The stranger from the restaurant sat on the red-carpeted floor, his back against the opposite wall. He still wore the dark suit, his shoes so shiny that the hallway light reflected off them and into Tick’s eyes. As soon as he saw Tick, he put his right index finger to his lips—a reminder they weren’t supposed to talk.

Feeling uneasy, but unsure what else they could do, Tick stepped back and opened the door wide, gesturing with a sweep of his arm that the stranger should come in. The large man—bald head and all—got to his feet and entered the room, giving a quick nod to Paul and Sofia. Tick closed the door as quietly as he could.

The man sat on the bed, waving for the others to come and stand around him. As Tick and his friends obeyed, the stranger pulled out a photograph, a few pieces of paper, and a ballpoint pen. He’d already written one note and handed it to Tick along with the picture. In it, the man stood with Master George in front of the fireplace at the Grand Canyon Realitant complex, both of them with wide smiles; Muffintops perched on the mantle behind Master George’s right shoulder.

The message was clear: they could trust the guy.

Paul and Sofia crowded closer as they read the note together:

Your nanolocators done been hijacked. And this hotel is bugged like a bugger.

It’s not Master George winking you willy-nilly. Reginald Chu is behind everything.

You MUST keep passing that sucker’s tests.

At first, Tick felt like he was reading Spanish or French or Chinese—the words didn’t click inside his brain. Such a monumental statement surely couldn’t be said in a quickly scribbled note. He looked at the stranger, knowing his face showed the confusion he felt.

Master George’s friend rolled his eyes and wrote another message, hastily scratching the paper with the pen. Then he held it up for them to read:

You’ve been under the control of Reginald Chu
all along. He’s testing you. Not Master George.

It’s Chu—it’s all been Chu.

Something shuddered in Tick’s chest; the room swayed. Losing his balance, he stumbled backward, falling into the chair where Paul had been sitting earlier.

Everything they’d just been through . . . the pain they’d felt in the forest, the riddles, the metaspides, the weird tunnel with its beast? All of it had been orchestrated by Reginald Chu? They’d suspected all along it wasn’t Master George, but Chu? The man Rutger called the most evil in the universe?

“How—” Sofia said, then snapped her lips closed.