“Do you think Rui would want you fucking up timelines and universes for him?”

“I suspect, once he realizes he’s still alive he’ll forgive me. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

You’re nothing like him, he’d spat at me the night before. This close to me, Hassan’s eyes were the same as Yusuf’s when he’d roll off the bed and draw on the window as he’d explained some physics concept. Smiling at first, until he forgot I was there and he lost himself in his own mind.

The door at the other side of the room flew off its hinges and clattered to the floor.

Yusuf, the real Yusuf, plowed through the still-smoking doorway. He didn’t have to ask anything—me duct-taped to a chair, Hassan nearby, fresh off his master plan monologue—he just planted his feet and fired.

The kickback from Figueiredo’s gun jerked his arms, futzing his aim, and the pink fizzle of light grazed one of Hassan’s shoulders. Where was my sniper that had saved us on the Compound? Hassan still careened backwards, though, writhing on the floor and clutching his shoulder. The air stank of burnt barbeque. Yusuf dashed the space between us in an instant.

“You okay?” he asked, his hands fumbling at the duct tape that tied me to the chair. One of his glasses lenses was cracked, some light-cloaked drone painting him as a pirate with a spider-web eyepatch.

“Yeah. Thanks. Scalpel. Over there.”

He sliced me free and helped me up. Hassan hadn’t been kidding with the whole concussion thing, with the way I swayed against Yusuf.

“Where’s Figueiredo and Kaori?” I asked.

“Rotting in a cell by now, I hope. Another squad of guards rolled in with tranquilizer guns. I ran after you guys but couldn’t find my way through the lower tunnels for a while.” He glanced back at Hassan. “Did I really do that? Is he dead?”

“You shot me in the goddamned shoulder,” Hassan snarled, still bent over.

I’d seen enough movies where the villain—is that what he was, now?—skulked to their feet and pulled out a hidden gun, so, no thanks. I kicked him in the stomach twice, toppling him onto the floor.

And then we ran. Through the halls. Dead ends. The alarm split the air again, which maybe meant that Hassan was coming after us or Kaori and Figueiredo broke free from whatever cell the rent-a-guards had shoved them in.