My dad must know by my wide-eyed look that something’s wrong. He leaves BK and walks towards me, but I find myself stepping instinctively backwards into the hallway. I’m keeping a safe distance from the loving father who rescued me from a prison cell. Great.

I thrust the documents at him. “Why would the Mogadorians have these?”

He flips through the papers, turning the pages more rapidly as he realizes what they are. “These—these are my notes.”

“I know. How did the Mogadorians get their hands on them?”

He must realize the implication of my question because a hurt expression briefly clouds his face.

“Sam, I did not do this,” he says, trying to sound convincing, but there’s a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“Can you be sure? What if—what if they did something to you, Dad? Something that you don’t remember?”

“No. Impossible,” he says, shaking his head, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. I can tell by his tone that he doesn’t truly believe it’s impossible. In fact, I think he’s frightened by the thought. “Are the originals still in my room?”

Together, we run back to his room. The notebook is on his bureau, right where it’s supposed to be. My dad flips through it, like he’s looking for some sign it’s been tampered with. His features tighten like they do when he’s trying to remember something. I think he’s realizing that he can’t trust himself, that the Mogadorians could’ve done something to him.

He turns to me with a grim look on his face. “If my notes have gotten into Mogadorian hands, we have to assume this place is compromised. You should arm yourself, Sam. Sarah too.”

“What about you?” I ask, my stomach turning over.

“I—I can’t be trusted,” he stammers. “You should lock me in here, until the Garde return.”

“There has to be another explanation,” I say, my voice cracking. I’m not sure if I really believe that or if I just want it to be true.

“I don’t remember leaving,” he says. “But I suppose my memory isn’t worth much, at this point.”

He drops heavily onto the bed in his room. He folds his hands in his lap and stares down at them. He looks defeated somehow, undermined by both his mind and his son.

I start towards the door. “Look, I’m going to go get Sarah and some guns. But I’m not going to lock you in here. Just stay here, okay?”

“Wait.” He stops me, holding up a hand. “What is that?”

I hear it too. A low rumbling sound, coming from the drawer of his nightstand. I get there first, flinging open the drawer.