CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Excerpt from The Revenge of Seven

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CHAPTER ONE

THERE WAS ONCE A PLACE THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL and lush and full of life and natural resources. Some people lived there for a long time, but then others came along who wanted or needed the land and everything on it. So they took it.

There is nothing special about this story. Open any history book on Earth—and probably every other planet—and you’ll see a version of it play out continuously, on loop, over and over again. Sometimes the land is taken in the name of spreading a better way of life. Or for the sake of the native people. Occasionally the takers seize it based on some intangible reason—some divine right or destiny. But all of these reasons are lies. At the center of every conflict is power, and who will wield it. That’s what wars are fought over, and why cities, countries and planets are conquered. And though most people—especially humans—like to pretend that gaining power is just an added bonus on top of whatever a conflict is supposedly about, power is the only thing that anyone is really after.

That’s one great thing about the Mogadorians: they don’t really bother with pretense. They believe in power. Even worship it. They see its potential to grow and serve their cause. So when you’re someone like me who has extraordinary abilities, you become one of two things to the Mogs: a valuable asset, or an enemy who will eventually be destroyed.

Personally, I like being alive.

The Mogs don’t pretend that they took my home planet of Lorien—which I barely remember—for any reason other than because they needed its resources. It’s the same reason they’re on Earth now. A planet as big as Earth will serve the Mogs well for decades—maybe even centuries—before they have to go looking for another home. And the humans . . . well, it’s not like there’s anything really special about them. They’re pretty weak for the most part and are only barely managing to keep the planet alive as it is. One day soon there will be a full-scale invasion, and all their petty problems won’t mean anything, because suddenly there will be some incredibly powerful extraterrestrials lording over them. Showing them how to live. Giving their lives purpose.

And I’ll be one of their new rulers. Because the Mogs have seen the potential in me. They’ve promised me a spot as a commanding officer in the Mog ranks, with North America as my kingdom. My personal playground. And all I have to do is fight alongside them and help them capture the other Garde remaining on Earth. Then I can help the Garde see that there’s no way the Loric are ever going to defeat the Mogs. I’m assuming they were spoon-fed the same stories Rey, my Cêpan, told me when I was growing up: that the Mogs were our enemies.

But that’s not true. Or at least it doesn’t have to be true. Not if we join them.

After sitting around training and waiting for almost my entire life, it feels good to finally have an actual mission. To have a purpose. To not just be hiding and waiting for something to happen to me. It makes me actually want to train and study and get better, because what I’m working towards now isn’t some fairy tale Rey fed me over dinner on the island, but a future I can see.

I’ve learned a lot about the reasons why wars are fought and won in the last few weeks since I’ve been living in a Mog compound somewhere in the middle of West Virginia. In fact, most of my “research” hours are spent in an interrogation room that’s been converted into a study for me, where I learn about famous battles and conflicts or read the Great Book, which is the story of the Mogadorians and how their intellect and abilities outgrew their planet and forced them to seek other worlds to rule and guide. About how the Loric refused to share their resources or listen to reason when it came to adopting the Mogs as rulers. It’s a book written by Setrákus Ra, the unstoppable leader of the Mogs, and, well, let’s just say if I’d read it earlier, I would have had a much clearer viewpoint of the fight between the Mogs and the Loric than I did when I was hiding in a lean-to shack on a deserted island. I’ve begun to wonder if all my memories of being so young and happy on Lorien are just because I was too dumb and little to know what was really going on. I mean, any civilization that puts their last hope in a bunch of toddlers on spaceships has got to be a little bit out of whack, right?

Ethan’s helped me see these things. He’s helped me realize that I have a choice in this war, even though the Elders didn’t want me to have one. It was strange at first to find out that my best friend was working for the Mogs—and that I’d technically been under Mog care for the better part of a year without knowing it—but I can’t blame Ethan for keeping things a secret from me at first. I’d been so brainwashed by my Cêpan’s stories of the Garde triumphing over the armies of the Mogs and returning Lorien to its former glory that I probably wouldn’t have seen reason if he’d been up front with me at the beginning. Ethan is what some of the Mog commanders here have called a rare example of a human who has the intelligence to side with the winning team.

Still, it’s so strange to be here underground. I’m technically an honored guest of Setrákus Ra, but I haven’t proved myself yet. All they have is my word that I’m now loyal to them, but words don’t carry a lot of weight with the Mogs. They believe in action, and results. And so I study and train and wait for the day when I get the chance to show them I am capable and ready to lead in their name. I follow orders. Because even though someday in the future I’ll become invaluable to the Mogs, right now I’m just a former enemy living under their roof.

I’m buried in a book about the founding of America—particularly the expansion of European empires across the country—when Ethan comes into my study, flashing the toothy grin he always has plastered on his face.

“Good afternoon, Five,” he says.

“Hey,” I say, closing the book in front of me. Ethan’s arrival means study time must be over. As much as I’m looking forward to being in charge of Canada and the United States, reading about the endless cycles of wars they’ve been caught up in can be monotonous. At least once the Mogs take over, war will be a thing of the past. There’ll be no armies capable of standing up to them.

“How did you find today’s reading?”

“There was some pretty dirty biological warfare going on back when Columbus and other explorers were first coming over. Smallpox blankets? It’s kind of insane.”

Ethan’s grin doesn’t flinch.

“The beginning of every great empire is stained with a little blood,” he says. “Wouldn’t you say it was worth it?”

I don’t answer immediately. Ethan’s eyes shift almost imperceptibly, but I catch them. He’s glanced at the one-way mirror at the other end of my desk. It’s easy to see what he’s getting at. Others are watching. Here in the Mog compound, someone is always watching.

I tense up a little. I’m still not used to being under constant surveillance. But it’s necessary, as Ethan’s explained, so that the Mogs know they can trust me. It makes me only want to say things that will impress whoever’s watching, or show off how smart I am. I’m getting better at keeping my brain focused on that.

“Definitely,” I say.

Ethan nods, looking pleased. “Of course it’s worth it. Keep reading that book tomorrow, and write down a few positive things about the conquerors’ tactics.”

“Whatever our Beloved Leader requires of me.” I say this almost as a reflex. The first few days I was here, I heard it so many times that I just kind of adopted it. I probably say it ten times a day now without even realizing it half the time.

“Did you read the assigned passages from the Great Book?” Ethan asks.

“Of course. Those are the best parts of the study sessions.” This is completely true. The other books are boring and make me suddenly understand why teenagers like me were always complaining about homework on TV shows I saw before coming to the Mog compound. But the Great Book is, well, great. Not only is it written much simpler than the other books, it also answers a lot of questions I’ve had throughout my life. Like why the Mogs went after Earth even though they had Lorien, and why they started hunting down the Loric once they got here, even though there were so few of us. The book explains that the Loric were weak but sneaky, and the Mogadorian belief that leaving even one enemy alive gives them the power to recruit others and multiply, gain power and one day rise against you.

Also, it’s really bloody and violent, which makes it much more fun to read. I can see it play out in my head like one of the action movies I used to love to go see when I was still in Miami.

“And what did you learn about today?” Ethan asks.

“About how Setrákus Ra bravely fought our Elders. How they tried to trick him and poison him, but our Beloved Leader was courageous and bested them, anyway.”

“Our Elders?” Ethan asks, slight concern on his face.

I correct myself. “I mean the Loric Elders. It makes me even more excited to meet our Beloved Leader.”

I have not had the pleasure of meeting Setrákus Ra in person yet. Apparently someone higher up thought it wasn’t a good idea to give a superpowered guy like me an audience with the future ruler of the solar system until I’ve proved myself.

Ethan grins and pulls something out of his pocket. He tosses it on the table, and it bounces heavily a few times and then rolls. I stop it with my telekinetic Legacy and lift it in the air: a steel ball bearing almost as big as a Ping-Pong ball.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Consider it a gift. Use your power on it. See how it feels.”

I float the ball over to the palm of my hand. With a little focus, my body suddenly takes on a metallic sheen. I drum my fingers on the table in front of me, and the sound of metal meeting metal fills the air. Ethan calls this Externa, the ability to take on the properties of whatever I touch. It’s the newest of my abilities and the one that probably needs the most work.

I shrug as I crack a metallic knuckle.

“It feels like I’m made of steel. But I could have just touched the table and gotten the same kind of effect.”

“But the table’s not going to be with you all the time. From now on, this ball bearing should be. I don’t want you to find yourself in the middle of a fight with nothing but sand or paper to turn into.”

“Thanks.” I smile. It’s definitely not the flashiest or most expensive thing Ethan and the Mogs have given me, but I can see how it might end up being useful. I shove the ball bearing into my pocket, where it settles beside a red rubber ball I’ve carried with me for a long time—a trinket from a kid’s vending machine.

Ethan tosses me a rolled-up sheet of paper. I push some books out of the way and spread it out in front of me. It’s a map of the Western Hemisphere.

“What’s this for?” I ask.

“I just wanted to make sure we had all the information correct on it. For record keeping and stuff like that.”

The map includes a thick red line that zigzags across the United States and down into the Caribbean. There are dates printed along the markings.

“This is a map of all the places I lived growing up,” I say.

“Correct. Just give it a once-over when you have a chance. I guessed on a lot of the dates based on stories you’d told me.”

“But what good is any of this information?”

Ethan shrugs. “Just in case the Garde somehow caught your trail or tried to track you down, we’d know where they might be searching. We’ll want to put a few scouts in those locations, just in case.”

I nod, looking over the map. It’s weird to think of myself as being young and powerless with Rey in all these places. Ethan comes up behind me and looks over my shoulder.

“Where was it that you said your guardian started to get so ill?” he asks.

I point to a place where the line dips into Pennsylvania.

“Around here somewhere. I’m not sure where exactly. We were camping in the mountains.”

Ethan scowls.

“There are some of the finest hospitals in the country in that area. You know, if your Cêpan hadn’t forced you to stay hidden on the island for as long as you did, he probably would have lived,” Ethan says. “It’s a shame he was so shortsighted that he couldn’t see the inevitable future of Mogadorian progress.”

“He thought the warmer air would help him.”

“What he probably needed was a shot of antibiotics.” Ethan shakes his head and crosses his arms. “I’m just glad you were able to get off the island before you ended up going crazy and talking to the pigs. I still can’t believe someone as powerful and smart as you was expected to raise those slop-covered animals.”

I laugh a little. Over the last few weeks I’ve told Ethan basically everything I can remember about my life. All about the tiny little shack and the pigs I raised and how I trained myself to use my telekinesis on my own. He and the other Mogs seemed really impressed by that part. Like I managed to become something great even when every card in the deck was stacked against me.

When I look at Miami on the map, my mind flashes with memories of the time I spent there before Ethan took me in. When I was just a punk-ass street rat wasting my powers on petty stuff like picking pockets, totally oblivious to how much authority I should have been wielding. There was a girl. Emma. My partner in crime who turned on me when she saw what I was capable of. Who was afraid of what I could do instead of respecting my abilities. I frown at the memory, and my stomach drops a little because it’s been a while since I’ve thought of her. There had been a time when she was my only friend in the world, but she was just using me too, wasn’t she? I was the one with the real talent. She was just riding on my coattails.

There’s a knock on the door, and then a Mog enters. One of the vatborn messengers and servants in the compound. I straighten up in my chair. This is a reflex. Even though I’ve been here a few weeks, I’m still getting used to seeing Mogs every day. More than that, I never know what they’re going to ask me to do when they show up in the interrogation room that’s been turned into my study or track me down in my bedroom. For all I know, they could be telling me that I’ve failed some test of theirs I didn’t even know I was taking.

“You weren’t responding to your radio,” the Mog says to Ethan, clearly a little ticked off.

Ethan points to the little earpiece that’s hanging out of his collar.

“Of course not,” he says. “All of your superiors know that I never wear my earpiece when I’m with our guest.” He motions to me. “It would be rude.”

“Commander Deltoch requests your presence in the detention wing,” the Mog says.

“I’ll be there at once.” Ethan nods.

“You and the Loric.”

I tense up. What do they want from me in the detention wing?

“Is that how you would address an honored guest in this base?” Ethan asks. “How about ‘sir’?”

The Mog seems a little apprehensive but nods his head to me.

“Sir,” he says.

“Dismiss him,” Ethan says to me.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re going to have to get used to giving orders at some point.”

I look at the Mog, who’s got a full-on grimace now. I suddenly feel awkward. I hate it when Ethan does this. He’s always trying to make everyone on the base treat me like their king or something. And while I’ll be leading them one day in the future, I’m still unproven potential, and the last thing I want is anyone stirring up animosity against me.

“Five,” Ethan says.

“You’re dismissed,” I say.

The Mog hesitates a moment. I assume his orders were to escort us to the other side of the building. I can almost see him trying to figure out who outranks whom in his head before Ethan clears his throat and, in a flash, the servant is gone.

“Conflicting orders, I’d imagine,” Ethan says as if he could read my brain.

“Do you think I’ll get him in trouble?”

Ethan’s face goes serious.

