“They’re here,” Phiri says at last, a note of triumph in her voice. “The Garde have activated the Sanctuary.”

Setrákus Ra leans back in his seat, his eyebrows arched in surprise. He laces his hands in front of him in consideration.

“Very good,” he replies. “Excellent. Your orders are to keep them there, Phiri Dun-Ra. On your life. I will join you shortly.”

“As you wish, Belo—”

Setrákus Ra severs the connection before Phiri Dun-Ra can finish. The mentions of the Garde and the Sanctuary have me a little more aware. I try to think of Six and Marina, of John and Nine—I know they would want me to fight through this. It’s just so difficult to keep my mind from going blank, to keep my body from slouching.

“For years I’ve pursued them,” Setrákus Ra says quietly, almost to himself. “To wipe out the last bit of resistance to Mogadorian Progress. To take control of what those Elder fools buried on this planet. Now, the day has come when everything I’ve fought for will be mine, all at once. Tell me, granddaughter, how can there be any doubt of Mogadorian superiority?”

He doesn’t really want a response. Setrákus Ra just likes to hear himself talk. I let a slow, medicated smile form on my face. That seems to please him. My grandfather reaches out and pats me on the knee.

“You’re feeling better, aren’t you?” he says. He flips a few levers on the console and our ship’s engines vibrate to life. “Come. Let us go take what is ours.”

With that, Setrákus Ra navigates the ship forward. We zip through the docking bay, past the rows of Mogadorian warriors. They thump their fists against their chests as we go, shouting out gravelly Mogadorian encouragement. We exit through the same passage as Five’s body. That part—seeing him brutalized and then tossed aside like so much garbage—I’m glad to lose to the fog.

We descend on Manhattan. I can see all the humans gathered below. There are thousands of them crowded in front of a fancy-looking set of buildings and its surrounding campus. I can make out a stage down there, too. It’s all built on the bank of a gray, choppy river. I remember the Washington from my vision, the smoky smells that choked the air. That will be New York soon. I wonder if these people will throw themselves into the river when their city begins to burn.

The people below point up at our ship. I can hear them shouting and screaming out greetings. These humans—the ones who came closest to the Anubis—they don’t think they’re in any danger.

It occurs to me that we’re traveling into this throng of people without any Mogadorian guards. I loll my head towards my grandfather, wet my lips and manage to find words.

“We’re facing them alone?” I ask him.

He smiles. “Of course. I mean to elevate these people, not harm them. We have nothing to fear from the humans. My servants on Earth have arranged for a greeting that I find more than suitable.”