“Ian appeared to be himself on Saturday,” Malachi replied. He watched the baseball players as they began to walk toward the school. “But it’s been nearly forty-eight hours since we’ve seen him. And there is no way to know about Greg and Levi just by looking at them.”

“Do you think you could get close to those guys?” I pulled Tegan’s phone from my pocket to see that Ian was trying to reach her. Picking up where Aden left off? “You’re right—a lot of time has passed since Friday. Some of them might have been taken, too. And they might be trying to lure others. Aden—Ibram, I mean—tried to get ahold of Tegan on Saturday. If her dad hadn’t been home, he might have succeeded.”

“Then I’ll question them,” he said, glaring at Ian’s back as he and the others disappeared into the school.

Seeing the fierce look on his face, I reached for his arm but stopped as my hand bounced off the boundary of the no-fly zone I imagined around his body. “Go easy, all right? Act like a curious, concerned guy, not a Guard. I mean, if you smell a Mazikin, let me know immediately, but stay cool. Don’t gut anyone in the school cafeteria.”

He looked down at my hand still suspended in midair. “Understood, Captain.”

I wished he’d just punch me. It would have been less painful than his remoteness. I drew a shaky breath. “And make sure you have their numbers, okay? We need to start keeping closer tabs on all of Aden’s friends because Ibram made sure to tell me that the Mazikin know who they are. I’m going to check on Tegan. I’ll touch base later.”

I walked away without another word, too fried for politeness, too brittle to look Malachi in the eye. Probably too burnt to talk to Tegan, but it was the right thing to do. After all, if the Mazikin were infiltrating our school and targeting people I knew, she would be at the top of the list.

I ended up taking Tegan home. She was too distraught to drive. Plus, until I knew whether any other students were Mazikin, I didn’t feel like leaving her alone. They might know they could get to me through her now.

“This doesn’t make sense. He had a scholarship to BU,” she whispered after several minutes of silence. “He was so psyched. And he said he was going to travel this summer. To Europe. He wanted to get drunk at an Irish pub. One in Ireland.”

I turned onto her pristine street lined with carefully trimmed shrubs. “I’m sorry, Tegan.”

“Why would he do something like that? He wasn’t depressed. He was, like, the opposite. He had a great life, and he knew it.”

I glanced at her. “Maybe … do you think he was high or something?”