“You can’t worry about that. Don’t forget who you are. When the Mogs take Earth, you’ll be one of their officers. A leader. You may be new here, but you are the powerful Number Five. Show them mercy now, and they won’t respect you when you’re in charge.”

“I need a chart to keep the ranks all straight in my head.”

“Just always act like you’re at the top of the food chain. Now come along,” Ethan says, motioning towards the door. “Let’s see what Commander Deltoch is up to with the prisoners this afternoon.”

He doesn’t give me time to react, only turns and heads out the door. I can’t help but glance to the wall across from my desk, where a photo is taped up. It’s a guy who looks like he’s a few years older than me, with long brown hair. He’s built like an athlete—way fitter than I’ve ever been in my life. He looks smug. He’s jogging in the photo and seems to be unaware that his picture is being taken. I haven’t met him yet, but I know he’s here on the base with me. Locked up. They’ve tried to torture him, but that doesn’t really work. He’s protected by magic, like I am. By a charm put on us when we were kids that keeps us from being hurt until our number is up.

He is Number Nine.

The Mogs want me to kill him. His is the blood that must be spilled for me to advance.

He is my proof of loyalty.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR A LONG TIME, THE THING I WAS MOST afraid of was being left out. Alone on an island in the Caribbean. Left behind as the other Garde banded together without me. That wasn’t exactly helpful when I was also afraid of getting too close to anyone for fear of them finding out my secret: that I’m not human. I had a really crappy life because of all this.

Until I met Ethan. Until the Mogs took me in. Now I have no worries of ever being left out. And I’ll definitely never feel alone. It would be impossible to: there must be thousands of us living together on the West Virginia base.

The compound the Mogs have here is maybe the most incredible structure on Earth, even if few humans will ever see the inside of it. It’s hidden in a hollowed-out mountain, and is so vast and full of trailing tunnels and caves that I doubt anyone has seen every corner of the place. I’ve spent a lot of my free time floating around the corridors and rocky hallways, and I think I’ve seen only a twentieth of it.

It’s almost all Mogs here—the vatborn soldiers and servants and the trueborn higher-ups—but there are a handful of humans. Most aren’t here by choice, though Ethan’s an exception, as are the men and women in dark suits and military garb whom I pass in the halls on occasion.

And there’s one other Loric. Nine.

I follow Ethan through the cavernous main hall, floating a few feet above him because flying is good practice and Ethan says it reminds the others that I’m powerful. I don’t mind, really, because it’s easier than walking. There are dozens, maybe even hundreds, of Mogs who we pass as we head towards the detention cells. They stop walking and step aside as I go by, staring at me. Some of them nod in respect, knowing that one day I’ll be a powerful force in the Mog ranks. Others look at me with skepticism. I can feel their eyes on me as I fly over them.

The only really annoying thing about the base is the scalding-hot green stuff that flows throughout it and pools in the main chamber. It’s some sort of energy source for the Mogs, Ethan said, but if you touch it, it’ll eat through your skin like acid (or a least that’s what I hear—I haven’t been dumb enough to actually test that theory out). Whatever it is, it smells like sulfur and rotten coconuts. As we pass through the main hall, the scent is heavy in my nose, and I grimace.

“Why do you think we’ve been summoned?” I ask Ethan.

He shrugs.

“Maybe Commander Deltoch thinks it’s time for you to take your place in the leadership.”

As a commander, Deltoch is the highest-ranking Mog in charge of the base. He reports to a General Sutekh and sometimes our Beloved Leader directly. He’s also become my de facto keeper—the person Ethan reports to and who I assume is on the other side of the one-way glass watching me in my study half the time. He’s an aggressive, trueborn Mog—I’ve come to learn that’s something to be proud of around here—and takes exquisite delight in telling me that I don’t look anything like a soldier. He has never explicitly said that I’m maybe a little on the heavy side, but it’s almost certainly what he’s thinking.

I’m always a little on edge around Deltoch. I can’t help but want to impress him every time I see him.

For my part, the detention area is the one place I’m not allowed to go on the base. I’ve seen only the first few cells. Ethan says it’s because they don’t want me to hurt Nine just yet. They’re still trying to figure out a way to force him to spill everything he knows about the Garde—and besides, since his death will be so important, it must be ceremonious. I’ve wondered what it would be like to be imprisoned here, like Nine. To spend all day in a cold stone cell. It sounds terrible. But then, I don’t have to worry about it. I chose to join the Mogs—to serve their cause in order to elevate myself. I’m sure the others here had the same chance. They just threw it all away. And for what? Do the imprisoned humans really think their own resistance to the Mogs means a damned thing in the long run? That they’re anything other than a speck of dust in what will be the vast empire of the Mogadorians? Maybe I would have thought that once, but not after seeing their resources and strength with my own eyes.

We pass row after row of containment cells in the detention wing, the entrances barred and pulsing with some kind of blue energy field. I keep my eyes darting back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of Nine, to no avail. Inside are the weak and unrepentant enemies of the Mogs. Most of them are humans who got a little too close to figuring out what was happening around them on Earth and refused to quit snooping, or who disobeyed orders. The traitors are being taught an important lesson about crossing their superiors—one they won’t forget when they go back out into the world after they’ve served their time, which is what Ethan says happens to most of the ones who realize the error of their ways. A few are test subjects or people somehow related to the Loric cause—I hear there are even a few Greeters in captivity, those whose job it was to introduce the Loric to the human ways of life on Earth. Not all of them were as smart as Ethan was. It’s hard to imagine that he might have been in one of these cells had he not foreseen the Mogs’ inevitable victory.

Deltoch stands in the middle of the hallway. He’s at least two heads taller than me and built like a giant wrestler shoved into an ominous black officer’s uniform. His skin is pale, and his hair is gleaming jet-black and pulled into a tight ponytail. Dark tattoos peek out around his hairline, above eyes like big black marbles.

“So thrilled you could join us,” he says flatly as I approach. He glances at Ethan and sneers slightly—despite Ethan’s role as my recruiter and mentor, I don’t think Deltoch has been a big fan of having a human roaming around his base with so much authority.

“Whatever our Beloved Leader requires of me,” I say.

“Our afternoons are usually spent expanding upon Five’s powers for the good of Mogadore,” Ethan says, which I recognize as his way of asking why we’ve been ordered to come to this side of the compound.

Deltoch narrows his eyes a little. “I assume you must have been in the middle of something very important since it took you so much time to get here.”

I start to stammer a response, but Ethan speaks on my behalf.

“He was just reading from the Great Book,” he says, grinning. “What could be more important than our Beloved Leader’s words?”

Deltoch smirks in a way that bares all of his gray sharklike teeth. It’s not exactly a happy expression.

“You’re here because the all-wise Setrákus Ra is anxious for Five to prove himself loyal to the Mogadorians.”

“We’re looking forward to him taking his rightful place as a high-ranking member of the Leader’s forces as well,” Ethan says. “But these things take time, as I’m sure—”

“Five,” Deltoch says, ignoring Ethan. He steps aside and points a long, thick finger at one of the cells. “Do you wish to see the power of the Garde?”

Ethan starts to protest, but I nod.

“Yes, sir.”

I step up to the blue force field and stare. There’s a prisoner inside, stretched out on a dirty slab of rock serving as a bed. The guy is shirtless, his muscles glinting under a sheen of sweat. Long, dark hair is spread out around his head. His eyes are closed, and his lips move slightly, as if he’s meditating or saying some sort of prayer.

Number Nine.

“He doesn’t speak when he’s conscious, but he talks in his sleep sometimes,” Deltoch says. “That’s how we figured out his number.”

Something within me stirs as I look at Nine. Not pity or brotherhood, but something unsettling. A sort of fear. When the Mogs first recruited me, they gave me a folder with Nine’s picture inside it. He’s to be my victim, the blood offering that proves my loyalties to the Mogadorian progress. The only thing is, I’ve never killed anyone before. I had a hard time even killing animals back on the island with Rey. And so deep down I’m afraid that when the time comes and I’m finally given the order to end Nine’s life, I won’t be able to do it.

Thankfully, whatever magic the Elders of Lorien worked on us when we were kids is still in effect, because there’s no way I can kill Nine out of order. At least, not that the Mogs or I know of. If there’s a way to dispel the magic that protects us, that knowledge probably died with Rey or the Elders. I have no idea how to break the charm.

“What do you think?” Deltoch asks. “Is the hunger for power rising up inside you? Are you ready to take the next step and ascend into power among us?”

My stomach drops. They have brought me here to kill Nine. I swallow hard and try to steel my churning guts.

Deltoch lets out a little laugh.

“You look pale all of a sudden, Five,” he says, his voice a low bellow.

I don’t answer. I can’t take my eyes off Nine. Another Garde. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in person instead of in the photograph pinned up in my study. He’s thinner now than he is in the picture—a side effect of whatever they have or haven’t been feeding him I assume—but he’s still built like a Greek statue. Strong looking. Deltoch has obviously noticed this, because he’s quick to mention it.

“He’s managed to stay in incredibly formidable shape despite being a prisoner,” he says, very pointedly not looking at my less-than-athletic build. “I’m told he spends most of his waking moments exercising in his cell.”

I change the subject.

“Why doesn’t he use his powers to escape?” I ask.

“He’s tried. Many times.” Deltoch motions to the pulsing blue shield. “But we’ve learned to keep him under control.”

“Maybe he’s just waiting for the perfect time to lash out,” I say.

Deltoch bares his teeth.

“Come with me,” he says, turning and heading deeper into the detention wing. Eventually we come to some kind of cell that looks like it’s part interrogation room and part laboratory. There are chains hanging from the ceilings and silver gurneys on one side, and a few tables on the other. The room smells of bleach.

“What is this place?” I murmur.

“This is where many of our prisoners’ fates are decided,” Deltoch says. “Where they choose to give themselves over to the Mogadorians and offer us their intelligence, or they condemn themselves to a cell indefinitely.”

I glance at Ethan, but his eyes are fixed on Deltoch. Usually Ethan knows everything that’s going on at the base—or at least he does when it involves me—but he seems to be as confused as I am as to why we’re here.

“Many brave soldiers gave their lives in this room when Nine first arrived, as they tested the strength of the Loric magic that protects him,” Deltoch says, running his finger over a tray of shiny scalpels. “That’s how they proved themselves loyal to the Mogadorian empire.”

“And you were okay with wasting soldiers like that?” I ask.

“We do not consider it a waste.” The commander has an angry edge to his voice now. “It is the highest honor to die for the Mogadorian cause. Besides, the Loric charm is not something we wholly understand. We weren’t sure if it was possible to weaken the charm so much that it broke completely. It was a possibility we could not ignore.”

“But you couldn’t get rid of it.” It’s more a statement than a question that comes out of my mouth.

“No.” Deltoch frowns. “No matter how hard we tried. And Nine didn’t say a word. He just laughed as some of our finest men died in front of him.” His expression changes and becomes almost pleasant. “But his Cêpan did talk.”

“What?” Ethan asks. Apparently this is news to him as well.

“This is confidential information,” Deltoch says, shrugging towards Ethan.

“What about his Cêpan?” I ask. “Do you have him too?”

“We did,” Deltoch says. “But Number Nine murdered him.”

My mouth drops open.

“He what?”

“His Cêpan was smart. We were still trying to negotiate and give Nine and his guardian a chance to join our cause. The Cêpan was going to talk—to cut a deal with us—and when Nine found out, he murdered the Loric in cold blood.”

Deltoch takes a few files off one of the lab tables and hands them to me.

“See for yourself,” he says.

I open the top folder and am greeted by a stack of photos—stills from a security camera in the very room I’m standing in. Only in the photos, there are two figures. One looks like an older human. He’s hanging upside down from the ceiling with thick chains wrapped around his ankles. There’s blood everywhere. Nine stands beside the man, a dagger in his hands.

“It’s my own fault, really,” Deltoch says. “I left the two of them in this room together and assumed that Nine had a sense of loyalty. Obviously I was wrong. The Garde used his powers to break through his containment field and attacked the brave Mogs guarding him. It took a few minutes before we were able to get into the room, but that’s all he needed.”

I flip through the photos. They’re like a slide show, and I watch as Nine steps closer and closer to his Cêpan, raising his weapon. And then finally, he buries the blade in his guardian’s chest. In the next few pictures, Mogs show up and drag him away, but the damage has already been done. Nine struggles against their grip, gnashing his teeth, and then he’s gone. The last photo is just the Cêpan, hanging upside down. Alone. Lifeless.

My memory jumps back to Rey, dying in our little hut on the beach. Sure, we didn’t get along a lot of the time, and he was probably a little crazy, but I can’t imagine I could ever have killed him. He was the person who raised me.

I’d always been taught to think that the Garde were these saintlike people—that we had to be perfect in order for our planet to have a chance at being resurrected. That the Loric were a peaceful, inherently good race while the Mogs were evil incarnate. It dawns on me that this was just more Loric propaganda. That the Loric and Mogs probably don’t have that many differences between them, other than the fact that the Mogs don’t pretend to be anything that they aren’t. Ethan always says that history is subjective, and that the history I knew to be true was just the Loric side of things. Besides, now that I’ve felt the power that comes with my Legacies and how good it feels to have people see the potential in me, I can’t imagine that Lorien was the utopia Rey made it out to be.

