I glance over the crowd to see if any of them are buying it. I end up locking eyes with a young guy in the front row, pushed up right next to some TV cameras, his dark eyes seeking mine. He wears a hooded sweatshirt, long black hair spilling out from inside, and he’s tall and athletic, and—

In my condition, it actually takes me a moment to recognize him. Not so long ago, I balanced on his shoulders and he taught me how to fight.

Nine.

Seeing him, knowing that I’m not alone, that all isn’t lost just yet—it makes me snap back to my senses. The pain in my shoulder increases exponentially, like something is trying to crawl its way out of me. Whatever’s inside me doesn’t want me to use my Legacies. I ignore it and reach out with my telepathy.

Nine! His cane! It’s how he changes forms! Get his cane and smash it!

A feral grin spreads on Nine’s face and he nods to me. My heartbeat quickens.

Next to me, Setrákus Ra’s posture has stiffened. My hand is trapped in the crook of his elbow. He knows that something is up, yet he proceeds with the show all the same.

“I expected more of them to be here on this momentous occasion, yet I see one of your leaders has come out to greet me!” Setrákus Ra extends his hand to the old man. “I come to you in peace, sir! Let this cement the friendship between our two great races.”

Instead of clasping Setrákus Ra’s hand, the old man takes a step away. There’s deep fear in his eyes, but it’s not run-and-scream fear. It’s cornered animal fear. The old man has a microphone of his own and, as the TV cameras swing in his direction, he begins to yell.

“This man—this thing—is a liar!”

“What—” Setrákus Ra takes an aggressive step towards the old man, and I’m loosed from his elbow. For the first time since I’ve been in his company, the Mogadorian leader actually looks surprised.

Surprised and furious.

A murmur of uncertainty passes through the crowd. The old man shouts something else—I hear the words “enslavement” and “death,” but otherwise I can’t really hear him. No one can. Setrákus Ra has used his telekinesis to crush the old man’s microphone.

“You must be confused, my friend,” Setrákus Ra says through gritted teeth, still trying to salvage this farce. “My intentions are pu—”

Setrákus Ra is suddenly knocked off balance. I know why. A telekinetic attack. I watch as his golden cane is ripped out of hand. Nine plucks it out of the air as he hops onto the stage, grinning at Setrákus Ra.

I sense movement to my left. I turn my head to see John also hop onto the stage. They’re flanking him, just like we practiced in the Lecture Hall. Peppered throughout the crowd, I see men and women in dark suits, all of them slyly pulling firearms into view. The crowd is beginning to buzz as some civilians—the smarter ones—begin to back away from the stage.