“Freeze. All three of you.”

The voice came from behind us. I recognized that voice. It was the last person I ever wanted to see again—the one whose unnerving eyes had been haunting my nightmares for the last month.

Slowly, we turned to see Joseph Condor standing above us, looking down into the trench. On either side of him was an armed suit, pointing a military-style weapon at us.

“Well, well,” Condor said, his mouth twisting up into a grin. “Isaak Contreras. Just the person I’ve been looking for all this time. And if there was ever such perfect timing, I’ve never seen it.”

I couldn’t say anything. My tongue felt like it was made of lead.

The two GSAF agents gestured with their guns, indicating a rusty metal ladder leading out of the trench. Slowly, I trudged over to it, Nadin and my dad following close behind. Even behind his aviator sunglasses, I could feel Condor’s eyes on me, never leaving my form for a second.

As I climbed off the ladder, Condor grabbed my elbow, pulling me uncomfortably close to him. “You’re just in time for your own party,” he hissed in my ear.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, but he didn’t reply.

The three men led us down the familiar path of Erick’s dig site, over to the wide open area where the shuttles always used to park. As we walked, I could hear a tinny voice, echoing as if from a loudspeaker. I couldn’t catch most of the words, but I realized with alarm that one word popping up with regular frequency was my own name.

Then we rounded the corner, and I sucked in my breath.

A huge crowd filled the former parking area. Many of them held posterboard signs saying things like Free Mars and End the GSAF Coverup. But the one that made my heart stop was the huge banner with a pixelated image of my face on it—a printout of my last yearbook photo—that read, “WHERE’S ISAAK?”

A makeshift stage had been erected along the viewing area that looked out over Tierra Nueva. A man wearing a faded t-shirt with a nice-fitting suit jacket over it was standing at a podium, addressing the crowd. He had a stocky build, with deep brown skin and short-cropped black hair. Neatly-groomed stubble lined a jaw that had become defined and square, and uncannily adult.

When our eyes met, the man froze mid-sentence. We stared at each other, silent, neither able to believe our eyes. It couldn’t be him. He couldn’t have changed this much in the few weeks since I’d seen him last.