“Have you brought me here to kill him?” I ask.

“Not yet,” Deltoch says. “Not until we figure out a way to break this charm. There’s no way of knowing what would happen if one of the other Garde tried to inflict death upon him, and we don’t want to lose our secret weapon: you.”

“Your most valuable asset,” Ethan says to the Mog. “Exactly,” Deltoch says. He motions to the photographs. “But when the time comes, be careful. He’s unhinged. He’s hardly even an intelligent life-form anymore. Just an animal. I imagine he wouldn’t think twice about killing you if given the opportunity.”

I turn back to the photographs. An animal. Staring at the crazed look in Nine’s eyes as he howls—his Cêpan’s blood on his hands—I believe it.

All I can think is what an idiot he is to willingly choose murder and imprisonment instead of the opportunity I’ve been given. How stupid Nine must be.

And how one day this chained-up animal will be my ticket to the top of the food chain.

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER SEEING NINE IN ACTION—AT LEAST IN photos—Deltoch insists that I take the rest of the files the Mogs have on him so that I can study them well. “Know your enemy,” he says, and then he cancels my afternoon training with Ethan while I retreat to my room on the other side of the compound. The place they’ve made for me here in Mog central isn’t as nice as, say, Ethan’s beach house in Miami, but it’s pretty plush. I wouldn’t even know I was half a mile inside a mountain if it wasn’t for the fact that all the walls are made of smoothed-down stone. I’ve got a big king-size bed, a giant TV, and an arsenal of gaming consoles and games I’ve never even heard of before—Mogadorian battle simulators that have graphics any next-gen console would kill for. The Mogs had them arranged for me because Ethan told them how much time I’d spent playing games in my downtime back in Florida. These are unlike anything I’ve ever played, though—a weird combination of military and governing missions. It took me a while to get the hang of them because I was so used to playing games where you got points deducted every time you caused collateral damage or civilian casualties. But I’m getting a lot better.

With Nine’s files in hand, though, I ignore all the electronics and stuff that the Mogs gave me and go straight to my bed. There, I spread out the papers and reports on Nine. Ethan had told me that Nine lived in luxury in Chicago, but it turns out that’s pretty general speculation based on what they pieced together from Nine and some former girlfriend of his who was working with the Mogs for a while. They don’t actually know where his place is in the city.

One of the things included in the files is a transcription from an interview with Nine’s Cêpan that the Mogs have typed up for me. He says that Nine lived a charmed life. He never wanted for anything, and went and did whatever he pleased. On one hand, I’m not surprised that he ended up in a Mog cell, but on the other, my jealousy of how he got to grow up compared to how I lived burns somewhere deep in my chest. They even have quotes from his Cêpan about how Nine was a popular kid in school who had girls following after him wherever he went and lived like a miniature king on campus. Meanwhile I was eating coconut meat for lunch and sweating half to death in the Caribbean.

At the end of the interview is a brief section where the Cêpan discusses how the Elders decided on our numbers:

It wasn’t random. They were given that order for a reason. The Elders judged who they thought were the strongest and brightest—those with the most potential—and saved them for the end. The first few were hardly anything more than cannon fodder. Their Cêpans were instructed to keep them hidden no matter the cost to their well-being so that the higher numbers would be kept safe. After all, the Garde couldn’t very well die if their order wasn’t up. I always considered myself lucky to have been assigned to the highest number. Nine rarely thought of anyone lower than him unless it was from a tactical standpoint: it was always assumed that if the Garde ever did come together to fight, Nine would be the one who would command them.

I have to stop reading. My head pounds, and with one brisk surge, I send the files flying across my room in a telekinetic wave. I throw open my Loric Chest that sits on the nightstand beside me. My favorite thing inside it—the only thing I’ve really learned to use—is a concealed blade inside a gauntlet. I use my powers to send it sailing through the air, popping out the knife hidden inside. It skewers the sheet of paper with the Cêpan’s interview on it and embeds itself in the stone wall of the room. I start to rummage through my Chest, which usually helps me focus and calm down, but it’s no good. I’m too wound up. Then I throw myself down onto the bed and crack my knuckles as anger boils up inside me. So that’s what Nine thought of us—of me. That I was worthless. That I’d be someone he could command one day. Well, the joke’s on you, Nine. Because now you’re the one hidden away, and I’m the person with all the power. I’m the one who’s going to control everyone else.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I continue my daily routine of studying, training and learning more about Mogadorian culture. Every time I see the picture of Nine in my study, I get frustrated and pissed off as I think about the files—of him and his Cêpan regarding the lower numbers as being weak. I try to channel this into my training, like when Ethan takes me into an unused room in order for us to do a little training on my Legacies. Ethan sets a box down on the metal table in the middle of the room while I use my telekinesis to straighten all the chairs and get them all pushed in and out of the way.

“Your ability to move things with your mind has really progressed both in terms of strength and finesse,” Ethan says. “The Mog leaders and I are all very impressed.”

“Thanks,” I say with a grin. “I have gotten pretty good at moving boulders around in the tunnels.”

“True.” He nods. “So today I want us to focus on your Externa. In particular, the quickness with which you can change forms and the length of time you can stay in them.”

This sounds easy enough. I’ve gotten good at taking on the properties of the things I touch. I reach into my pocket, where my fingers find the red rubber ball. My skin stretches, and my fingers take an elongated form, like the kind of fingers people who have never actually seen an alien would expect me to have.

“Let’s do it.”

Ethan starts to toss things at me left and right from the box he brought with him, hardly giving me time to change before my body has to reset and transform again. I hold a leather-bound book, and my skin grows tough. I catch a smooth white stone, and I’m a moving statue.

“Excellent,” Ethan says. “But can you do it while flying?”

Without answering, I float up in the air and continue to change as Ethan tosses more and more objects at me. We keep it up for a few minutes, and then suddenly I start to get tired—I’ve never overworked my Legacies like this before. But I don’t show any weakness. I think about Nine’s Cêpan and how he thought the higher numbers were better than me, and I power through the fatigue, gritting my teeth and imagining myself standing over Nine as he begs for mercy.

Ethan tosses me something small and shiny that I catch with my telekinesis and float over to my hand.

“Do the stone, not the band,” he says as it travels through the air. I don’t understand until I realize that I’ve got a diamond ring in my palm.

“No problem,” I say, touching the gem with the tip of my pinkie. My skin hardens and takes on a brilliant shine. The tips of my fingers are completely clear. I float over to the steel table and drag one of my fingernails along the top of it, engraving the numeral “5” into it.

“Now this could come in handy,” I say.

“Sure,” Ethan says. “If you want to be the target of every weapon on the battlefield. Your skin is too shiny. It would be impossible to be incognito. But keep this form for now. Let’s see how long you can hold it.”

I wave my arms around in front of me and watch the light bounce off them, sending reflections all around the room.

“I think I met some people down in Miami who would have me chopped up into pieces and sold off for millions if they could see me now.”

The harder I concentrate while I touch the stone, the clearer my body gets and the harder my skin becomes. But it takes work. And the more I focus, the more my head starts to pound, and I start to feel like I’m losing control of my body. When I first developed the Externa ability, I was terrified that I’d never be able to revert back to my normal form again. Suddenly, that same fear attacks me, and my heart rate and breathing go through the roof.

I must look like I’m afraid, because when Ethan says, “Five, calm down, buddy,” his voice is steady and low. He sounds like that only when he’s concerned.

So I take a few deep breaths, close my eyes and let the ring fall to the ground as my feet find the stone floor again. I tune out the world for a few seconds and just concentrate on my normal body and how much I want to be back in it. When I open my eyes again, my fingers are pink and soft. I’m back. But my head is still pounding.

“Ow,” I say, raising a hand to my right temple. “Headache?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll get you some aspirin,” Ethan says. “But, hey. That was great. This is where we’ll start focusing our training from now on.”

I think of Nine, and how Deltoch doesn’t think I look like much of a soldier.

“I’m fine,” I insist. “I can keep going.”

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Ethan must think I’m weak too.

“I’m not some kid, Ethan,” I say. “I’m a superpowered Loric and the guy who’s going to be the Mog officer in charge of this country. If I say I can keep going, I can.”

Ethan looks a little taken aback. Before he gets a chance to say anything, the door bursts open, and Commander Deltoch enters. A flash of annoyance crosses Ethan’s face as he turns to his superior.

“Commander,” he says with a little nod of a bow, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“You’re needed, Ethan,” the Mog says. “Report to Central Command.”

Ethan waves at me. “Come along, Five. You should go back to your room and get some rest.”

“The Loric stays. I have a surprise for him.”

There’s a moment when Ethan and Deltoch just stare in defiance at one another. Deltoch must win in the end, because Ethan shrugs, gives me a fleeting glance and then turns on his heel. Just like that he’s gone, and I’m left alone with the Mog commander. I don’t realize how accustomed I am to Ethan always being there until he’s gone.

I wonder if today is the day. If they’re taking me to try to kill Nine.

“Five,” Deltoch says through his sharp, dark teeth. “How is your training going?”

“It’s good,” I say, nodding fervently, which only makes my head hurt more. But I ignore that. “I can show you if you want.”

I blink, and in the course of doing so, the chairs all fly out from under the table, spin around the room and then go right back to where they began. Whatever Deltoch has in store for me, I know I need to impress him. To show him that I’m doing well and that I’m ready to take the next step.

Deltoch chuckles a little, but it doesn’t sound like he’s actually amused.

“A good trick,” he says. “I’m sure our enemies will cower in fear when they see our great army of chairs and tables laying siege to their cities.”

“I can move something else,” I say, feeling stupid. “Something bigger. Or a bunch of swords or something.”

“What I have in mind for you today is a little more interesting. A true treat. Come, follow me.”

We move in silence through the compound. I fly, he walks. We head towards the front entrance that leads out into a wooded area that’s fenced off from the rest of the world. I’m not forbidden to go outside by any means, but for caution’s sake I have to get approvals and a tracker and all kinds of boxes checked off if I want to spend the day in nature, so I hardly ever do. Besides, I’m much more of a beach person, and it’s cold up here in West Virginia. I’ve grown used to much warmer climates.

The entrance to the compound is camouflaged and well guarded. Soldiers salute us as we pass by, and then we’re just hiking through the woods, and I’m completely lost as to what we’re doing. I can’t even fly here, with all the low-hanging branches—I’d have to be above the tree line—and soon I get a little short-winded as we hike along, which I try to mask by breathing as quietly as possible.

“Where are we going?” I ask, clouds of white escaping my lips in the cold.

“I told you, it’s a surprise.”

I try to figure out why Deltoch would go through the trouble of arranging something for me. Is this some sort of ploy to get me to exercise more, or is he leading me out into the woods to teach me some new kind of Mogadorian fighting that requires the open air? Is he leading me to Nine? I slip a hand into my pocket and let my fingers close around the metal ball, just in case.

But I discover that it’s none of these things as soon as we come to a clearing. Standing in the winter sunlight is the last person I’d ever expect to see here.

Emma.

CHAPTER FOUR

IT TAKES ME A SECOND TO REALIZE THAT EMMA is actually there and not some sort of hologram or android or something. But it really is her. I can tell because holograms don’t leave footprints in the dirt as they shift their weight back and forth nervously on their feet, and androids don’t cry.

Emma looks terrified.

I can’t really blame her. She probably should be scared.

She’s grown up a bit in the year or so since I last saw her, when she was swinging a metal pipe at my head the night of the botched job—the night Ethan took me in. When we were running the beaches as small-time crooks, her black hair was always pulled back into a short ponytail, but it’s around her shoulders now, hanging messily halfway down her back. She’s wearing pink pajama bottoms and a white tank top, which leads me to assume that she was taken in the middle of the night. Someone thought to give her a trench coat like all the Mogs wear, which practically swallows her.

She must not have been expecting to see me, because when I step out of the trees and into view, she freezes, her face twisting in shock.

“C-Cody?” she stammers through shivering lips. I’m not sure if she’s shaking because of the cold or something else.

It’s been a long time since I went by that name, and it takes a second for my memory to catch up with what she’s saying and to realize that she means me.

“Hi, Emma,” I murmur.

I don’t know what to say or do, or even how to feel—why has this girl been plucked out of Florida and brought up to West Virginia? My first instinct is to go to her, but there’s a look in her eyes that stops me. I recognize it as a mixture of confusion and hatred. The same look she had in Miami when she called me a freak. Right before she tried to bash my brains in.

I turn to Deltoch, who is emerging from the trees now. When Emma sees him, she cowers a little and takes a few steps back. Obviously she’s had a bad experience with Mogs over the last day or so.

“Good. We did find the right girl,” he says. “You’d be surprised how difficult she was to track down. After that unfortunate night at the warehouse, she and most of her family practically disappeared.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Before you are able to begin your new life as a champion of the Mogadorian cause, you’ll have to put everything from your past behind you.”

