Before it can get too weird, the tablet boots up. Sam peers over my shoulder.

“They’re still in Florida,” Sam says.

There’s a solitary dot for me on the tablet, pulsing on the East Coast, and then miles to the south are the four dots for the surviving Garde. Three of the dots are bunched together, basically overlapping into one glowing blob, while a fourth is a short distance away. Immediately, scenarios for that isolated dot begin cycling through my head. Was one of our friends captured? Did they have to separate after they were attacked? Is that Five apart from the others? Does that prove he’s a traitor, like in my vision?

I’m distracted from these thoughts by the fifth dot on the tablet, literally an ocean away from the others. This one hovers over the Pacific, its glow a little dimmer than the rest.

“That must be Ella,” I say, my brow furrowing. “But how—”

Before I can finish my question, Ella’s dot flickers and disappears. A second later, before I can even process my panic, Ella blinks back to life, now hovering over Australia.

“What the hell?” Sam asks, staring over my shoulder.

“It’s moving so fast,” I say. “Maybe they’re transporting her somewhere.”

The dot disappears again, then reappears at an impossible point over Antarctica, nearly off the edge of the tablet’s screen. For the next few seconds, it flickers in and out, bouncing across the map. I smack the side of the tablet with my palm out of frustration.

“They’re scrambling the signal somehow,” I say. “We’ve got no chance of finding her while it’s like this.”

Sam points to the others clustered around Florida. “If they were going to hurt Ella, wouldn’t they have done it already?”

“Setrákus Ra wants her,” Sarah puts in, looking at me. I had told them all about that nightmare scene in D.C. and Ella ruling alongside Setrákus Ra. It’s still hard for any of us to believe, but at least it gives us one advantage. We know what Setrákus Ra wants.

“I hate to leave her out there,” I say grimly. “But I don’t think he’ll harm her. Not yet, anyway.”

“At least we know where the others are,” Sam insists. “We need to get down there before someone else . . .”

“Sam’s right,” I decide, driven by the sinking feeling that one of those dots could blink out at any moment. “They might need our help.”

“I think that would be a mistake,” Adam says. His voice is tentative, but there’s still enough Mog harshness to make my fists clench from reflex. I’m not used to having one of them around.

I turn to stare at him. “What did you say?”

“A mistake,” he repeats. “It’s predictable, John. It’s a reactionary move. This is why my people always catch up to you.”

I can feel my jaw working, trying to form a response, but mostly I just want to punch his face in. I’m about to take a step forward when Sam puts a hand on my shoulder.