Five’s good eye flicks briefly in our direction. He definitely heard us, but he can’t see us. Maybe there’s hope he’ll just write it off as noise from the Mogs outside. I want another go at the renegade Garde, too—one where he doesn’t sucker punch me into unconsciousness before the fight even starts—but we have to pick our battles. Facing off against Five in an enclosed space with a Mogadorian warship at our back is definitely not the battle we want. We’ll need to figure out another way to recover Eight’s body.

I pull at Marina’s arm, the icy pinpricks in my hand now replaced by full-on numbness, trying to communicate to her just how terrible an idea charging in would be. She tugs against me for a moment, but then I start to feel her calm down, which I can tell because my hand starts to warm up.

But as Marina slowly and quietly releases a deep breath, I see it mist in front of her, the air around her too cold. A cloud of breath from an invisible girl, floating in the bright lights of the hangar.

Five sees it, his eye narrowing. He stands up from his chair and looks right at the spot where we’re standing.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” he says.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

I CLENCH MARINA’S AND NINE’S HANDS, HOPING that will be enough to keep them from saying anything back to Five and totally giving away our position. I’m not ready to lose our one advantage—invisibility—just yet. Thankfully, they both manage to control themselves, Five’s words hanging out there unanswered.

“I know you won’t believe me,” Five continues. “But no one was supposed to get killed.”

Five’s beseeching gaze is still aimed right at us, so slowly, quietly, I begin leading the others to the side. We move just inches at a time, careful of each other, not making any noise. Gradually, we slip out from under Five’s gaze, flanking him. Now, he’s staring at truly empty space, stupidly waiting for a response.

With a grunt, Five turns away. It’s like he was never talking to us at all. Instead, he starts speaking directly to Eight’s body.

“You shouldn’t have done what you did, diving in front of Nine,” Five lectures, his voice almost wistful. “It was heroic, I guess. I kinda admire you for it. But it wasn’t worth it. The Mogadorians are going to win anyway, you know? A levelheaded guy like you would’ve learned his place. You could’ve helped with the rebuilding and unification. Nine, though . . . he’s too brain-dead to know when he’s beat. He’s no good to anyone.”

I feel muscles tense in Nine’s arm, but for now he resists the urge to throw himself at Five. That’s good—he’s learning. Or maybe, like me, he’s stunned this is happening at all, Five just rambling away like this, pretending we’re not here.

Five puts his hand gently on Eight’s shoulder. The sleeve of his uniform rides up and I notice the leather sheath strapped to his arm, the one that holds the needle-shaped spring-loaded dagger that he used to kill our friend.