“When was the last time you checked this?” I ask.

“Weeks ago? I don’t really remember,” Sarah replies. “I’ve been a little busy.”

She opens the most recent message from Mark and we all lean in to examine the contents.

Sarah—

I don’t know why I keep sending these emails. Part of me hopes that you’re reading them, using them to help the Loric, and can’t reply for your own safety. Another part of me worries that you aren’t even out there, that you’re gone. I refuse to believe that but . . .

I need to hear from you.

I thought I had a lead on you in New Mexico. All I found there was a deserted military base. It looked like a major battle went down. Way bigger and nastier than what happened in Paradise. I hope you guys got out safe. I hope like hell I’m not the only one left to fight these assholes. That would suck.

A friend of mine set up a safe house for me. Way off the grid. A place where we can work on exposing those pale freaks to the world. If you can get in touch, I’ll find a way to send you the coordinates. We’re on to something big. Something international. I don’t even know what to do with it.

If you’re reading these, if you’re still in contact with John, now would be a really good time to show up. I need your help.

—Mark

Sarah turns to me, her eyes wide with sudden passion, face set determinedly—I’ve seen that look before, know it well. It’s the look she gives me right before telling me she wants to do something dangerous.

Without her even saying anything, I already know that Sarah wants to find Mark James.

The dashboard clock reads 7:45. We’ve got fifteen minutes until the bus leaves for Alabama.

I’ve got fifteen minutes left with Sarah Hart.

Fifteen minutes was about how long it took Adam to encrypt Sarah’s email against any Mogadorian hackers. She got off a quick note to Mark, who replied almost immediately with an address for a restaurant in Huntsville. He told Sarah he’d watch the place for the next few days and, if she really was Sarah Hart, he’d pick her up there and spirit her off to his secret hideout. At least Mark’s being careful, I told myself. That gives me confidence that Sarah will be safe. After that brief communication, Adam immediately wiped both email accounts from the internet.

Now, here we are.

We’re parked in front of the bus station in downtown Baltimore, the place bustling with activity even at sunset. I’m behind the wheel, Sarah in the passenger seat next to me. We fit right in, just two teenagers sitting in a crappy car, in the middle of saying good-bye.

“I keep waiting for the part where you try talking me out of going,” Sarah says, her smile a little sad. “You’ll say it’s too dangerous, we’ll argue, you’ll lose and I’ll end up going anyway.”