“We won’t be able to come back here. It’s going to be crawling with cops and probably the feds that work for the Mogs. I have to get our Chests and see if I can find BK.”

Sam steps forward. “I can help you.”

“No,” I reply. “Go with Sarah and your dad. With my telekinesis, I can carry them myself.”

“You promised we’d stay together,” Sarah says, her voice shaky.

I pull her close to me. “You’re my getaway driver,” I tell her. “Get the fastest of Nine’s cars and meet me by the zoo. You guys shouldn’t have a problem getting out, but they might be looking for me. I should be able to jump to the next roof and get down that way.” I step back from the elevator, then lunge forward to plant one last kiss on Sarah. “I love you,” I tell her.

“I love you too,” she replies.

The elevator doors hiss closed. I race through the destroyed penthouse and back to the workshop. It’s been wrecked too—all this hard work, the Lecture Hall never to be used again. I try to think only practical thoughts. What should I take with me? The first thing I grab is the tablet that shows our locations. Four dots still displaying in Florida—damn it, that’s one too few. I’m not ready to focus on the identity of the one we’ve lost or what to do about Ella or the fact that Setrákus Ra might actually be Loric.

I grab a stray duffel bag from beneath an overturned table and duck into the Lecture Hall to load it up with guns. I stow the tablet in there too and throw that over my shoulder. I want to keep my hands free, just in case any Mogs are still lurking around, so I levitate all of our Chests with my telekinesis. With all the windows blown out, I can easily hear the sirens wailing down below. This is all I’ll be able to carry. It’s time to get back on the run.

The Inheritances floating behind me, I run out of the workshop and back through the penthouse. I need to get to the roof and see if BK made it out alive.

Before I can reach the stairs, the elevator dings open. Damn it—I was too slow.

I look over my shoulder, expecting to see some of Chicago’s finest with guns drawn. Instead, it’s a lone Mogadorian. Pale as usual, dark hair in his face, younger than normal, and he looks different than other Mogs I’ve seen, more human. A gun pointed in front of him—at me.