not sure I’m

goingtomakeitintime.Frombehindhim,awave

ofrocksanddirthitsSetrákusRa in the back of the legs.He’s surprised and bowledover, losing his grip onMarina as he falls forwardand instinctively braceshimself with his hands.Marinamanages to rollawayas Setrákus Ra’s lower legsare buried by the rockslide.Ella lurchesforward, likeher

own legs were hit, but shedoesn’tcryoutandhervacantexpressiondoesn’tchange.

It’s Adam that made thesave, skidding his way intothe crater from the oppositedirection as me. There areblasterburnsonhisshouldersanda longcuton the sideofhis face from where someMog scored a hit with itsdagger, but he still looksreadytofight.

Iendupcomingdown inthe crater right next to Ella.That’swhen ithappens—pop—just like that, I’m visibleagain, and not of my ownchoosing. Setrákus Ra mustbe using his Legacy-canceling ability. Marina ison her knees a few yardsfrom him, holding her throatand coughing. Meanwhile,the Mog leader is having ahell of a time dislodging

himselffromthelandslide.Atleast Adam got him buriedabove the knees before ourLegacieswereturnedoff.

I take the opportunity tograb Ella by her shoulders.Up close, she’s even furthergone than I expected. Hercheeks are hollow, her facegaunt, and there are darkblack veins running beneathherskin likespiderwebs.Hereyes are glazed over and she

doesn’t react at all when Ishakeher.ThelightfromtheLoric energy—still beingsucked up through thepipeline—is reflected in hereyes.She’sstaringatit.

“Ella! Come on! We’regettingyououtofhere!”

There’s no visiblereaction,buthervoicefinallyreturnstomymind.

Six.It’sbeautiful,isn’tit?She’s lost it. Screw it—

I’m going to drag her out ofherejustlikeweplanned.

“Six!”Marinashouts,hervoiceraw.“Wehavetoturnitoff!”

I glance at the machine,thenupattheAnubis.There’snotellingwhatSetrákusRaisgoing to do with the Loricenergy he’s capturing, but itobviously can’t be good. Iwonder if he’ll be able topermanently take away our

Legacies if he sucks upenoughoftheEntity’spower.

“Do you know how tostop it?” I ask Ella, againgetting right in herexpressionlessface.

This answer takes amoment.Yes.

“How?Tellushow!”Shedoesn’trespond.With an indignant snarl,

Setrákus Ra pulls one of hislegsfreeoftherockslide.As

he does, Adam reaches him.Stripped of his Legacy justlike us, the youngerMogadorian has his father’ssword drawn. The blade isalmosttoobigforhimandhisarmsshakewhenheholds it.Evenso,heputsthetipoftheblade right up againstSetrákusRa’sthroat.

“Stop,”Adamcommands.“Your time isover, oldman.TurnoffyourmachineorI’ll

killyou.”Setrákus Ra’s face

actually lights up, eventhough there’s a swordpressed right against thatpurplescarofhis.Helaughs.“Adamus Sutekh,” heexclaims.“Iwashopingwe’dhaveachancetomeet.”

“Shut up,” Adam warns.“DowhatIsaid.”

“Turn off the machine?”Setrákus Ra smiles. He

finishes standing up. Adamhas to stretch to keep thebladeclosetohisthroat.“Butit’smygreatest achievement.I’ve tapped into Lorien itselfand bent it to my will. Nolonger shallwe be bound bythe arbitrary chains of fate.We can forge our ownLegacies. You of all peopleshouldappreciatethat.”

“Stoptalking.”“You shouldn’t be

threatening me, boy. Youshould be thanking me,”Setrákus Ra continues,brushing dirt off his armoredlegs. “That Legacy you usedtosuchgreateffectwasgivento you as a result of myresearch, you understand?The machine Dr. Anuplugged you into waspoweredbypureLoralite,theleftovers ofwhat Imined onLorien so longago.With the

bodyofaGardethatcarriedalingering spark of Lorienherself,well . . . the transferwas made possible. You arethe glorious result of myscience, Adamus Sutekh. Ofmy control overLorien.Andtoday, you can help me topave the way for others likeyou.”

“No,” Adam says, hisvoice nearly inaudible abovethe roaring energy being

pumped upwards into theAnubis.

“No what?” Setrákus Raasks. “What did you think,boy? That your Legaciescame from somewhere else?That this mindless flow ofnature chose you? It wasscience, Adamus. Science,meandyourfather.Wechoseyou.”

“My father is dead!”Adam shouts, jabbing the

sword harder into SetrákusRa’s neck. Next to me, Ellagasps.Abeadofbloodformsonherthroat.