I don’t say anything. Just turn to Emma and stare at her. She still looks scared, but her hands are clenched in fists at her sides. I know her well enough to guess that right now she’s trying to figure out how to escape from this situation. She’s a fighter. Hell, the last time I saw her she gave me a concussion.

“How do you even know about her?” I ask.

“Ethan’s reports on you have been incredibly thorough, even now,” Deltoch says. I must look surprised by this, because he lets out a snort of a laugh. “The two of you may have a close relationship, but the reason that Ethan found you in the first place is thanks to our Beloved Leader’s guidance and enthusiasm to recruit you. You would be incorrect if you thought for one moment that your future was given to you by Ethan and not the all-powerful Setrákus Ra. Ethan is your friend because he was ordered to be.”

I know Ethan works for the Mogs, but I guess I never really think of him as reporting back to them about me. At least not about nonessential stuff like who I hung out with back in Miami. But I’ve read the files the Mogs have on Nine, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

Still, it somehow seems like a betrayal of trust, and I wish Ethan were here to tell me that it wasn’t true. I know he lied to me back when we first met, but that was for my benefit. I guess I’d assumed he wouldn’t still be reporting on me now that I’m at the base.

The thought pisses me off.

“At the end of the day,” Deltoch continues, “Ethan is only human. That’s his greatest weakness. The humans don’t have our discipline or sense of loyalty. It will do you well to remember that. The humans are here to serve us, but he is holding you back.”

“How?”

“He doesn’t think you’re ready to become an officer.”

My mouth drops open a little—Ethan doesn’t believe in me? That can’t be true.

“Why is she here?” I ask, turning back to Emma. I still don’t understand what’s going on.

“Please,” Emma says, “I just want to go back home. I don’t want to be here. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“For you to have closure and to focus completely on your future as an officer of Mogadore,” Deltoch says with a grin. “Ethan said this girl was the only other person in the world who you had any sort of friendly relationship with.”

“I guess so,” I say quietly. When he puts it like that, it makes me sound like a total loser.

“Well then, what happened?”

The memories course through my head. A bunch of thugs trapped me in a warehouse on a job for Ethan. The only way out had been using my telekinesis. I’d never used it on other people before, and it felt so good to slam them into shelves and walls after they’d been beating up on me. But Emma had seen—one of the guys had been her brother. And she’d turned on me in an instant.

“She called me a freak,” I say, staring at Emma in the forest clearing. “She asked me if I was possessed when she saw what I could do.”

“Please,” Emma says. She just keeps shaking her head, her eyes darting around to the edges of the tree line. She was standing there alone when we came out, but I’m guessing there are Mog soldiers in the woods around us, making sure she doesn’t escape.

“She scoffed at your abilities?” Deltoch asks. “Even though you’d been friends?”

“We’d been more than friends,” I say, taking a step towards her. “We were partners.”

“The humans will fear you when you are unveiled as their leader. You can use that fear and turn it into respect. Some will cower and hide or try to fight you, but the smart ones will bow at your feet. You can’t hesitate when it comes to taking action. You have to know when to show mercy and when to be ruthless.”

Ruthless? My palms start to sweat as I begin to imagine what Deltoch has brought me out here to do.

“Why did you bring her here?” I ask again.

“She was frightened by just a taste of your abilities. She fought you. Disrespected you. Why don’t you show her what true power is?”

I stare at Emma. She’s shaking, her eyes now fixed on me as her fingers tremble. The Emma I remember from the beach—before things went bad between us—was cool, confident and my partner in crime. I’d wanted her to think I was like her. But now I see her for what she really is. Just a scared girl who has no idea what’s happening in the world around her. A pitiful, naive ant. Human. Part of me has always been angry about the shitty things she said and did to me at the warehouse, but I don’t know that she deserves to be hurt because of that.

I don’t know that I can hurt her, as pathetic as she looks.

“She’s not worth it,” I say as I turn back to Deltoch and start towards him.

“Please!” Emma screams. She must be afraid of what will happen once the only familiar face here disappears. “Just let me go home. I don’t want anything to do with you monsters!”

Monsters.

Something in me snaps.

I whip around to her, holding my right arm outstretched. She lets out a short gasp as she rises off the ground. My telekinesis is wrapped around her body, squeezing her tightly. As I raise my hand, she goes farther up.

I rise too until I’m floating just a few yards in front of her. We have to be thirty feet in the air. Her eyes are wide as they stare into mine. She keeps making little gasping noises, even though I’m not squeezing her all that hard. I can barely hear her ragged breaths over the repetition of the word “monsters” in my head.

“If you want to call me a monster, I can be a monster,” I say.

“No.” She shakes her head.

“I could crush you with a single thought,” I whisper, and the look of horror on her face makes my blood race and my ears pound. That part of me that has festered with anger and wants revenge for the way she turned her back on me feels so satisfied that I can hardly breathe. It’s not just her; it’s all the times I’ve felt weak or lost or like the Loric had forgotten about me or forsaken me. All of it courses through me, fueling me.

I know Nine is supposed to be my symbolic first kill, but maybe Deltoch has taken me out here to see if I really have what it takes. Maybe I should squeeze her a little tighter with my Legacy. Or let her drop back to the hard ground below us.

But then another voice joins our little party and interrupts my thoughts.

“Five,” Ethan says. “Put her down.” He turns to Deltoch and speaks in an angry whisper that’s loud enough for me to hear. “No one told me about this. What the hell is going on out here?”

“I’m observing the future of the Mogadorian cause,” Deltoch replies.

“Five, come back to the ground.”

“You are not in charge here.” Deltoch’s voice is calm but booming. I can see his nostrils flare a little bit. “Do not stand in the way while he proves to us that he is capable of making tough decisions.”

“He’s not ready for this,” Ethan says.

Deltoch turns to me with a smile that says “I told you so.”

“I am too,” I shout.

“You don’t know what you’re—”

“Do not talk to him as if you have any idea what he is or what he is capable of,” Deltoch says. Then he adds a single, damning word: “human.”

And for the first time since meeting Deltoch, I’m on his side. Ethan is my friend, but he’s never been in my position before. He’s the one who tells me I need rest when I know I can keep training and can push myself harder. The one who tells me to act like I’m on top of the food chain and then tries to tell me what to do.

Ethan looks at me, breathless. “Do you really want your first kill to be this worthless girl when it could be Nine?”

I shift my eyes back to Emma, who has tears running down her face. She’s staring at me, waiting for my decision. I can see the pleading in her eyes, and even though I don’t want to, all I can think of are the good times we had back in Miami. I know that she’s not the only one holding her breath. That Deltoch, and Ethan, and the Mogs all around are watching to see how I act. And I suddenly feel like there’s so much pressure in my brain that it might explode, because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t disappoint the Mogs. I can’t show weakness. Deltoch obviously brought me out here to kill this girl.

Unless there’s some other way . . .

“Is your brother still a wannabe gangster in Miami?” I ask Emma.

She looks confused.

“Answer me!” I shout, more out of frustration with the situation than with her silence.

“Y-yes,” she says. “The rest of us left after what happened, but he stayed.”

Both of us descend to the ground. When her feet touch, I release her from my telekinetic grip. She crumples to the earth. I turn my back on her and walk to Deltoch and Ethan.

“Her brother might be of use to us,” I say to them. “He was small-time when I was in Miami, but he may have gained some kind of influence—connections we can exploit. We should use her to leverage any information out of him that might be valuable in tracking the Garde, the same way we’re using FBI resources. Maybe nothing will come of it, but she’s definitely no good to us if she’s dead.”

“Five . . . ,” Ethan starts.

“I’ve been reading book after book on how wars are fought. Information can be just as powerful as armies. You should take her to the detention wing, Ethan. After all, she knows you. You’re part of the reason she’s here.” Ethan doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s clenching his jaw. He’s not used to me talking to him like this, but I can’t help it. My adrenaline is pumping out of control. Taking charge, I feel like a leader.

“If you need to know what happened before you got out here for your reports,” I say, lingering on the last word, “I’ll be happy to fill you in.”

Ethan stares at me for a few seconds as if he’s trying to figure out where all this is coming from. Then he throws a spite-filled glance at Deltoch and grabs Emma’s arm, dragging her into the woods. She doesn’t put up much of a fight.

“A wise decision,” Deltoch says.

“Was this some sort of test?” I ask.

“All of life is a test. You of all people should know that.”

“Did I pass?” I ask.

Deltoch’s lips spread wide.

“With flying colors.”

CHAPTER FIVE

A FEW WEEKS GO BY, AND THEN EVERYTHING happens very quickly.

The Mogs track one of the Garde to a place called Paradise, Ohio, but two end up being there. At least, that’s what survivors of the battle say. Not that many Mogs are left standing after they try to apprehend the two Loric fighters. From what the commanders can gather, one of them was Number Six, who used to be in Mog captivity but managed to escape before I was brought on board. Practically all of our forces are reassigned to track the two across the country, leaving less pressing matters like my history lessons ignored.

Something impossible also happens: I get hurt.

Four is still alive—I know that because there’s no new scar on my ankle—but when one of the Mog soldiers I’m sparring with hits my arm with a sword, I get cut. Blood actually runs out of my shoulder, and the soldier is left completely unharmed.

The Loric charm has been broken.

I am vulnerable.

It’s a weird thing to suddenly be able to die, or get hurt. To know that there’s not another number standing in the way of me and nothingness. It’s kind of terrifying at first, but it just reminds me that I’ve made the right decision. I can’t imagine facing the Mog armies without a charm protecting me. The Garde don’t stand a chance if they can’t be convinced of their idiocy.

Ethan freaks out about my sudden mortality and demands that Deltoch stop any training that involves actual fighting. He says I’m not ready for fieldwork yet—of course he does. But Deltoch agrees enough to put my fight training on hold. Instead, I make myself useful by scouring the internet for anything that might be helpful. That’s how I stumble onto a website called “Aliens Anonymous,” and while it’s full of a bunch of stuff that sounds like total bullshit, it also has articles about what went down in Paradise. The posts sound like they’re written by someone who knows about the Garde and the Mogs—someone who might have an idea as to where Six and the other Garde ran off to after the battle. So, using a little bit of persuasion, I manage to get in tight with some of the editors and contributors on the blog. They know me as FLYBOY.

There’s one idiot who goes by JOLLYROGER182 who claims to have been involved in the battle in Ohio. He’s hesitant to talk about it at first, but when I feed him a made-up story about seeing some guys with black eyes and head tattoos chasing after some sad-looking teenager who ended up flying through the air, he starts to ask me a ton of questions—questions I’ll only answer once he tells me what he knows. So he spills. He says his former classmate was one of the Garde, a guy named John Smith. But more important, the backwoods ass hat tells me something else: John is Number Four.

When I give this news to Ethan, he says he’s sure the Mogs already have someone watching the blog and that I probably shouldn’t get in too deep with the editors there in case I accidentally let something slip. I tell him that’s ridiculous and that he doesn’t know what a good liar I am, and we get into an argument that ends with me going to Deltoch myself and telling him about what I’ve discovered. I swear it’s the first time I’ve ever seen the Mog look like he’s happy with me. He tells me to keep doing what I’m doing—that Setrákus Ra is pleased with me.

After that, I start to see more and more of the Mogs and less of Ethan. I think maybe he’s jealous of me, even though I’m really just behaving the way he always said I should act—like I’m a big shot here. Mostly I see him only when he briefs me on how things are going in the Mogs’ search for the Garde or at meals. Deltoch takes over my training.

We track Four and Six across the country—from Ohio to Tennessee and then to Florida. Somehow they always stay a step ahead of our forces or end up taking out our scouts. But our big break comes when Four makes a stupid move. He returns to Paradise, where the Mogs are obviously still sniffing around.

And now he’s in our custody.

I was kind of hoping Four would be someone I could talk sense into easily, but based on what the Mogs and JOLLYROGER182 tell me, it sounds like he’s a total idiot. I mean, you kind of have to be if you go back to the place the Mogs found you to begin with. I’m surprised his mark wasn’t burned into my ankle months ago. He might still listen to reason. If so, maybe Setrákus Ra can give him Europe to rule, or Africa or something.

But there’s one person who definitely won’t be getting his own continent. Things are moving fast here in the compound, including my promotion to commander over the Mog forces. The Loric charm is broken. I don’t have to worry about some strange magic hurting me if I try to harm another Garde. Nine’s time is up, and our Beloved Leader, Setrákus Ra, is coming to personally oversee me execute him. The thought of finally taking my rightful place as a leader within the Mog forces blacks out practically all hesitation I have about Nine. When the time comes, I’ll just have to remind myself of the files the Mogs had on him and power through it.

I can bleed now. That means Nine can bleed too.

My time has come.

The morning of my ascension, I’m called into one of the Mog science labs. There’s apparently been some sort of big discovery they want my help with, and while I’m flattered, I already have a lot on my mind thanks to what’s going to happen that night when Nine is dragged into the Great Hall in chains and I take my spot as a commander of the Mog forces.

It doesn’t help that they keep me waiting in the lab. As time ticks by, I grow bored, and find a notepad and pen.

I start to draw.

