Sitting on a metal chair, I’m in a Plexiglas cage in the back of a small truck. My hands are cuffed to the chair and my ankles are secured with heavy shackles. A strap of leather pulls my forehead back against the Plexiglas wall behind me. I’m facing the side of the truck, but can turn my head just enough to see Nine, also in a Plexiglas cage, a few feet away from mine. In front of me a guard is watching us. I know I could free myself in an instant, but BK , who’s still hiding in my pocket, is right. We need to see what they know and how it could help us. Nine must agree because he is even more capable of breaking the binds that hold him, but he, too, does nothing. There are a bunch of locks on our cages and the only way we can talk through the thick Plexiglas is through the eight tiny holes in the cage doors. The truck’s engine is running, but we haven’t moved an inch.

Special Agent Walker is sitting on a long metal bench near the front of the truck. She has one foot on my Chest, and the other on Nine’s. A Mogadorian cannon lies across her lap. The man with the crooked nose is sitting next to her with the other cannon. Walker is whispering into a cell phone. Every so often she glances over at us. I can almost hear what she’s saying, catching words like boyfriend and powerless. I remember Nine saying back in the mountain that he can hear for miles. I hope he’s picking up more than I am.

‘Hey, John!’ Nine yells.

The guard turns towards Nine’s cage and aims a rifle at Nine’s head. ‘You! Shut up!’

Nine ignores him. ‘Johnny! When do you want to roll on out of here? I don’t know about you, but I’m bored, I could use a change of scenery.’ He does enjoy pissing people off. I’m beginning to understand the appeal.

Special Agent Walker closes her phone and pinches the bridge of her nose with her fingers. She looks like an aggravated parent or teacher, her exhaustion wiping away a lot of her authority. Then she takes a deep breath and sits up straight, as if she’s made a decision. She knocks on the window, indicating the driver should start moving.

She stands and marches towards us, balancing herself with the cannon over her head. She comes to a stop in front of me. There’s something in her eyes that wasn’t there before. It’s almost as if she’s sorry she caught us. Or she’s sorry about what she has to do next. Or both.

‘How did you find us?’ I ask.

‘You know how,’ she says.