“Adam! Be careful!” Iyell, taking a step towardshim. Marina is on her feettoo, glancing uncertainlybetween the energy pipelineand the two Mogadorians.Theyignoreusboth.

“Hmm,” Setrákus Rareplies.“Ihadn’theard—”

“I killed him,” Adamcontinues,yelling. “With thissword!LikeI’llkillyou!”

For a moment, SetrákusRa seems genuinely takenaback. Then, he reaches upand takes hold of Adam’sblade.

“You know what willhappen if you try,” SetrákusRasays,andindemonstrationhe grips the blade tightly. IspinaroundtoseeElla’sbody

clench from the pain as alarge gash opens up acrossherpalm,blooddribblingintothedirt.Shestaggersforwarda fewsteps towards thewell,holdingherself.

“Idon’tcare.Allmylife,I was trained to kill them,”Adam says through grittedteeth.

“Andyoucouldneverdoit, could you?” Setrákus Rareplies, laughing at Adam’s

bluff. “I read your father’sreports,boy.Iknowallaboutyou.”

Stillholding thesword inone hand, Setrákus Ra stepscloser to Adam, toweringover the younger Mog.Adam’s whole body shakes,butI’mnotsureifit’sinrageorfear.Iinchclosertothem,even though I don’t knowwhat to do. If Adam swingsthat sword, will I stop him?

Marina draws closer too, hereyeswide.Behindme,IhearElla’s feet shuffling. In hertrance state, she’s stumbledcloser to the Loric well andthesurgingpillarofenergy.

“Ella!”Ihiss.“Stayput!”“Ineverwantedtokillfor

youbecause Ineverbelievedyour bullshit!” Adam criesout. “But ifdoing thismeansending you—” Adam’s eyesdart briefly towards Ella. I

see it happen—his eyes gosteely with resolve. He’s notbluffing,notanymore.“Icanlivewith it,” he says, coldly.“Ican livewith it ifyoudie,too.”

It all happens so fast.Adam thrusts the bladethrough Setrákus Ra’s grip,the edge slicing harmlesslyacross his palm, the pointaimedforhisthroat.SetrákusRa looks surprised, but he

reacts quickly—he’s fast,faster than Adam expected.SetrákusRaduckstotheleft,thebladegrindingagainsttheside of his neck, not doingany damage. At least not tohim.

IwhipmyheadaroundtoseethecutformonthesideofElla’s neck. Blood spillsdown her shoulder and herbody heaves, but she doesn’tcry out. In fact, she doesn’t

even seem to notice. She’stotally focusedon theenergycurrent,hersmallfeetpigeon-toed as they shuffle a littlecloser.

Before Adam can bringhis sword around for anotherstrike, Setrákus Ra smasheshis fist into Adam’s face.Setrákus Ra is wearingarmoredglovesandIcanhearbones inAdam’sfacecrunchfromtheimpact.Hedropsthe

sword and staggersbackwards. Setrákus Ra isabout to hit him again whenMarinachargesinandtackleshimoutoftheway.

With them both on theground, I’ve got no choicebut to step forward and putmyself between them andSetrákusRa.AsIdrawclose,SetrákusRapicksupAdam’ssword, swinging it in a lazyarc at his side. He smiles at

me.“Hello,Six,”hesays,and

cuts the air in front of himwith the blade. “Are youreadyforthisalltobeover?”

I don’t respond. Talkingjust gives him an advantage,lets him get in our heads.Instead, I yell over myshouldertoMarina.

“Fall back!” I tell her.“Getback farenough tohealhim!”

Out of the corner of myeye,IcanseeMarinaholdingAdam.He’sknockedout,andI’m not even sure Marinawants to heal him after thestunt he just pulled. Shedefinitely doesn’t want toleave me behind, or retreatwhile SetrákusRa’smachineisstillrunning.

“Go! I’ve got this!” Iinsist, staring down SetrákusRa, dancing on the balls of

my feet. I just have to stallhim, stay alive, until—untilwhat?Howarewegettingoutofthisone?

Ella was right. Stayingmeantdeath.

Setrákus Ra’s smiledoesn’tfade.Heknowswe’reupagainstthewall.Helungesat me, slashing towards mymidsection. I leap back andfeel the tip of the blade passrightinfrontofmyabdomen.

Therockygroundbeneathmyfeet shifts and I almoststumbleover.

Behind me, Marina’smanaged to drag Adam towhere the crater starts goinguphill. She stops there andshouts.“Ella!What—!”

