“Not you,” said another one. “Jones, maybe. She ran into him.” And then it clicked.

“Quick,” I said. “My mom. The Butterfly. He attacked us. I’ve been trying to find help.” I gestured frantically back in the direction of my house, and that was all it took. All four guards snapped to attention at my words and took off at a full sprint toward my house, yelling commands into their communicators as they took my story hook, line, and sinker. Elliot came to stand beside me as they disappeared around a corner.

“I’m impressed,” he said. “You didn’t even really have to lie.”

“I know,” I said, swallowing hard. I’d just left out that the Butterfly was me. Before I could think any more about what my mom would say when those officers showed up, I spotted the clock tower. We had five minutes left.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Elliot

There was only one main path that led to the West Gate, and as we raced down it we were joined by Tess and Eliana. Tess held up a lumpy pillowcase, and I felt myself relax the tiniest fraction of an inch. One more section of campus safe. A minute later we almost ran right into Corban and Blake as they burst through the shrubbery and onto the path in front of us. They hadn’t managed to grab a bag, and their hands were full of the small black explosives. The sight was unnerving. But where were Serina and Sam? I wondered as the rest of us hurled around the last bend in the path and saw the West Gate.

It felt like a lifetime ago that Regan’s mom had walked us out of those doors and onto the boat that would take us to the mountain. Tonight, though, those thick steel doors were shut tight, and I could only hope that Regan was right and her mom’s card would open them. As we hurtled closer, I saw that security officers were standing to either side of the gate, and I felt what little hope I’d managed to muster fizzle.

“Security officers dead ahead,” I called to Regan, and I noticed again the ragtag appearance of our group. We weren’t exactly inconspicuous.

“Yup,” Regan said, and then to my utter surprise she sprinted straight up to them.

“Help!” she screamed, and they rushed toward her, their hands poised above the weapons.

“There’s been an attack!” she cried. “A Butterfly, at my house. You have to go help my mom!” It took the guards a second to recognize who was screaming at them, but I could tell the moment that they did, as they stood up just a hair straighter.

I watched this performance feeling more than a little impressed. Thanks to the help of the blood covering her chin and shirt from her busted nose, she was pulling off a pretty exceptional damsel in distress.