Approaching from the south, a single set of boot prints, double the size of my own, dot the mountainside, a perfect straight line cut into the snow leading from town to the cave. They seem to tromp around its opening, as though circling it. I’m flustered, certain there’s something else here I’m missing. And then it dawns on me. The prints—they lead into the cave, but they don’t lead back out.

Whoever they belong to is still inside.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

THEY’RE HERE! I THINK. AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, THE Mogadorians are finally here!

I turn so fast I slip and fall into the snow. I quickly crawl backwards away from the cave’s mouth, my shoes tangled in the blanket. Tears well up in my eyes. My heart races. I manage to right myself and sprint as hard and as fast as my legs will carry me. I don’t even look behind me to see if I’m being followed, sweeping across the same snowy terrain I’d just hiked through, moving so fast I hardly take note of where my feet are falling. The trees below me begin to blur, as do the clouds above. I can feel the blanket hovering behind my shoulders, flapping in the wind like a superhero’s cape. I trip once and slide across the ground, but immediately scramble to my feet and sprint onward, jumping straight over the camel’s back, again crashing when I land. And then I finally dash past the birch trees and make it back to the convent; the hike there took nearly twenty-five minutes; the sprint back took less than five. Like the ability to breathe underwater, the Legacy of superspeed presents itself when I need it to.

I untie the blanket from around my neck, burst through the double doors, and hear the lunchtime clatter coming from the dining room. I hurry up the winding staircase and down the narrow hall, knowing it’s Adelina’s turn to take Sunday off. I enter the open room where the Sisters sleep. Adelina sits regally in one of the two high-back chairs, Bible in her lap. She closes it when she sees me coming.

“Why aren’t you at lunch?” she asks.

“I think they’re here,” I say, out of breath, my hands violently shaking. I bend over and rest them on my knees.

“Who?”

“You know who!” I yell. Then, between my closed teeth: “Mogadorians.”

Her eyes narrow in disbelief. “Where?”

“I went to the cave—”

“What cave?” she interrupts.

“Who cares what cave! There was a set of boot prints outside of it, huge boot prints—”

“Slow down, Marina. Boot prints outside of a cave?”

“Yes,” I say.