“This way!” Suddenly, Darien flings the backstage curtains wide, beckoning us to hurry.

“Oh, so you’ve returned,” Ethan says mildly.

Darien gives him a look. “You would not believe what just happened—”

“Let’s talk and run, shall we?” I interrupt. “Follow me! I know a shortcut.” There’s a door on the side of the room that is always barred, mostly because it lets out to the next panel space, where the old guy from Star Wars is taking questions and—

“Does he sound like the Joker or is it me?” I ask.

Ethan rolls his eyes, and we cut into the next hall, and then the next, Darien and Elle following close behind. I know this convention center like the back of my hand. I know every nook and cranny, every shortcut and quiet bathroom, and soon I navigate us outside into the sticky Atlanta night.

Darien and Elle speed ahead, folding their fingers together, leaving Ethan and me to follow.

A stream of people follows Jess from one side of the convention to the other, trickling down into the street like the parade we saw earlier, and I can’t help but smile like mad—because although it isn’t a marching band, this is totally my new favorite trope. A bunch of nerds following a princess in a dress made of galaxies.

Beside me, Ethan lets out a long sigh. “So, now that you’re you again, I think we need proper introductions. I’ll start. Hi there, my name’s Ethan Tanaka.”

“That’s a real smooth pickup line.”

“That’s a very long name you have, That’s a real smooth pickup—”

“Imogen,” I laugh, offering my hand. “But my friends call me Mo.”

“Mo, it’s a pleasure.”

We shake hands.

A block away, the crowd has stopped moving. I squint into the distance. “Is Jess trying to—”

He nods, looking as grim as ever. “Yep. She’s climbing on top of that food truck. She always does things the hard way. There is an elevator. She knows there’s an elevator.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and sighs.

I grin at him, secretive and sincere. “I never got to thank you for helping me out with He-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named.”

“Who?”

“The guy from the meet-and-greet. I knew him—well, Imogen knew him.”

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and the lenses flash in the street lights. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry if I was a little…overbearing.”

“You, overbearing?” I snort-laugh. “Whatever gave you that idea? But that move you pulled was really cool. What was it, karate?”

He gives me a blank look. “Mo, not every Asian guy knows karate.”

My cheeks redden. “I didn’t mean—”

“It was Mortal Kombat.”

I blink. “What?”

“The game?” He explains: “I’m kinda a world champion Mortal Kombat player, so I guess my subconscious picked up Raiden’s—”