“Oh man,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry for . . .” Nine shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, thank you for saving my life. Five was right, uh, you probably shouldn’t have. If I’d just shut my mouth you’d probably still be . . . shit, I’m sorry, Eight. I’m so sorry.”

Nine takes a shuddering breath, obviously holding back tears. Marina puts her hand softly on his back and leans against him.

“He would forgive you,” she says softly, adding, “I forgive you.”

Nine puts his arm around Marina and pulls her into a hug that’s tight enough to make her squeak. He buries his face in her hair, hiding his tears. My mind is and has always been racing—wondering about John, Sam and the others, worrying about how we’re going to find our way back to them, if they’re even still alive and uncaptured—but seeing Marina and Nine like this, coming together, starting to heal, it gives me hope. We’re a strong people. We can get through anything.

“We need to get moving,” I say gently, reluctant to end this moment but knowing that I have to.

Nine finally releases Marina, and I carefully zip up Eight’s body bag. Nine reaches down and, with an equal amount of care, lifts Eight’s body into his arms.

Just as we turn towards the hangar doors, they rumble open.

The group of Mogadorians who were working on the scout ship. I forgot all about them. They stand in the doorway, caught in the middle of pushing their broken ship into the hangar. They look about as surprised to see us as we are to see them.

Before we can do anything, a mechanical grinding emanates from the ship. The front—or at least the side of the saucer aimed directly at us—opens up, a blaster turret clanking into view and whirring to life with an electric sizzle. There must be a Mog inside.

“Get down!” Nine shouts.

There’s no cover in this empty hangar except the metal table, and it’s way too late to go invisible. Marina flips over the table, Nine crouches with Eight’s body still in his arms, and I dive to the side, hoping that we’re fast enough as the turret opens fire.

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

“DOES THE NAME GRAHISH SHARMA MEAN ANYTHING to you?” Sarah asks.

I think for a moment, trying to pluck the name out of my memory. “Sounds kind of familiar. Why?”

I’m standing in the yard outside Adam’s old house, Sarah’s voice arriving long-distance over the disposable cell phone. Beyond the empty basketball courts, the sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon. A large bird cuts across the orange sky and I wonder if it’s one of ours—we’ve set the Chimærae up as sentries all around the grounds of Ashwood Estates with orders to find us if any intruders should appear. So far, it’s been quiet. If I didn’t know better, it’d seem like I was hanging out in a peculiarly quiet suburb, one where everyone’s still at work.