I haven’t had a chance to draw stories or anything like I used to in the sand on the beaches since I’ve been at the Mog base. But now, in the labs, I remember how much I used to like to do this.

I draw Nine. He’s held to the ground by heavy chains attached to a collar around his neck. He’s frail and weak. I, on the other hand, look like a superhero. I float above him. Nine is so insignificant that I don’t even dirty my hands with him. Instead, I have a monster—an attack dog of sorts—that’s going to dispatch him. The beast is like nothing that’s ever walked on any planet (probably). It’s got three lizard-like heads and a furry body, with razor-sharp talons. And wings. It’s the most badass hell-beast I can imagine. All of its mouths are wide, and poisoned saliva drips from pointy teeth. Its gnarled arms . . .

“Five,” someone says from behind me.

I turn around. I’ve gotten so caught up in my drawing that I didn’t even notice one of the Mog scientists come in. He wears a long black lab coat and white rubber gloves. In his hands is something I recognize. I almost leap off my stool, because I think for a second that someone’s been in my room and taken my Loric Chest, but then I realize it’s not mine. The gleaming symbol on it doesn’t belong to me.

“We recovered this Chest from one of the Loric in Ohio,” the scientist says, gently placing it on a workbench. “We thought maybe you might want to try to open it.”

“What makes you think I can?” I ask.

The scientist shrugs. “We believe this Chest belongs to Number Four. We’re hoping that higher-ranking numbers might have unbridled access to the Chests of those beneath them.”

I think of Nine’s file and the mentality that he is the most powerful among us because of his number and clench my fists. I know I haven’t been great about figuring out how to use things in my own Chest, but the thought of him being able to rifle through my stuff makes my pulse pound.

“All right,” I say. “Let me try.”

I do everything I can think of. The Chest doesn’t react to my touch. I pry at it with my telekinesis until I have a splitting headache. Finally, I use my Externa to turn to metal and start banging on the side of the damned thing.

The scientist is not thrilled about this last bit.

“If you would, sir,” he says, trying very politely to step between my super-strong metal body and the Chest, “maybe we should call it a day. We’ll keep the Chest under close watch until after the ceremony tonight, and then you can give it another try later.”

I allow my body to revert back to normal.

“Sure,” I say. “Is that all?”

The scientist nods. I’m almost out of the lab when he speaks again.

“Sir? You forgot your drawing.”

I turn back. He’s holding up my doodle—my one-page story. I suddenly feel stupid for having drawn it.

“Keep it,” I say. “After today I will have no more need for childish things.”

“Hmmm.” He stares at the notebook. “Perhaps this can be of some inspiration in my work.”

I shrug and then leave.

Ethan meets me in the hallway outside. I’m a little surprised to see him and wonder how long he’s been waiting outside.

“What’s up?”

“Just trying to help out the scientists a little,” I say. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

He pushes a carefully folded stack of black clothes into my hands.

“I wanted to be the one to give you this,” he says.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Your ceremonial uniform,” he says. “What you’ll wear tonight when you ascend to your new position.” He nods at my jeans and T-shirt. “From now on you should start wearing a Mogadorian officer’s uniform. It’ll remind everyone who sees you of your position.”

“There won’t be any need for that,” I say. “After tonight everyone will know me as their superior regardless of what I wear.”

Ethan smirks a little and nods, but there’s a sadness in his expression I can’t place. Maybe it’s just because he doesn’t have his usual painted-on grin.

“I wanted to apologize for the whole thing with Emma,” Ethan says slowly. “I know I should have done so earlier, but then everything got crazy. I never should have questioned whether or not you’re ready for this. Obviously you are.”

“Thanks,” I say.

He leans in close.

“They never should have brought her here,” he whispers.

“Well, at least she’s alive.”

“Is that what they told you?” he asks, his eyebrows knit together.

“Deltoch said she was sent to another base somewhere closer to Florida,” I say. My thoughts start to race. Ethan makes it sound like she’s not actually in Florida, so where would she be? I shouldn’t be concerned with Emma, but I am. And if the Mogs are lying to me about her, then . . .

But Ethan smiles and reassures me.

“I’m sure that’s where she is then,” he says. “I haven’t heard anything myself.”

We start the long walk back to my side of the compound, and even though I try to forget about Emma, thoughts of her keep nagging at the back of my mind. I wonder if I should ask Deltoch about her. No, obviously I can’t. That would show weakness.

But I forget about Emma when we enter the cavernous main hall and I see figures like I’ve never seen on the base before. Mog women, dressed in long gowns in deep purples and reds. Their heads and faces are heavily tattooed. Most of them have gleaming black braids or ponytails jutting out of their shaved heads. Unlike the soldiers I’m used to seeing, they’re thinner and more snakelike in their movements, long arms rippling at their sides as they walk.

There are others who I’ve never seen before too. Only a few of them. Young-looking Mogs about my age if I had to guess. They’re dressed in expensive-looking uniforms that aren’t unlike those that the Mog commanders wear.

“Trueborn Mogadorian children,” Ethan says, noticing where my eyes are. “And several women from high-ranking families. They’ve come to see you take your place among the officers.”

I smile ear to ear. I can’t help it. It feels so incredible to have all of these people here for me. To cheer me on.

I realize that Five is kind of a weird name for the newest Mog leader. It’s just so . . . Loric. I wonder if I should go back to one of the other names I used in the past. Bolt. Maybe Cody? I know Cody doesn’t sound very Mogadorian, but I was him for a long time. That’s who I was when Ethan first met me.

As we round the corner to the hallway my study is on, a question comes to my mind that I’ve never thought to ask before.

“How did you know I was Number Five?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Ethan’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“When I found you in your study talking to Commander Deltoch—before I knew what was going on—you both referred to me as Number Five. But how did you know that’s who I was? There were only two dead, and the Mogs had only captured Six and Nine before.”

Ethan looks at me as if this is the strangest question I could possibly ask.

“When you first got to the beach house, you used to draw in the sand all of the time,” he says in his calm, smooth voice. “Pictures and stories and strange symbols. The tide always washed them away, but I got to see some of them from the house.”

Of course. He was probably always keeping an eye on me.

“The only symbol I could ever make out was the numeral five.”

I feel stupid. How easily I gave myself away. I’d gotten into the habit of drawing in the sand back on the island with Rey, but I’d always watched as the water destroyed anything I created. I thought I’d been so careful, so clever.

So they didn’t know what number I was when they first recruited me.

I must look unhappy, because he places a hand on my shoulder.

“Is everything okay, Five?”

I shrug.

“I guess I’m just wondering if the Mogs were bummed I was a low-ranking number and not, like, Number Eight.”

Ethan’s face scrunches up.

“Five, we wanted you for you, regardless of what number you were. I saw your potential the moment we first met on the beach. I could see the hunger for this in your eyes.”

I smile a little. “Thanks, Ethan.”

“Is this about Nine? Are you worried that you’re not ready to take the next step?”

A couple of Mog soldiers run by us. There must be a fire somewhere that needs to be put out, some prisoner who needs to be taught a lesson or a high-ranking commander who needs an entourage.

“Of course I’m ready,” I say.

“Five, listen to me. You have to do this. You have to do whatever it is the Mogs ask of you as long as it means you’ll ascend to the highest levels of their ranks on Earth. You’re not just doing this for yourself, you know. I’m counting on you to let me live in the beach house again once you’re running the planet.”

“You should follow your own rules,” I say with a smirk. “The way you argued with Deltoch—”

“Was stupid.” He grins that grin, ear to ear.

“Let’s go then.” I say. “I’m ready to do this.”

More Mogs run by, and then suddenly the hallways are teeming with soldiers. Some of them are yelling, but I can’t make out what they’re saying—the noise echoing off the stone walls and floor turns everything into a roar of sound.

“What the hell is going on?” Ethan shouts.

And then there’s an explosion somewhere inside the base, and everything goes insane.

CHAPTER SIX

AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL, A WALL OF FIRE blows past, and I instinctively push against it with my telekinesis to try to keep the flames from engulfing me, Ethan and the Mogs rushing through the hallway. Either I’m successful or the fire was already going to pass us by—whatever the case, we remain unscathed.

The same can’t be said for the people in the adjoining hallway.

Has there been a prisoner uprising? Did our Beloved Leader’s ship crash into the mountain? Or could this just be some sort of horrific accident?

The steady sound of gunfire from somewhere in the compound counts these last two possibilities out.

We’re under attack.

“We should take cover,” Ethan says. “We can retreat deeper into the mountain.”

I pause. My ceremony has been ruined. Everything I’ve been working towards has been crapped on by whatever’s happening in the compound right now.

I won’t let that happen. This is my chance to show the Mogs what I’m made of. That I really am worthy to lead them. Screw killing a single Garde—I’ll take out whatever army is attacking us with a wave of telekinetic power. Setrákus Ra might even see me in action. Hell, I might be able to fight alongside him.

“No,” I shout to Ethan over the noise of weapons and yelling and boots hitting the ground. “I’ll fight. You take cover.”

Ethan starts to argue, but I’m already tossing my ceremonial uniform to the ground and running down the corridor, my hand reaching into my right pocket to touch the steel ball bearing. My skin takes on a metallic sheen, and my footfalls get heavier—I could fly, but I don’t want to be a floating target for whoever it is that’s managed to infiltrate the base.

I’m steps into the next corridor when a wave of hot air hits me, heavy with the scent of char. It’s hard to see through all the smoke and ash, but then I realize where that smoke and ash has come from. The Mogs in this hallway must have been completely annihilated. Whoever’s attacked us isn’t pulling any punches and is obviously trying to inflict as much damage as possible.

I follow the shouts and gunfire as I jog through the tunnels, but the combination of my metal form and my being used to flying everywhere keeps my pace pretty slow. By the time I make it to the vast main room, it’s easy to see the route the intruders have taken; there are piles upon piles of ash strewn about the big hall. The space has devolved into utter chaos as the injured cry for help and the monstrous beasts that have escaped from their pens trample Mog soldiers who’ve been caught completely by surprise. I pause to try to figure out which direction the attackers went, then realize that there’s an easier way than trying to follow the ash trails: there are tons of pikens running, crawling, and flying towards one side of the compound, chasing something. So I fall in alongside them, rushing towards the detention cells.

Detention cells. Is this some kind of rescue attempt?

I take a chance and fly up to the corridor that leads to the cells. I think I hear someone shouting my name behind me, but when I look back, it’s just a mass of feathers as birdlike creatures flap past me. So I continue on, and there, turning a corner at the end of the detention hallway, is Nine, followed by someone I’ve seen before. Someone I recognize from Mog reports about the incidents in Paradise.

Number Four.

The two Garde run out of view, and there’s a distant rumble of rock cracking and falling. I clench my fists at my sides. Of course they’ve screwed everything up. I spent years—years—on a deserted island without so much as a hello from any other Loric, but I come to the one place the Loric should be steering clear of—the home base of their sworn enemies—and I meet two of them.

A part of me wonders if they know I’m here. If they know what today meant for me. And if they’ve ruined all of it on purpose, as one final joke on pitiful Number Five, who they all thought would rot on a beach somewhere.

There’s a squad of Mogs reaching the top of the stairs to my right. They run after me as I jet through the hallway, but the path Nine and Four disappeared down is now blocked, collapsed in on itself—no doubt due to Four’s or Nine’s Legacies. My mind races as I try to remember other ways that the tunnels connect and where we might head them off. Behind me, a dozen or so Mogs from all over the compound regroup. I listen to their conversations as I try to figure out my next move. They’ve managed to capture one of the intruders. He’s a human. A teenager. Reports are that Four is the only other assailant, not counting Nine.

The prisoners.

I turn to the Mogs and immediately start barking orders. This is my time to shine.

“You three,” I say, waving to a small huddle of soldiers. “Find any other escaped prisoners. The rest of you, come with me. We’re going to cut the intruders off at the pass.”

There’s hesitancy in their faces.

“Look around you,” I continue. “We are under attack, and I am the only person even close to being a commander in sight. If you don’t move immediately, you’ll be answering to our Beloved Leader for your treason when he arrives.”

They all nod to me at once. Several salute.

Ethan approaches from the corridor. He’s out of breath but looks pleased with what I’m doing. As the Mogs move out, he tosses me an earpiece communicator, pointing to another one in his ear.

“In case we get separated,” he says.

“I thought you were going to take cover.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I want to see if all that training has paid off.”

I grin and then shoot through the air over the heads of the Mog soldiers.

“This way!” I shout. “We can’t let these Loric bastards escape!”

A few of the tunnels we go through have partially collapsed from whatever it is Nine and Four are doing, but it’s no matter. The adrenaline in my system sends my Legacies into overload. I’m moving boulders left and right and jetting through the tunnels. The Mogs do their best to catch up to me, but I’m moving too quickly for them. I shoot from corridor to corridor, my mind trying desperately to remember, from my downtime spent exploring, how these passageways all fit together, until I come to a fork in the tunnels that I don’t remember. Time is of the essence. If we’re going to stop Four and Nine, I have to take action.

But I don’t know where to go.

My troops start to catch up behind me. I split their ranks down the middle with one hand as I float in front of them.