Both Setrákus Ra and Iturn towards the well, whereElla has climbedup onto thestone rim. She’s just inchesfromtheragingwaveofLoric

energy. Her hair flies out ineverydirection, almost likeahalo. Electric sparks pop allaround her, and the darkblood on her neck turns ashade of purple in the vividblue light. The skin on herface and hands ripples likeshe’s in a wind tunnel, andsmall debris buffets her. Sheignoresitall.

Immediately,SetrákusRaforgetsallaboutme.Hetakes

a halting step towards Ella.“Get down from there!” hebellows. “What are you . . .?!”

Ellaturnsinourdirection,her eyes on Setrákus Ra.They aren’t spaced outanymore.Foramoment,Icansee theoldElla in there.TheshygirlwefirstmetinSpainwho blossomed into a bravefighter. Her voice is small,yet somehow amplified by

the torrent of energy behindher.

“You don’t get to win,Grandfather,” she says.“Good-bye.”

And then Ella fallsbackwards into the Loricenergy.

Setrákus Ra screams andraces forward, but he’s toolate. There’s an almostblinding flash of light. Ella’sbody,basicallyasilhouetteat

this point, hovers in midair,caught between the Loricwell and Setrákus Ra’smachine. For a moment, herbody twists and contorts,arching painfully. Then, asurge of energy flows upfrom the well, too much forSetrákus Ra’s machine tohandle. The circuits on itsside explode in showers ofsparks and the Loralitecarvings melt in a searing

burst of white-hot heat.Meanwhile, Ella’s bodyseems to disintegrate—I canstillseeit there,caughtupintheenergy,butIcanalsoseethrough it, likeeveryparticleinherbodyhascomeapartatonce.

A moment later, Ella’sbodyisspitoutoftheenergyflow. She’s thrown like asmoking rag doll to the sideof the crater. Then, the glow

from the Loric energydissipates and retreats backunderground, while SetrákusRa’s pipeline makes ametallic creaking noise andfalls apart, twisted hunks ofmetalburyingtheLoricwell.

Setrákus Ra stares at hisruined machine in disbelief.It’s the first time I’ve everseen the old bastard at acompleteloss.

Marina’s in motion

immediately. She leavesAdam’s body behind anddives towards Ella. HerLegacies are still turned off,so when Marina presses herhands toElla’sbody, I knownothing will happen. She’stoolate,anyway.

I don’t need to see thetears streaming downMarina’s cheeks to know.Ellaisdead.

Setrákus Ra stares at the

body of his granddaughter, adesolate expression on hisface. While he does that, Ipick up the biggest chunk ofrockIcanfind.

AndthenIcrackitacrossthe back of Setrákus Ra’shead.

A cut opens. He bleeds.The Mogadorian charm isbroken.

My attack brings himback to himself. SetrákusRa

roars, spins to face me andlifts the giant sword over hishead.

He’s about to bring itdownonmewhenhiseyes—normally empty black pits—fill with the blue glow ofLoricenergy.Theswordfallsfrom his grasp and SetrákusRa, the leader of theMogadorians, killer of mypeople,destroyerofworlds—faintsrightatmyfeet.

I’mstunned.Iturntolookfor Marina, but find herpassedout too.What thehellisgoingon?

Ella. The glow of Loricenergy emanates fromher. Itspillsoutofhereyes,mouth,ears—everywhere, just likewhen the Entity brieflyanimatedEight’scorpse.

From one of herfingertips, a beam of Loricenergy shoots towardsme. It

hitsme right in the forehead.I sink down to my knees,feeling myself drift towardsunconsciousness. I stare atElla . . . or whatever she isnow.ThereareotherburstsofLoric energy zipping awayfrom her body, flying awayfromher like shooting starts,outofthecraterandoffto...where? I don’t know. I don’tknowwhat’s happening withher,theEntityoranyofit.

Ijustknowthatthisismychance.

“Not now!” I scream,fighting against the gentlesleep the Loric energy istrying to force upon me.“Ella!Lorien!Stop! I—Icankillhim!”

But then I’m out. I’mpulledintothesameartificialslumber as Setrákus Ra andMarina.

WhatIseenext,whatwe

allsee,iswhereitallstarted.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

SO THIS IS WHAT IT’S LIKETOBEDEAD.

Ifloatabovemybodyandhardly recognize myself. Mygrandfather—he’d started to

turn me into a monster likehimself. The broken girldown there, all pale andwashed out, I can hardlybelievethat’sme.Orwasme.Marinaputsherhandsonmybody, tries to bring me backeventhoughherLegaciesareturnedoff. It’ssad toseeherdistraughtlikethis.

