So much for the Piper’s promises. Ink knew he might live a few hours longer than the others, but in the end he would be as dead as Trev and Ox and Ash.

The door of the motel room opened. Two men appeared, silhouetted in the doorway. Ink squinted against the sudden glare of light. A faint flicker of hope shot through him. Maybe Barrow had changed his mind. Maybe the Piper had decided he could not afford to lose three loyal students. Maybe . . .

Each of the men in the doorway had a gun. Hope died as swiftly and as mercilessly as it had sprung to life. So much for hoping Barrow had come back for them. Ink knew he and the others were about to die at the hands of dealers looking for their stash. At least a bullet would be a faster way to check out.

“If you’re looking for drugs, you’re too late,” Ink mumbled. “They’re gone and we’re dead.”

“Not quite,” the first man said. He moved into the room. “Maybe not for a few decades, if you’re smart.”

The second man was in the room now, his powerful aura flaring. He made his gun disappear inside his leather jacket and crouched in front of Trev, checking for a pulse.

“This one’s still alive,” he announced. “Barely.”

The first man slipped his weapon into a shoulder holster and stopped in front of Ink. “This is the one who played the recorder. Goes by the name of Ink. He’s conscious and able to make eye contact.”

Ink tried to get a close look at the man looming over him. He wasn’t nearly as scary as the other guy. Everything about him was less threatening—well, except for the gun.

“Who are you?” Ink rasped.

“As we used to say in the old days, we’re from the Foundation and we’re here to help.”

“Did you really say that?” the man examining Trev asked, not looking up.

“For some reason, it always made the bad guys nervous,” the first man said.

A jolt of recognition slammed through Ink. “You’re Harlan Rancourt, the guy who grabbed the oracle. The Piper told us your family used to run some kind of mob operation called the Foundation.”

Rancourt crouched down in front of Ink. “We liked to think of it as the family business. Are you three dying because you need the serum?”

“Bastard poisoned us. Said it would be quicker than the serum.”

“Who poisoned you?”

“Barrow. He’s the Piper’s friend. Had a feeling we couldn’t trust him if things went wrong. I was right.”

“Where’s Barrow?”

“Gone. Left us here to die.”

“Did Barrow take the recorder after he poisoned you?” Harlan asked.