“Half of you that way, the other half follow me. As fast as you can. They can’t be far ahead of us now.”

They don’t hesitate this time—just charge onward. Ethan follows the other group, again tapping on his earpiece. I know he’ll alert me if they come across anything on their side.

And of course, that’s what happens a few minutes later.

“We’ve spotted them,” Ethan’s voice crackles in my ear. “They’re headed for a bridge. We’re going to try to cut them down.”

“Shit,” I mutter. I halt the Mogs who followed me. We race back around, into the other tunnel. The sound of Mog weapons firing bounces off the corridor walls. We’re almost to the bridge when I hear Ethan screaming in my ear in a way I’ve never heard before: primal and full of pain.

I speed forward until I think I may go supersonic. When I fly out into the cavern where the bridge is, it’s a madhouse. Half the team I sent has been reduced to ash. The other half is missing limbs or is in other ways wounded by the acidic green lava that pools under the bridge. Nine or Four must have used their powers to somehow turn it into a weapon. I feel stupid for never realizing what powerful offensive capabilities the lava could have when paired with my telekinesis.

But I forget about all of that when I see Ethan. He’s staring at his right hand. Or, rather, the place where his right hand should be. Now it’s just a stump, charred and cauterized by the green ooze. He looks up at me, one eye wide and full of desperation. The other is hidden by a smoking patch of green gunk. Then his good eye rolls back in his head and his legs give out, and he’s falling back, plummeting towards the lake of deadly green sludge below.

“No!” I shout, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m flying after him, diving and catching him right before he hits the surface of the bubbling green lake.

I float back up to the bridge with Ethan’s body in my arms. He’s still breathing, at least. Maybe he’s in shock. The Mogs from my half of the group stare at me, awaiting orders.

“Why are you standing there?” I shout. “Go get them.”

And then they’re off over the bridge and into the tunnels after Four and Nine. I should be going with them. But I can’t leave Ethan behind like this.

I fly us both back through the tunnels the way we came. Towards the central hall, where there’s a med lab that’s probably swarming with injured Mogs already.

It’s in the grand hall that I see him. He’s tall—maybe eight feet. It’s hard to tell exactly from my place floating above him. The surviving Mogs back away from him, bowing. His hair is short and black. His skin is pale. Something about his face reminds me of a gargoyle—maybe it’s the grayish tint to his skin or the way his sharp teeth are bared behind dark, snarling lips. He’s got a thick purple scar on his neck. Three pendants shine on his chest.

“Our Beloved Leader,” I whisper.

He turns his head, and his eyes bore into me. He raises one hand. There’s a crackle of blue across my vision, and then suddenly I’m falling, rapidly. My Legacies aren’t working. All I can do is hold on to Ethan and try to position him so that I take the brunt of the fall.

I hear my head bounce off the stone floor the second before everything goes black.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I WAKE UP IN MY BEDROOM STILL WEARING MY dirty clothes from the attack. There’s blood on me, but I don’t know who it belonged to. For a second, I think I might have dreamed the whole thing, but one touch to the sore lump on the back of my head proves otherwise. I glance at the clock. It’s a little after noon, but I have no idea if I’ve been out for hours or days. It takes me a few minutes to put my thoughts in order and realize two things: I don’t know what happened to Ethan, and Setrákus Ra is here.

Before I can even begin to make sense of it all, a Mog scout enters my room.

“Our Beloved Leader will see you now,” he says. I wonder how he knew I’d woken up, but of course there must be cameras somewhere in my room. The Mogs are always watching.

“Ethan,” I say. My head aches as I speak, shock waves radiating from the lump on my skull.

“Our Beloved Leader will explain everything,” the Mog says. “But I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you. He’s in Central Command.”

I suddenly remember how I got the injury on the back of my head. I fly off the bed and float in the air while at the same time using my telekinesis to clear the top of a dresser in my room.

Well, at least my powers are back. But what did our Beloved Leader do to me that caused me to fall?

I don’t waste any more time as I jet through the hallways towards the room where Setrákus Ra awaits. My thoughts are tinged with worry. What exactly happened at the base? Did Nine and Four manage to escape? How is Ethan?

And what of my place in the Mog ranks?

I half expect a gloom of mourning or depression to be cast over the compound because of all the casualties we suffered—they had to be in the hundreds, at least. But it’s as though nothing has changed apart from the scorched walls and destroyed doorframes in some of the hallways. My side of the compound doesn’t seem to have any cave-ins, at least, though I don’t know how the rest of the place fared with Four and Nine ripping through it. The Mogs go about their jobs dutifully, nodding to me or saluting as I pass. Some are fixing the things that were damaged in the assault; others are cleaning up the ash that litters the corners and floors. Sweeping up their dead.

Two soldiers move out of the way as I approach the base’s Central Command room. I burst through the doors, and for a moment everyone inside freezes. There are several commanders all standing in front of digital tabletops displaying three-dimensional maps. On huge screens around the room, news reports, security footage and various other videos and images are displayed. Several humans in dark suits stand at the consoles, pointing at files they bring up on the screens. They’re comparing photos of Four and Nine escaping to a few candid shots of people in restaurants and gas stations.

And in the center of it all is the single most powerful person in the galaxy. Setrákus Ra, our Beloved Leader and the Mogadorian ruler who will lead his people to continued prosperity. He leans on a gold staff with a black orb in its handle. His sheer physical presence is staggering, but there’s something else about him that intimidates me. When he looks at me, it’s as if he’s assessed my every flaw and has passed judgment on me before I’ve even said a word. I wish I could tell what his verdict is.

I bow to him. I don’t know what else to do.

“It is an honor, my Beloved Leader,” I say.

He simply stares at me. Everyone remains quiet as all eyes drift to him, wondering what his response will be.

“Clear the room,” he bellows, and before I know it, it’s only the two of us and the slight hum of computers and electronics.

He motions to a big chair in the center of the room—one that looks like it’s reserved for the person in charge—as he walks towards one of the computer terminals.

“Have a seat,” he says.

I do, because his orders are the only ones that matter. Somehow I manage not to ask a thousand questions as I wait for him to speak. He takes his time, studying a monitor with Four’s photo on it.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” he finally asks.

“What?” I don’t know what he’s talking about. All I feel is a pulsing pain in my head and nagging confusion in my mind.

He turns to me and grins, showing off his pointy teeth. His hand waves, and my chair spins a little, turning a full 360 degrees until I face him again.

“Being in the seat of power. It suits you. You look comfortable in it.”

I stare at him as a few seconds tick by, trying to soak in what he’s just said to me. Our Beloved Leader thinks I look comfortable with power.

“Thank you,” I finally manage to say.

There are so many questions shooting through my brain that I don’t even know what to ask first. How did the Garde manage to attack us? Where is Ethan? What does this mean for my future? And so I try to ask one question that will encompass all of them.

“What happened?”

Setrákus Ra pauses briefly, allowing a small grimace before he launches into his explanation.

“Number Four,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “It appears that he and a human conspirator were able to sneak into this compound. Our best guess after reviewing security footage is that they were able to use a Legacy to make themselves invisible during their infiltration. They stole a few items we had in lockup—slaying several pikens in the process—and then proceeded to slaughter countless Mogadorian soldiers, scouts and trainees as they made their way across the compound to the detention cells. They killed without discretion. Many of our visiting guests were murdered.”

I swallow hard as I think of the elegant women and young-looking Mogs I’d seen passing through the main hall before everything went nuts. They were in the compound for the ceremony. I was the reason they were here.

“I believe that’s where you caught up with the Garde, am I correct? As the prisoners escaped?”

I nod. “I led a small group of Mogs. We tried to stop them.”

“And what happened then?”

“The tunnels were blocked, so I chased them through an alternate route. Eventually we had to split up, and the group I wasn’t leading found them. By the time I got there, most of that team had been annihilated.”

“And?” Setrákus Ra asks.

“Ethan was still alive. He fell. I caught him and brought him back to the main hall. Where I saw you. And you . . .” I shake my head, touching the back of my skull. “I fell. What happened to me? What happened to Ethan?”

“Your Legacies are gifts that can be taken away by those with the power to do so. I blocked your use of them in the chaos because we were unsure of what was happening.”

“You can just cancel out my abilities?” I ask. This seems impossible—losing my powers is a nightmare I’ve never even imagined.

“It is within my ability,” Setrákus Ra says. “There’s little that is not.”

Without my Legacies, I am as normal as a human. Even if I’m not from Earth.

Do the Garde know about this? Did Rey? Or was this some cosmic joke we were all supposed to find out about as we got our asses kicked? I almost laugh at the idea of the Garde, confident in their superpowers, discovering that their enemy can strip them of their abilities with little more than a wave of his hand.

“And Ethan?” I ask again.

Setrákus Ra begins to pace around the room. My chair turns so that I am always facing him. He must be using some kind of telekinetic ability to twist it. I wonder what other powers our Beloved Leader can command. Are there any limits to what he can do? He’s conquered planets. My Legacies, while powerful, are probably nothing compared to the scope of his talents.

His pace is slow as he walks. I stay silent. Finally, he stops in front of a computer terminal. He pushes a few buttons, and Ethan’s face shows up on one of the screens. Setrákus Ra turns back to me, a scowl on his face.

“Ethan is still alive,” he says, and a wave of relief washes over me.

“Good,” I say.

“Is it?” Setrákus Ra asks. “Two of the Garde escaped, and Ethan lives. We lost valuable assets, and our enemies gained a powerful weapon in Nine. I don’t consider that a victory. Do you?”

I pause. I haven’t really processed anything that’s happened, or what the repercussions of my actions might be. I know fundamentally that I chose incorrectly when I saved Ethan—I’ve been around the Mogs long enough to realize that. But this is the first time I’ve ever had to wonder about how important Ethan’s position is to the Mogs. I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I know. It was a dumb thing to do. I might have been able to capture Four and Nine if I’d left Ethan behind.”

“So why didn’t you?”

I’ve hardly had time to think about this myself, much less provide any sort of convincing answer to Setrákus Ra.

“I don’t know. I mean, Ethan’s always been there for me.”

“Ethan does what he is told,” Setrákus Ra says, leaning on his staff. “I’m sorry you have to hear it like this, but all of Ethan’s kindness and mentoring to you stems from me. He was following orders as my proxy when I could not be there with you myself. Do you understand that?”

I nod. He continues.

“Despite being held prisoner on this base, Nine’s true identity was known to very few. Mostly only officers and a few of our top scientists.”

“How could the Garde have known Nine was here then?” I ask.

“We don’t know,” Setrákus Ra says. His eyes narrow a little, and his face grows grim. “The most obvious answer would be that someone within the compound told them. Someone who had access to that sort of confidential information.”

I start to shake my head immediately. I see what he’s getting at.

“It wasn’t me,” I say. Words start spilling out. “I would never. I know I’m technically one of the Loric, but I’ve never had any communication with any of the others. I’ve been trying to help track them down for you! Check my room. Check all the security tapes and electronics I own. There’s no way I’d even begin to know how to get in touch with them, much less—”

“Relax, Five,” he says, and his voice leaves no room for argument or further comment. “I’m not suggesting it was you.”

He lingers on the last word, staring me down.

“You think it was Ethan,” I say.

“The humans are a tricky sort.”

“I can ask him,” I say. “He’ll tell me. Where is he?”

“Would he really be honest with you?” our Beloved Leader asks. “The Mogadorians have never been anything but up front with you, Five. But Ethan deceived you for a year. We wanted to take you in immediately, but he convinced us you weren’t ready. That you weren’t clever enough to see reason. We’ve been wanting you to play a more active role in our conquering of this planet, but he has always said you’ve needed more time.”

My thoughts flash back to when I had Emma in the air. Ethan saying, “He’s not ready.”

I shake my head again.

“But we’ve seen the security footage from the attack,” he says. “I’ve seen how well you can lead. I know you’re ready to move forward. I think it’s time you were assigned a mission, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “What can I do for you?”

“You know of the krauls that live in the pens here, yes?” Setrákus Ra asks. “Or lived, rather. Many of them were killed in the attack, and others still roam in the tunnels of this complex.”

“I do.”

“When a kraul is injured, do you know what happens to it?”

I shake my head. I’ve never given much thought to the gross little creatures, other than to make sure that I stay away from them. The tunnels leading to their pens smell awful.

“It’s devoured by the rest of the pack. It’s a simple evolutionary instinct that’s helped keep the species alive through the years. Many Earth creatures do the same sort of thing, both literally and metaphorically. An injured animal in the pack is a vulnerable point, a chink in the armor. This is even truer when it comes to more evolved species. Those who can think and act with intelligence. Those who have information that can be exploited when they are weak.”

I try to convince myself that he’s not about to propose what I think he’s going to propose, but I can’t. My Cêpan may have raised me to be a liar, but I’m not that good.

“You’re going to kill Ethan, aren’t you?” I whisper, and after the question comes out, I immediately wish I could take it back, as if by speaking the words I’ve put this idea in his head. Even though I know this isn’t the case.

“I am not,” Setrákus Ra says. “You are.”

