He squints at me. “I’ll figure something out that don’t involve mutant powers, thank you very much.”

I sigh and raise my hand, intending to telekinetically drag Dale’s stupid ass back onto his boat, but Marina touches my shoulder and stops me.

“Let him go,” she says.

“But we need him to find the base,” I reply.

“We’re close enough,” Marina says, shaking her head. “And besides—”

“Uh, holy shit,” Nine interrupts, shielding his eyes and staring up at the sky.

“I think we can just follow that thing,” Marina finishes.

The day suddenly gets very dark. I look up as a shadow passes overhead, cutting off the limited light that was squeezing through the swamp’s canopy. Through the leaves, all I can see is the armor-plated hide of a Mogadorian ship as it begins to descend. It’s nothing like the dinky saucer-style crafts that I was able to knock out of the sky with a few well-placed lightning bolts. This ship is enormous, the size of an aircraft carrier, ferocious gun turrets protruding from its belly. The local birds squawk and take flight, darting away from this terrifying giant.

Instinctively, I reach out and grab Nine and Marina, turning the three of us invisible. A boat of Mogadorians is one thing. I don’t think we’re ready for something this big. The warship above us doesn’t care, though. It doesn’t notice us. To a ship that size, we’re as insignificant as the mosquitoes. As it passes, gliding above the swampland and gradually allowing light to reenter, I feel like I’ve shrunk, like I’m small again.

Like I’m a child.

And then I remember that last day on Lorien. The nine of us and our Cêpans running for the ship that would take us to Earth. The screams all around us, the heat of fire from the city, blaster fire hissing through the air. I remember looking up into the night sky and seeing ships just like the one passing over us, blotting out the stars, their turrets blazing, their cargo doors falling open to let loose hordes of blood-hungry Piken. Above us, I realize, is a Mogadorian warship. It’s what they will use to take Earth once and for all.

“They’re here,” I say, the breath nearly sucked out of me. “It’s starting.”

CHAPTER

SEVEN

GRADUALLY, THE SUBURBS OUTSIDE WASHINGTON, D.C., start to change. The houses become bigger and farther apart, until eventually they aren’t visible from the road at all. Outside the van windows are immaculately maintained meadows or miniature parks where the trees are spaced at obsessively equal intervals, designed to keep the houses behind them hidden from prying eyes. The side streets branching off from the main road all have prestigious-sounding names like Oaken Crest Way or Goldtree Boulevard, all of them protected by severe PRIVATE PROPERTY signs.

In the backseat, Sam whistles. “I can’t believe they live out here. Like rich people.”

“No kidding,” I reply, my hands sweating on the steering wheel. I was thinking the same thing as Sam but don’t really feel like talking about it, worried that I won’t be able to keep the jealousy out of my voice. I’ve spent my entire life on the run, dreaming about living in places like this—stable, quiet places. And here are the Mogs, carving out a normal life for their trueborn upper class, living the high life on a planet they’re only looking to exploit and destroy.