I don’t want to go backinto that body. It’s a reliefbeing out. There’s no more

pain and for the first time indays I can actually thinkstraight.

Actually, it’s kind ofweird that I can think at allconsideringI’m,youknow... dead. I guess this is justwhattheafterlifeislike.

Below me, the others—Marina, Six, Setrákus Ra—they all move in super-slowmotion. I can see so much.Every particle of smashed

templestillfloatingintheairisvisibletome.Thebeadsofcoldsweatonthebackofmygrandfather’sneckarevisibleto me. The pulsing glow ofLoric energy inside all ofthem, even Setrákus Ra,that’svisibletometoo.

HowcanIseeallthis?I only wanted to break

Setrákus Ra’s hold over me,to shatter his disgustingMogadoriancharmsothathe

couldn’t hold me hostageanymore.Iwantedtohelpmyfriends. Something told methebestwaytodothatwastothrow myself into that swirlof energy. I figured I woulddie and I was almost okaywiththat.I’mgladitisn’tjustdarkness and worms.Whatever this next stage is,though, I hope it isn’t allwatching people I love fighttothedeathinslowmotion.

Ella.Thevoicecomesfromall

around me. Not one voice,many voices. Thousands ofvoices. Yet somehow, fromthat chorus, I can pick outones that I recognize.Crayton. Adelina. Eight.They’recallingtome.

Youhaveworktodo.I fall towards the ground

andmybody.Foramoment,I’m filled with panic. Am I

goingbackinsidemyoldskintoonceagainbepuppeteeredaround by my grandfather?But then, suddenly, a feelingofcalmwashesoverme,likeI’vebeenwrappedinawarmblanket.Nothingcanhurtme,notnow.

I should smack into theground. Instead, I keep righton going. I pass through thedirt and rocks, and soon I’msubmerged in total darkness.

Itdoesn’tfeellikeI’mfallinganymore. It feels like I’mfloating through space—nogravity, no weight, justendless peaceful drifting. Ilosetrackofwhichwayisup,which way goes back to theworld and my friends, mybody. It doesn’t seemimportantrightnow.Ishouldprobably be freaking out.Somehow, though, I knowthatI’msafe.

Slowly, light begins toshine around me. Thousandsof bright blue pinpricks floataroundme, like thewaydustmotesdriftthroughabeamofsun. It’s just like the Loricenergy I dove into. Theparticlesexpandandcontract,reminding me of lungs.Sometimes they blendtogether into vague shapes,thenquicklybreakapart.

Somehow, I get the

feeling that I’m beingwatched.

There’s a net of theenergy beneath me and I nolonger feel like I’m floatingor falling. It’smore like I’mbeing held, cupped in twogianthands.Ifeelrelaxedandcomfortable, like I couldlounge here forever. It’s somuch different from the hellthe last few days have been,whereexertinganybitofmy

own will caused shootingpains throughout my body.Part of me wants to turn offmy mind and just letwhatever’s happening to mestretch on forever. Butanotherpartofmeknowsmyfriends are still fighting backin the world of the living. Ihavetotrytohelp.

“Hello?”Iask,testingifIcan talk. I hear my voice,even though it doesn’t feel

like Ihaveamouth, lungsora body anymore. It feels likeit does when I have atelepathic conversation, likehowsomeofmythoughtsarelouder than others and thoseare the ones I project to theotherpeople.

Hello, Ella, a voiceanswers.Theblobsofenergyfloating in front of me pulsein sync with the voice.Weirdly, I feel completely

comfortable having aconversationwithabunchofneonfireflies.

“Am I dead?” I ask. “Isthis, like, heaven orsomething?”

I feel a not unpleasanttickle against wheremy skinshouldbe.Iguessthat’swhatit feels like when this thinglaughs.

No, this is not heaven,child.Andyourdeath isonly

a temporarycondition.Whenthetimecomes,Iwillrestoreyou to your physical form.“Oh.” I pause. “What if Idon’twanttogoback?”

Youwill.Don’tbesosure,buddy,I

think,butdon’tsay.“So . . . where’s here?

Whatisthis?”Youabandonedyourbody

andusedyourtelepathicgiftsto retreat into mymind. You

merged your consciousnesswithmine.Didyouevenknowyou were capable of that,child?

“Um,no.”Ididnotthinkso.Itwasa

dangerousthingtodo,youngElla. My mind is vast andstretches across every whereand every when that I haveexisted. I am shielding youfrom this knowledge, so asnottooverwhelmyou.

I guess that’s why I feelsocozyinthistotaldarkness,bodiless and cradled by pureLoric energy. Because theLoric Entity thingy is takingcareofme.