I stop breathing as I try to deal with what he’s just said. My fingers tighten on the armrest of the metal chair, and I am made of cold steel—my Externa acting out of control.

It doesn’t last long. Setrákus Ra waves his hand at me, and suddenly I’m made of normal flesh again.

His power is terrifying.

“You must show your allegiance to the Mogadorians with an offering of blood. You’ve known this since your first day among us. That has not changed.”

I feel sick, but I try to steady my stomach as best I can with sheer willpower. The last thing I need to do is show weakness in front of him.

“You do want to rise in power, don’t you, Five?” he asks.

“Of course I do,” I say.

And it’s true. I’ve come too far now. I can’t go back to hiding. And now that I’ve seen the extent of the Mogadorian forces, I know there’s no way the Garde stand a chance against them. Nine and Four might have mowed down a lot of our soldiers here, but that’s nothing. A speck of the Mogs’ power.

“You’ve been studying the Great Book,” my Beloved Leader says. “What does it say about anyone who is suspected of treason?”

“That they must be destroyed,” I say reflexively. I try to backpedal. “But I don’t think he would have done this.”

“Can you say that with one hundred percent certainty? Would you stake your life on it?”

And I realize that I don’t know for sure.

“No,” I murmur.

“Ethan is a problem for you. He is a weakness that the Garde can exploit. And they will. Make no mistake about that. Would you rather have him die nobly at your hands or fall into the clutches of the Garde? Who knows what they might do to him—you’ve seen what an animal Nine is. Do you really wish that upon Ethan?”

“No, of course not,” I say.

My head is a complete mess as I try to process everything Setrákus Ra is saying. It all makes sense. Each reason abides by the things I’ve been studying—that Ethan himself has been teaching me. But I wish there was another way.

I look up at him. He’s peering back at me with those judging eyes, as if he knows that a big part of me doesn’t want to harm Ethan—my one friend. But then, I don’t even know if he is my friend. Maybe he has just been working under orders. And if he had anything to do with the attack . . .

“Do you know what I planned to do at the ceremony before the Garde laid waste to so many of our forces?” Setrákus Ra asks.

“You were going to make me an officer,” I say.

“In a manner of speaking.” His lips spread a little when he sees that this confuses me. “Deltoch offered you North America—your beloved Canada—when you first made the decision to see reason and join us. But I’ve read the reports on you. I’ve watched you grow from afar. When this planet falls, I want you to be the one I can count on to rule under my guidance. I was going to name you as my right hand, Five. My disciple.”

“You want me to rule alongside you?” I ask. My head spins.

“The moment you carry out this mission, you will become the second most powerful person on this planet. There is no need for a ceremony, only action.” He walks closer to me, crossing behind my chair and putting a hand on my shoulder. “Ethan is a liability, Five. He must be dealt with if you are to ascend.”

And that’s all there is to it, really. I have endless potential. I will rule alongside our Beloved Leader. I’ll finally get to go back to Canada, which I liked so much when I was young—only this time I won’t have to be afraid. I will be the one who everyone loves and respects. Or fears. But in order for that to be a reality, I have to do one thing. This one small thing.

I have to.

“I agree, my Beloved Leader,” I say, but in the back of my head, I’m wondering if I can find another way around this. Like I did with Emma. I just need some time to think.

Setrákus Ra smiles.

“You have forty-eight hours,” he says. “Since we were unsure of his true loyalties, we moved him back to the Mog safe house in Miami. You should know where it is—you lived there for a year. We have eyes on the place. You shouldn’t meet any outside resistance. If you cannot kill him, you are nothing more than another injured kraul.”

It’s not hard to get what he’s implying. Fail to do this, and I’m the problem. I’ll end up in a cell like Nine did. Or worse. They’ll kill Ethan, anyway—probably in front of me. Or draw it out, slowly bleeding him dry to show me the error of my ways.

But I am not weak. I am not the problem. I am endless potential and power.

I am the future ruler of this forsaken planet.

And as much as I owe to Ethan, our Beloved Leader has made up his mind. Ethan no longer has a place here. The best thing I can do for him is make sure his death is quick and painless.

“I’ll ready a ship for you,” Setrákus Ra says. He comes back around to the front of my chair and offers me his hand. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet.

“That’s okay,” I say. “I can get there on my own.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

THERE ARE ALMOST A THOUSAND MILES BETWEEN West Virginia and my destination in Miami. I could take a plane or a ship—I actually can’t wait to see what kind of warships and transports the Mogs have that I haven’t seen—but I choose to go alone. To fly myself. Partly because I know long-distance flying will be good training for me, and partly because I need to clear my head and focus on the task at hand, and I know that’s not something I’ll be able to do if other people are around.

Besides, I’ve been living in the compound with thousands of other people for months now. Always under scrutiny. I could use a little time to myself.

Setrákus Ra agrees to let me go out unaided and doesn’t even make me wear any kind of tracking device or communicator. Instead, he wishes me luck and has one of the scientists give me some kind of light suit that fits me like a second skin. I wear it under my clothes in order to fight against the cold air of the high altitude. I’m not sure what exactly is going to happen next, so I shove my Loric Chest in a duffel bag and strap it to my back. I don’t want to leave it behind.

And then I’m off.

I stay above the clouds so no one on the ground has the chance to see me and so there aren’t bugs constantly smashing into my face. I spot a few airplanes now and then, but I just swerve one way or the other and put some distance between us. Otherwise, it’s just me and the sky. And my thoughts.

I have almost a thousand miles to talk myself into killing Ethan. Because, as much of a front as I put up for my Beloved Leader, there is still a big part of me that needs convincing.

The conversation with Setrákus Ra keeps playing over and over again in my head as I constantly try to remind myself that going to Miami is what I have to do—that I can’t just take a right turn and head out into the Midwest or up to Canada. I want to be the right hand of our leader. I want to rule. I don’t want to go back into hiding, where I never feel safe and can’t show off my power. Especially now that the charm seems to be broken.

I’m mortal. I can be hurt and killed. Even if I wanted to betray the Mogs, there’s no way they’d let me live.

The route I take to Miami is close to the one I took through the Appalachian Trail with Rey when I was just a kid, when his cough started getting bad and we moved down through the states and to the islands. I probably wouldn’t have realized this if Ethan hadn’t shown me a map of that journey recently. But when I was a kid on those trails, we were moving slowly, and I was scared the whole time that at any moment the Mogs might show up and take me away. It’s almost funny looking at it from where I am now, flying like a jet, not from the Mogs but for them.

I think of Rey in earnest for the first time in what seems like weeks. Already that part of my life feels so distant and far away, like it was a weird dream I suddenly woke up from one day. I wonder what he would say if he knew what I was doing. It’s not like Rey wasn’t a murderer. I think about all the animals he slaughtered for us to eat and survive on when we lived on the island, or even the snakes that he beheaded just to make sure they didn’t attack us. And I realize for the first time that Rey killed other things too. People. Mogadorians. When the Mogs came for me in Canada—when I’d hidden in a tree scared out of my mind that the boogeymen Rey always talked about had come to take me away—he killed them. Turned them to ash right in front of me. And I’d never thought about it as being anything bad because he’d always told me they were evil. He killed them without a second thought because he thought they were a threat.

That’s sort of what I’m doing, right? Maybe Rey would completely understand the mission I’m on. I wonder if he might even have seen reason if he hadn’t gotten sick and had actually sat down and talked with the Mogs instead of just blindly follow the Loric orders to destroy them.

I stop somewhere in Georgia to rest and refuel myself with a couple of burgers. The Mogs gave me a fat stack of cash to use in case I needed shelter for the night, but my adrenaline is pumping. So I take to the sky again.

I have to focus.

How am I even going to do what I have to do?

The easiest thing would be to use my telekinesis, I guess. I could just snap Ethan’s neck the moment I see him. We wouldn’t even have to talk. He’d never see it coming. Or I could send him sailing through the sky and into the sea. Or I could use my Externa and become a walking blade. I realize that there are a million different ways that this could play out—a million different ways to kill—and I wonder how I’m supposed to decide on one perfect end that is humane and painless and honorable. How am I ever supposed to do this?

I wonder if Ethan really was involved in the attack on the base. I don’t want to think it’s possible, but it could be. And I guess that’s all that matters. That tiny sliver of doubt is the kind of thing that has to be eliminated. Just like the rest of Mogadore’s enemies. Just like it says in the Great Book.

It’s not like this is my decision. Setrákus Ra has determined Ethan’s fate. He is going to die whether I kill him or not. If I don’t do this, who will? Would they throw him in a cell for a while? Torture him? I don’t want him to have to go through that.

I am doing the right thing.

It’s almost midnight by the time I reach the beach house, and by that point I’m completely exhausted. The place is just as nice as I remember it. How long ago was it that I first saw it? A year and a half? Two years? I guess I wasn’t keeping track of time for a while there. But seeing the house again for the first time in months makes my stomach jump. It’s a weird sensation, one I’m not used to.

Something like going home.

I float in the air above the front gate and tell myself that it’s not too late. I can turn around and go. But even as I’m thinking this, my shoes are on the ground and my finger is on the doorbell and another voice is in my head, saying, “This is the only way, and when it’s done you will rule this place.”

A servant answers the door—a maid I don’t recall but who must know me because she gasps when she sees me and then disappears inside. There’s some kind of commotion in the living room, and then Ethan shuffles out.

He’s changed so much in the tiny window of time since I saw him last.

His right arm has been amputated above the elbow and is wrapped in white cotton. He has a bandage on the right side of his face. There’s a dark smudge threatening to bleed through from the other side of it. I knew that his eye was bad, but it looks like the green lava must have eaten through half his face. When he sees me and tries to smile, he ends up wincing, and I picture the most grotesque injuries imaginable under all the gauze and cotton.

Do it, I think. Now is the time. Just get it over with; finish it right here.

But he speaks. And I can’t.

“I know I’m not much to look at,” he says.

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” I say. Even as the words come out of my mouth I know how ridiculous they are, but I can’t stop them. It’s like my mind has slipped into autopilot and is making me say things that I know a normal person would say. I’m just pretending. Just lying.

“I was worried—I don’t really remember much about everything that happened. When I woke up, I was in a Mog helicopter. They’d treated me with something that had counteracted whatever the green stuff did to me, but . . .” He raises what’s left of his right arm. “As advanced as their medicine is, the damage had already been done. They told me you were fine, though. That you’d saved me from falling into the green lake.”

I nod.

“But the attackers escaped, right?” he asks.

“Yeah. They did.”

Ethan laughs a little and shakes his head, even though I don’t think anything is actually funny. Then his face gets really serious for a second.

“That’s a shame,” he says, and his voice is gloomier than I’ve ever heard it before.

I just nod. He narrows his good eye as he inspects me.

“You’ve got bug guts on your shoulders, and your hair’s all matted down. Don’t tell me you flew all the way here.”

“It was good training,” I said.

“Jesus. Who forced you to do that?”

“No one. I suggested it.”

Ethan just nods a little bit.

“You’ve outgrown all your teachers,” he says quietly.

“We’re about to start the next phase of my mission,” I say. “The endgame is about to begin. I have about forty-eight hours before I’m needed back. Well, less than that now. About a day.”

The words keep coming out because part of me wants to stall. Maybe because I know as soon as I finish my mission, everything will happen very quickly. And as ready as I am to take my place at our Beloved Leader’s side, I want to savor my last few hours in the calm before the storm.

Or maybe—more likely—it’s because Ethan really is my weakness. And seeing him here in the house where he took me in and trained me is too much, and I can’t go through with what I’m supposed to do. Not yet.

“You look tired.” Ethan smiles as best he can beneath his bandage. “Your old room is empty. How about we catch up over breakfast. I’m sure there’s been a lot going on since the attack. You are staying here, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Only for one night. I just came to say good-bye.”

CHAPTER NINE

EVEN THOUGH I’M OVERWHELMED BY THE NOSTALGIA of being in my old room, I pass out the moment my head hits the bed, still fully dressed. As good as I am at flying, it’s zapped the energy out of me. But it’s not a restful or deep sleep that I enter. I wake up several times throughout the night in a cold sweat, until finally, the last time, I say screw it and just get out of bed completely.

It’s dark outside, but there’s a hint of light coming up over the beach. In the bedroom closet, I find a bunch of my old clothes. I change, slipping on a T-shirt and oversize light hoodie. I don’t want to wake up anyone else in the house—especially Ethan, who I’d have to make small talk with—so I open the bedroom window and slip out. I bring my Chest with me as I float down to the edge of the water—I need only one thing out of it, really, but cataloging the Chest’s contents always helps to center me when I need to focus. On the beach, I kick off my shoes and roll up the legs of my pants. There’s the slightest chill in the air coming off the ocean. The sand is cold between my toes as I burrow my feet down into it.

It’s been too long since I had my feet in sand.

