“He’s from India,” Sarah explains. “He’s the commander of something called the Vishnu Nationalist Eight.”

The name clicks at the mention of Eight and I snap my fingers. “Oh, right. That’s the army guy who was protecting Eight in the Himalayas.”

“Hmm,” Sarah says. “So his story checks out.”

I pace across the lawn, picturing Sarah with her blond hair pulled up in a studious bun, pens and pencils stuck through it, poring over some documents in the new offices of They Walk Among Us. Never mind that those offices are located in an abandoned ranch fifty miles outside of Huntsville, Alabama. Never mind that Sarah was escorted there by her ex-boyfriend Mark, who’s actually turned out to be surprisingly capable at this cloak-and-dagger stuff. It’s the image of Sarah that I focus on.

“What story is that?”

“Well, it’s a lot of rumor and internet weirdness that we’re trying to cut through. But this Sharma guy is claiming to have shot down an alien spacecraft and captured its crew.”

“Some of the Mogs who were after Eight, probably,” I reply.

“Right. Took them alive and everything. Even though it happened in India, it should still be national news, but it’s not. Someone’s keeping a lid on it. Mark’s trying to make contact with Sharma. He wants to run the story on They Walk Among Us, hopefully expose the Mogs to the general public.”

“Huh,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck and thinking out loud. “Might help rally some support if things get bad.”

“How bad are things going to get, John?”

I swallow hard. Even though I used my healing Legacy shortly after battle, I can still feel the General’s fingers clenched around my throat.

“I don’t know,” I say, not sure why I’m hiding Adam’s theory on imminent invasion from Sarah. I guess maybe I’m still trying to protect her. I quickly change the subject. “How’s Mark doing, anyway?”

“He’s doing fine,” Sarah replies. “He’s changed a lot.”

“How so?”

Sarah hesitates. “I . . . it’s hard to explain.”

I don’t dwell for very long on the present state of Mark James. It isn’t what I want to talk about. Really, after nearly dying this afternoon, all I want is to hear Sarah’s voice.

“I miss you,” I say.

“I miss you, too,” Sarah replies. “After a long day of fighting alien invaders and unraveling international conspiracies, I wish we could just snuggle up on that old couch in my basement and watch a movie.”

That makes me laugh, the feeling bittersweet as I picture the kind of normal life Sarah and I might be leading if we weren’t trying to save the world.

“Soon,” I tell her, trying to sound confident.

“I hope so,” she replies.

I sense movement behind me and turn around to find Sam standing on the ruined porch of Adam’s house. He motions for me to come inside.

“Sarah, I’ve gotta go,” I say, feeling reluctant to hang up the phone. We’ve been checking in with each other every eight hours like we planned, and I feel a sense of relief every time I hear her voice. Every time I disconnect, I start thinking about the next time . . . the time when she won’t call. “Be careful, okay? Things might be getting pretty heavy soon.”