“Thanksforthat,”Ireply.Youarewelcome.It occurs to me that I

should probably ask someimportant questions. It’s notevery day that you end upsharing a mind with a godly

energy.“What exactly are you,

though?”Iamme.Iamthesource.“Uh-huh.Butwhatshould

Icallyou?”There’s a short pause

before thevoiceanswersme.Thedotsofenergyneverstopflittingaroundinfrontofme.

I have been called manythings. Once, I was Lorien.Now, I am Earth. Your

friendscalledmetheEntity.So, this is what was

hidden under the Sanctuary,what Setrákus Ra was after.Marina and the others musthave talked to it before itshiding place got blown tohell. The Entity, though . . .that seems all formal, alienand cold. That’s not thefeelingI’mgettingnow.

“I’m going to call youLegacy,”Idecide.

Asyouwish,child.Legacy seems so calm. It

was only a few minutes agothattheAnubiswassuckingitout of the ground through abigmechanicalstraw.

“Didmygrandfather hurtyou when he pulled you outoftheEarth?”Iask.

He cannot hurt me, hecan only change me. Oncechanged, I amno longerme,andsothepainisnotmineto

experience.“Okay,” I reply, not

following a bit of that. “Areyou, like, trapped aboard theAnubisnow?”

Only a small part of me,child. I exist inmany places.Yourgrandfatherhastriedtoharvest me before, but I amgreater than he even knows.Come.Iwillshowyou.

Before I can even ask—go where?—a wave of

Loric energy sweeps meaway. I’m no longer floatingalong in the peacefuldarkness. Instead, I’m insideEarth itself. It’s like one ofthose cross-sections whereyou can see the differentlayers of Earth’s crust—thetectonic plates, dinosaurbones, hot molten lava nearthe planet’s core. I canvisualize it all. I feel tiny incomparison.

Running through everylayeroftheEarth,intertwinedwith the core itself, areglowing veins of Loralite.The energy is thin in someplaces,strongerinothers,butthere’snowhereontheplanetthat isn’t close to its gentleglow.

“Whoa,” I say. “Youreally made yourself athome.”

Yes, Legacy replies. This

isnotall.We rise up. Once again,

the battlefield appearsbeneath me. My friends andSetrákus Ra are still movinglikethey’restuckinmolasses.Six is in the process ofpicking up a rock, hopefullyto clobber my grandfatherwith.

In Six’s chest, right overher heart, there’s a glowingember of Loric energy.

MarinaandAdamhaveittoo.So do I, although my emberlooks a little weaker thantheirs,probablyonaccountofthe whole dying thing. EvenSetrákus Ra has a spark ofLorien in him, although hislooks partially molded overby some black substance.He’s corrupted himself inwaysIdon’tunderstand.Thethoughtmakesme glance uptowards the Anubis. There,

housedintheship’sbelly,isathrobbing glow of severedLoralite. It’s nothingcompared to what I just sawunderground,butstill...

“What is he going to dowith it?” I ask Legacy. “Imean,withyou?”

Iwillshowyou.First,youneed to gather the others. Ihave decided they should allseewhytheyfight.

“Whatothers?”

All of them. I will assistyou.

Without warning, mymind begins to stretch. It’slike I’m using my telepathy,groping out for familiarminds, except my range isway extended. It actuallydoesn’tfeelsogreat, likemybrain is being pulled in alldirections by some reallystrongmagnets.

“What . . . what are you

doing?”I am augmenting your

abilities,child.Itmaybeabituncomfortable at first. Iapologize.

“What am I supposed todo?”

GatheruptheonesIhavemarked.

Crazilyenough,Iactuallyknowwhatthismeans.WhenIreachoutwithmytelepathy,I can actually sense all the

Legacy-touched people outthere. I aim for Marina’ssparklybluecore,snatchitupwith my telepathic hand andreelherin.It’sjustlikehowIwasabletopullJohnintomyvisions except now it’s somucheasier.IsnapupAdamtoo, bringing them into thewarmth of Legacy’sconsciousness. Then, Ihesitate.

“Whatabouthim?”Iask,

gazing down upon mygrandfather.

Evenhim.Itmustbeall.Feeling a little grossed

out that I have to come intotelepathic contact with thattwisted brain and his spoiledLoricheart,IpullinSetrákusRa. I try to absorb Six next,but her consciousness fightsagainst mine. Distantly, I’maware of her physical bodyyellingsomething.

“What’s she saying?” IaskLegacy.

She does not yetunderstand that I do notinterfere, Legacy intones.Allwill see, or none. Noadvantagewillbegiven.