I grab the Dumpster with my telekinesis and launch it at the Mog before he can get too far. The Dumpster’s metal sides screech as they grind against the alley wall. It hits the Mog and pins him up against the wall, his bones crunching.

“Tell me what you’re doing here and I’ll make this quick,” I say, walking over to him. To demonstrate, I put a little telekinetic pressure on the Dumpster, grinding it farther into his mangled body. A bubble of dark blood dribbles down the Mog’s chin. His scream of frustration and pain makes me hesitate. I’ve never done anything like this before. The Mogs I’ve killed have all been quick and in self-defense. I hope I’m not going too far.

“You—you’re all going to die,” spits the Mog.

I’m wasting my time. I’m not likely to learn anything important from some lowly scout. I shove the Dumpster one last time with my telekinesis, finishing him off. Then I pull the Dumpster away from the wall and pluck the envelope from the pile of Mogadorian ash. I turn it over in my hands—it’s stuffed with papers.

“What is it?” Sarah asks, approaching cautiously from the mouth of the alley.

I light up one of my hands so I can see the papers in the darkness. I’m holding three pages covered in rigid script that looks like a cross between hieroglyphics and Chinese. Written in Mogadorian, of course. I guess it’d be too lucky to catch the Mogs sending secret orders in English. I hold up the papers so that Sarah can see.

“Know any good Mogadorian translators?” I ask.

Back at the penthouse, I gather everyone in the dining room to describe my encounter with the Mogs. Nine pats me on the back when I get to the part about killing the three Mogadorians.

“You should’ve brought that last one back here,” he says. “We could’ve tortured something out of him like they did to us.”

I shake my head. I glance over at Sam, who has begun surreptitiously rubbing his scarred wrists. “That’s not what we do,” I say. “We’re better than that.”

“It’s a war, Johnny,” Nine replies.

“What does this mean?” Marina asks. “Do they know where we are?”

“I doubt it,” I say. “If they were here for us, they’d have sent more than three. They didn’t even recognize me when I approached.”

“Yeah, and you’re a famous Mogadorian killer,” says Eight. “Weird.”

“They’d have come by now if they were coming,” Six adds. “They aren’t exactly known for their subtlety. We need to figure out what these papers say. It could be some kind of invasion plan.”

“Just like my dream,” whispers Ella.

The papers in question are being passed around the table, everyone taking a look at the meaningless symbols on the pages.