The agents are smart enough not to get too close. I know how fast Five is, though. If he wanted to come at one of them, he’d be able to close the gap in a second or two with his flight. I stride forward onto the grass, hoping to get his attention on me before he does anything crazy. Sam stays right at my side, Daniela a few steps behind. That’s when I notice the lumpy shape in the grass next to Five. It’s one of those blue plastic construction tarps wrapped around what is obviously a body, all of that tightly bound together by thick coils of industrial-strength chain.

That must be Nine.

“Give him to me,” I say to Five, not wasting any time.

Five looks down at the body and it’s almost like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Sure, John,” Five replies.

Five bends down and hooks his hands through the chains. He hoists up Nine’s body and grimaces. He’s hurt and tired, and I can tell this show is taxing him more than he counted on. With an animal grunt, Five tosses the body across the thirty yards that separates us. I catch Nine in midair with my telekinesis and lower him gently to the ground. Immediately, I rip off the chains and unroll the tarp.

Nine lies unconscious in the grass in front of me. His clothes are in as bad a condition as Five’s and his injuries are similarly gruesome. There are blaster burns on his arms and chest, one of his hands is broken like something crushed it and there’s a bad gash on his head. It’s that last thing that really worries me. Blood soaks through Nine’s mane of dark hair—a lot of it—and his eyes don’t open when I gently slap his cheek.

Sam puts a hand on my shoulder. “Is he . . . ?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Five groans, answering Sam’s question for me. “I had to hit him pretty hard to knock him out, though. You’ll probably want to get on that, doc.”

I place my hands on the side of Nine’s head, but pause before I start healing him. It’s going to require my concentration and that means I won’t be able to keep an eye on Five. I look up at him.

“You going to do anything stupid?” I ask him.

Five holds up his hands, palms out, even though one of his arms won’t go as high as the other. Then, he flops backwards into a sitting position. “Don’t worry, John. I’m not going to hurt any of your little friends.” All the same, his one eye scans over my crew, sizing each of them up. Five’s gaze lingers on Daniela. “You’re no cop,” he says. “What’s your deal?”

“Don’t talk to me, creep,” she replies.