“Yeah. Trueborn are the pure bloodlines. Mogadorians born of Mogadorian parents. Like me,” Adam says, slouching a bit. His trueborn status is no great point of pride. “The others, the vatborn, are the soldiers you’ve fought most often. They are not born but grown, thanks to the science of Setrákus Ra.”

“Is that why they disintegrate?” Sarah asks. “Because they’re not, like, real Mogs?”

“They’re bred for combat, not for burying,” Adam replies.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a life,” I say. “You Mogs worship Setrákus Ra for that?”

“As the histories contained in the Great Book tell it, our people were dying off before the so-called Beloved Leader came along. The vatborn and Setrákus Ra’s genetic research saved our species.” Adam pauses, a sneer forming as he thinks this over. “Of course, Setrákus Ra also wrote the Great Book, so who knows.”

“Fascinating,” Malcolm says.

“Yeah, definitely more about Mogadorian breeding than I ever wanted to know,” I say, turning back to the laptop. “If this place is filled with high-ranking Mogs, won’t it be heavily guarded?”

“There will be guards, yes, but not enough to make a difference,” he replies. “You need to understand, my people feel safe here. They are used to being the hunters, not the hunted.”

“So what?” I continue. “We kill a few trueborn Mogs and that’s it? What difference does that make?”

“Any losses in trueborn leadership will have wide-ranging impacts on Mogadorian operations. The vatborn are not particularly good at directing themselves.” Adam traces his finger across the immaculately kept lawns of Ashwood Estates. “Plus, there are tunnels beneath these houses.”

Malcolm walks around to our side of the table, crossing his arms as he looks at the images. “I thought you destroyed those tunnels, Adam.”

“I damaged them, yes,” Adam replies. “But they stretch far beyond the rooms we were in. Even I am not entirely sure what we might find down there.”

Sam looks from Adam to his father. “Is that where . . . ?”

“It’s where they held me,” Malcolm answers. “Where they took my memories. And where Adam rescued me.”

“It’s possible we could find a way to restore your memories,” Adam says, sounding eager to help Malcolm. “If the equipment wasn’t too badly damaged.”

What Adam’s saying makes sense, but I can’t quite bring myself to admit it. I’ve spent my entire life running and hiding from Mogadorians, fighting them, killing them. They’ve taken everything from me. And now, here I am, making battle plans alongside one. It just doesn’t feel right. Not to mention we’re talking about a full frontal assault on a Mogadorian compound with none of the other Garde backing me up.

As if on cue, Dust wanders over and sits down next to Adam’s feet. He reaches down to absently scratch behind its ears.

If the animals trust him, shouldn’t I be able to?

“Whatever we find in those tunnels,” Adam continues, probably knowing I’m not sold, “I am certain it will provide valuable insight into their plans. If your friends are captured or being tracked, we will know for sure once I’ve accessed the Mogadorian systems.”