I think back to dinner that first night when my dad laid out the details of his long Mogadorian imprisonment. I remember some of the Garde seeming suspicious, especially when my dad talked about the tinkering the Mogadorians did with his mind. Nine even came right out and said that it could be a trap.

But that wasn’t possible. He’s my father. We could trust him.

I race down the hallway to my dad’s room. I’m not even sure what I’m going to do when I find him. Confront him? Tell him we need to get the hell out of here?

His room is empty. I find myself taking a quick glance around, not even sure what I’m looking for. Some kind of Mogadorian communicator? A Mog-English dictionary? Nothing looks out of the ordinary.

There has to be a rational explanation for this, right?

Hadn’t I seen with my own eyes the kind of literal mind games the Mogadorians are capable of? I’d seen Adam use a Legacy that was apparently the side effect of the Mogs ripping out the memories from a dead Garde. Even now, John and Ella were comatose thanks to some telepathic assault perpetuated by Setrákus Ra. The Mogadorians held on to my dad for years and ran unspeakable experiments on his mind.

Was it really outside the realm of possibility that the Mogs could’ve brainwashed him?

My dad might not even be aware they’re controlling him. They might have done something to his brain and then let him escape on purpose, knowing that he’d be more valuable out in the world, gathering intelligence. The Mogs could’ve programmed him in a way that he’s secretly reporting to them while he sleeps—I remember reading something about how double agents could be hypnotized into forgetting their own subterfuge. Was that a real article or a comic book? I couldn’t remember.

Back in the hallway, I yell, “Dad? Where are you?” I try to keep my voice normal and steady. Because what if he is a Mogadorian spy? I don’t want to tip him off.

“In here,” my dad yells back from Ella and John’s room.

My dad the alien spy? Come on. Get a grip, Sam. That’s the kind of conspiracy theory I might’ve found in They Walk Among Us. It’s ridiculous. More importantly, I know in my heart that it isn’t true.

So why do I feel so nervous?

I stand in the doorway to Ella’s room clutching the translated documents. Sarah has gone to her own room to get some sleep, so it’s just him and Bernie Kosar standing watch over John and Ella. BK is curled up, asleep, my dad idly scratching behind his ears.

“What is it, Sam?” he asks.