“All right,” I reply. “Sorry. Poor choice of words. I didn’t realize that you actually got to know her.”

“We had a . . . complex relationship.”

“Like, you were in charge of the Mogs stalking her or something?”

Adam sighs. “No. After she was killed, One’s consciousness was implanted in my brain alongside my own. For a while, basically, we shared a body. I guess that’s why I’m not concerned with holding hands or whatever juvenile thing has been making you uncomfortable for the last five minutes. I’ve been really, really close to Garde before.”

Now it’s my turn to fall silent. I never even met Number One. She remains a complete mystery to me, more like a concept. The unlucky one. First up to bat. The first one to get killed. And yet Adam has all this intimate knowledge of her. It’s weird to think that a Mogadorian has given more thought to Number One than I ever did. Not just that, but it sounds like he actually cared about her. Our world just gets stranger and stranger.

“There she is,” I whisper, sparing us any further awkward conversation as Marina’s lantern comes into view.

“Good,” Adam says, sounding relieved. “Now we follow along and wait for Phiri Dun-Ra to take the bai—”

Adam’s interrupted by cobalt-blue blaster fire sizzling through the air, aimed right for Marina’s lantern. Even with all the jungle noise, I can hear Marina scream.

“Shit! Go!”

I release Adam’s hand and sprint through the jungle, using my telekinesis to shove aside the tangled branches and dense blockades of leaves. I’m sure I pick up a few scratches along the way, but that doesn’t matter. The creature sounds around me become loud with panic as I trample through their territories. I’m distantly aware of Adam running behind me, taking advantage of the path I’m clearing.

Up ahead, I can tell that Marina’s lantern has fallen to the ground by the way it throws crooked beams of light through the twisted tree limbs.

Running full throttle, it takes me less than a minute to knife my way through the jungle. I burst into the small clearing where Marina’s lantern is on the ground, just in time to see Marina running her hand over a blaster burn on her upper arm. She glances up at me as she heals the blistered flesh.

“Plan worked,” Marina says casually.

“You’re hurt,” I reply.

“This? Lucky shot.”