Malcolm grabs a box from under the seat. From within, he produces two earbuds, one for me and one for Adam. The devices are connected to the pair of walkie-talkies Sam and Malcolm will be using. I slip mine into my ear and Adam does the same.

“Are we at all concerned with the local authorities?” Malcolm asks. “A firefight in broad daylight might attract some attention.”

Adam shakes his head. “They’re bought off,” he says, then looks at me. “We will want to be quick, though. Kill them before they can call for reinforcements. If I can get past them into my old house, I should be able to cut off their communications.”

“I can do quick,” I reply.

I strap my Loric dagger to my calf, hidden under my pant leg. Next, I clip my red bracelet around my wrist. The amber jewel in its center that expands to form a shield shimmers in the midday sun. Immediately, the bracelet jolts me with icy pinpricks, warning me there are Mogs in the area. Of course it would—there’s one sitting right next to me. Adam’s presence is going to really wreak havoc on my danger sense.

“Ready?” I ask him.

Next to me, Adam pulls on an over-the-shoulder holster, a silenced handgun now hanging under each of his armpits. He nods.

“Whoa, hold on,” Sam says. “Check out this guy.”

Adam and I turn back to the laptop, watching as another Mogadorian emerges from the house the salvage team is currently unloading. He’s tall and broad shouldered, bigger than the others, and with a more regal bearing. Unlike the others, he has a huge sword strapped across his back. While we watch, he barks some orders at the engineer, then disappears back into the house. When I glance over at Adam, his face is somehow more pale than usual.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says, too quickly. “Just watch out for that one. He’s a trueborn general, one of Setrákus Ra’s most trusted men. He . . .” Adam hesitates, watching the spot on the monitor this general just occupied. “He has killed Garde before.”

I feel heat rushing to my hands. If I wasn’t ready for a fight already, I definitely am now.

“He’s dead,” I say, and Adam merely nods, opens his door and gets out of the van. I look to Sam and Malcolm. “We’ll approach on foot, take out the guards and then you pull up to cover our back.”

“I know, I know,” Sam says. “I’ll watch the monitor and shout in your ear when I see trouble.”

Malcolm has already started unpacking his sniper rifle from its case. I saw him use that thing in Arkansas—he saved my ass. There’s no one I’d rather have watching my back than the Goodes.

“Be careful,” Malcolm says, raising his voice so Adam can hear. “Both of you.”

Sam and I slap hands. “Give them hell,” he says.

And then I’m out of the van, moving at a brisk jog towards the Mogadorian stronghold. Adam keeps up alongside me.