The rising sun feels different in Florida than in West Virginia. Maybe it’s just because I’ve spent so much time underground and haven’t really felt it on my skin lately. I plunk my Chest into the beach next to me and open it, rifling through it. I find what I’m looking for inside. Then I let my fingers fall across the other items, until I pull out the file on Nine that Deltoch gave me a while ago. The notes are tattered and falling apart where I’ve folded them and unfolded them over and over again. I read them to remind myself that though the Mogs recognize me for what I am, the Garde do not. That my future is as a ruler, not as a servant to a bunch of dead old Loric who sent me to Earth with an impossible mission.

I read the pages to psyche myself up. To get my blood flowing and my anger raging. To get ready for what I’m about to do. What I have to do. Just this one thing and then the world will be mine. All the power I could possibly want.

Somewhere to my left, seagulls make a racket. Most of my life I wanted off a deserted island. Wanted to be in the action, in the thick of things. In cities. In battles. But sitting here now, for a moment I kind of wish I could disappear and become an anonymous speck on the map again. Not forever, but for a day or two. As much as I hated the island, there was a kind of peace with not having anyone around or anything to do.

But then Ethan shows up and the moment passes. “Good morning,” he says.

“Hey,” I answer, pulling the sleeves of my hoodie down over my fingers. “You’re up early.”

“I wanted to catch the sunrise,” he says, staring out across the ocean. “I haven’t seen one in a long time. It’s more beautiful than I remember.”

The bandage on his face looks fresh. The right arm of his crisp white dress shirt is rolled up to the elbow. He notices me looking at it and kind of shrugs.

The wind picks up, and it carries the papers in my hand up the beach. I jump to my feet and chase after them instinctively, until I can focus on the scattered pages and bring them drifting back to my fingers using telekinesis. Even when I have the complete file in my hands again, I keep my back to Ethan. I think of all the things he’s done for me over the last year—I can’t help it, even though it’s the last place I want my mind to go. Helping me understand my Legacies. Training me. Feeding me. He acted like the Cêpan I’d always wanted. Like a friend.

But then, those were his orders.

I hear a click, and when I turn back around, my Chest is closed. Ethan stands over it.

“Didn’t want you getting any sand inside on any of those important Loric relics.”

I nod.

He grins as much as he can. That tacked-on grin he always has.

I wonder for a minute if there’s maybe another way out of this. Maybe I could turn someone else’s body over to the Mogs and pretend it was Ethan’s. But they’d know, wouldn’t they? They’re undoubtedly watching now. Besides, where would I get another body?

I have to think of my future. Think of what will happen if I don’t do this.

“How do you feel?” he asks. “Excited to be out of the compound for a bit? You’re on the threshold of a brand-new life.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to muster some feeling into my voice. “I can’t wait.”

I don’t say anything for a little while. I realize that he hasn’t asked what I’m going to do now that Nine has escaped and my right of passage has disappeared, or how the Mogs are going to retaliate. He hasn’t even asked me anything else about the attack on the compound. Or if I met Setrákus Ra.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

“Not really.”

I think back to the first time we ever spoke alone, over a huge table of food. I stuffed myself full of fancy dishes while he talked all about what a good job I was doing as a small-time crook. He’d told me that I reminded him of his brother, who’d been a thief on the street like me but who hadn’t survived. Unlike his brother, though, I had infinite potential and incredible skills. And I’d felt bad for Ethan but also great about myself. About us. Like we’d had some inherent bond. So in the same conversation, when he called me “the future,” I’d listened.

I realize that the whole story about his past was probably a lie.

“What happened to your brother?” I ask.

“What brother?” Ethan looks puzzled.

And that’s all I need to hear. All I need as a reminder of the ways that Ethan has manipulated me, just like Setrákus Ra said. He told me lies from the very beginning to gain my trust and use me. Every word he’s ever spoken to me needs to be reexamined and fact-checked.

Ethan is not my friend. He’s just some human who wanted to get on the good side of power. He is my weakness. The thing that has to be cut out of me. The insignificant enemy who must be put down so he isn’t allowed to fester.

I watch Ethan try to connect the dots in his head. And suddenly his face falls into a sad smile.

“Oh,” he says. And that’s all.

I walk over to him, my bare feet sinking into the sand as I trudge along. He’s grinning at me now, but it’s not the plastered-on smile he usually has. This one is somehow more authentic.

When I’m within a few feet of him, he holds his arms out.

“You’re going to be such a good leader,” he says. “I’m so proud of you, Five.”

I embrace Ethan. His arms fold around me as he pats me on the back. He lets out a long, slow sigh and then starts to say something. I cut him off before he can get the words out. I can’t stand to hear him say another thing.

“Ethan, I’m really sorry about this. But it’s for the best.”

I can feel his body clench as the blade slips out of my forearm sheath and into his back. It slides between his ribs—a lucky shot—then retracts back into my hoodie sleeve. It’s over in an instant. I step away from him. He stands frozen, probably in shock. There’s a deep spot of red blooming across the right side of his chest where the blade must have broken the skin. Blood drips down from the hidden wrist sheath, running over my right hand before falling from my fingertips to the sand.

“It’s over,” I murmur, more to myself than to Ethan. He’s probably not paying much attention to what I have to say. Tears are welling in his good eye, but I don’t know if they’re for me or for himself.

He blinks once and then falls to the beach with a soft thud.

I wish he were a Mog. If he were a Mog, at least his body would turn to ash and disappear.

But this will be the last thing I ever wish for. From now on, anything I want, I will have. I will take. Because I’ve offered the Mogadorians a sacrifice, and now I will rule them. And the humans. This was necessary. It had to be done.

These are the things I think about as I walk into the ocean and wash Ethan’s blood off my hands.

Somewhere behind me I hear a helicopter approaching. The Mogs, of course, have been watching my every move.

CHAPTER TEN

I AM NUMBER FIVE: THE RIGHT HAND OF Setrákus Ra.

Commander Deltoch is in the helicopter that lands at the side of the beach house. He’s got his normal scowl on, but he salutes me when I approach—something he’s never done before. I’m technically his superior now that I’ve completed my mission. I should feel thrilled about this, but instead I just feel a little numb. It’s probably for the best. No one obeys a smiling superior.

I wonder if my expression looks like Deltoch’s. I wonder if he had to prove himself in the past too in order to become a commander.

We take the helicopter towards a base in the Everglades that the Mogs have been setting up for me to use at my discretion until I figure out where I want my Central Command to be located. Deltoch tells me that our Beloved Leader would like to have been with us in person but is busy interrogating the human who was captured during Four’s infiltration of the base, just in case there is any time-sensitive info that can be gotten out of him. After congratulating me on my ascension, Deltoch presents me with a Mog officer’s uniform.

I am officially one of them now.

Over the course of the next few weeks I split my time between briefings on the Mogadorian Expansion and visiting Mog bases in other parts of the country, and in South and Central America. Deltoch accompanies me. It seems that he will be my tail for a while, teaching me how the Mog fleets are commanded and run. Showing me the ropes. At every base, I’m introduced as the highest-ranking officer in the Mogadorian empire, second only to our Beloved Leader himself. I stand onstage in front of thousands of troops who salute me and shout my name—ready to fight for me or defend me or die for me if that’s what I ask of them.

I can barely hear myself think over all the cheering. I am power now. Soon, the entire world will know me as its superior.

And the Garde will know me too.

I don’t really have any downtime anymore, and when I do, it’s usually spent going over the same facts that are already engrained in my brain—I may officially be Setrákus Ra’s disciple, but that just means I want to impress him even more. Plus, keeping busy reading files on the Garde and reports from bases around the world means my mind is so preoccupied with strategy and tactics that I don’t have time to think about Ethan, or what happened to his body, or the pattern of blood that appeared on the front of his shirt after I stepped away from him on the beach.

I can’t allow myself to think of him. I can have no weaknesses.

It’s safe to say that Six and Four have been working together. So when our forces in Spain report that Six has attacked them and taken another suspected Garde under her wing, we have to assume it’s Seven or Eight. That leaves only one of the Garde unaccounted for, though it’s entirely possible that Four and the others have gotten to whoever it is already and have just managed to keep him or her hidden from us. I’m not surprised that they’ve banded together. That was always a fear—that they would be working as a group without me. I wonder if they’ve finally made their way down to the Caribbean and found my little shack.

It doesn’t matter. I don’t have any fears now.

It’s not until something happens at one of our bases in the Southwest that Setrákus Ra reveals his plan to me.

It’s time I meet my fellow Loric. I’m going to infiltrate their ranks and learn their secrets. Then I’ll break up their group so that when the Mogs show up, they’ll be weakened and caught by surprise. Whoever is smart will join us and live in paradise. Those dumb enough to turn their backs on reason will die. Divide and conquer. A simple and timeless strategy as evidenced by the books on war I’ve studied.

The only part of the plan that our Beloved Leader hasn’t finalized is how I might get the Garde to split up. But I thought of a great plan on my own. My Chest. It holds powerful items—not that I’ve figured out how to use most of them. Our Chests are important to the future of Lorien. And so if I say mine is somewhere else and full of all kinds of helpful items—that I had to hide it or risk it being taken from me—I can get a few of the Garde to escort me on a mission to retrieve it.

Maybe I can get Nine to go with me and show him that I am not weaker than he is in any way.

And that’s how I find myself floating over the dense vegetation and scummy waters of the Everglades late one night, looking for the perfect secluded place to hide my Chest and bring the Garde. Far enough away that they won’t discover the Mog base, but close enough that I can call in reinforcements if necessary. If they turn deaf ears to me when I try to talk sense into them.

I want to take my time and make sure I find a spot that I can locate easily, so I leave my new security detail and spare Mog troops behind. I go alone to bury my Chest.

After circling in the dark for an hour or so, I settle on a muddy little island that’s hidden away but can be easily reached by boat. A single gigantic tree grows in the center of it. The plant’s gnarly roots pop up in various places around the island and in the shallows around it. It’s a little creepy looking and totally easy to spot from the air.

I like it.

I land and stretch a little bit before getting to work. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement. I turn, outstretching my hand, ready to telekinetically attack whoever’s wandered across me. But it’s only an alligator, drifting with its head half submerged in the water—black eyes staring at me, the intruder.

It occurs to me that this Chest might need a guardian while I’m gone. I wonder if there’s a piken I could have sent to keep it safe. Hell, I hear that the Mog scientists on other bases have been experimenting on creatures from Earth and Lorien. Maybe they can whip up some completely new sentry for the place. Maybe I can design my own creature even.

With a few powerful telekinetic swipes, I’ve got a nice big hole in the soft island mud. I open my Chest to give the contents a final once-over, making a mental inventory. I keep the blade with me, on my arm, where it feels like it belongs. Hidden danger completely undetectable from the surface.

And then I see it. Something strange and small tucked away under all the other items in the Chest. A cream-colored piece of paper folded over into a small rectangle with my name on it. I recognize the handwriting immediately.

Ethan.

The fact that there’s something in my Chest that I didn’t put there doesn’t make any sense. There’s no way Ethan could have gotten inside of it. The only time he would have been able to was . . .

Out on the beach. The day I killed him. With all the base tours and briefings, I haven’t really been through everything inside my Chest since it happened.

I try to put together everything that this means. Ethan’s words ring in my head. They’re always watching. He must have wanted to make sure that I was the only person to see whatever is in the note.

Something else nips at my mind. Ethan had seen me go through my Chest plenty of times before, had helped me to catalog its contents. He surely would have noticed that my wrist sheath was missing the day I killed him. That I was wearing it.

My stomach drops.

I unfold the note and read.

Five,

By the time you read this, I’ll probably be dead—most likely by your hands. Assuming this is true, I won’t embarrass myself by telling you not to be upset about it. I was living on borrowed time among the Mogs, anyway. Surely you’ve seen what happens to those whose usefulness runs out. And let’s face it—I wasn’t really in tip-top shape anymore. At least by killing me, you’ve proved your loyalty, so they won’t be tossing you aside anytime soon. (Please don’t think of me as a martyr. If there’d been any chance of me escaping the Mogs for good, I’d have done so.)

I haven’t always been a perfect mentor to you, but let me leave you with one last lesson: think for yourself. I know this probably sounds strange coming from me, but I’ve got nothing to lose now. You should question everything the Mogs tell you. Question everything I’ve told you. Everything the Mogs have said to you or given to you serves one purpose: to keep you fighting for them. The files on Nine, for instance? I’d be willing to bet most everything in those notes came from someone like Deltoch and not Nine’s Cêpan.

The best kind of prisoner is one who doesn’t even know he’s in prison.

Remember that you are powerful and that your abilities serve only one master: you. I did everything I could to endure in this world. I hope you do too but end up more successful at it than me. Survival is everything, Five. Never put anyone before yourself. Not even Setrákus Ra.

Do whatever it takes to stay alive, and regret nothing.

Your friend,

Ethan.

P.S. We had a good run, didn’t we?

My breathing goes heavy, and I feel like there’s a hole opening up in my chest that shouldn’t be there. Ethan knew. He knew I was going to kill him, and he let it happen.

I killed my only friend.

I curse him. Because he recruited me, and befriended me, and made me care about him, and then let me kill him. Because he’s not here anymore to guide me and probably had nothing to do with the attack on the base if he sacrificed himself for my ascension. And because if he’d just told me he knew what was really going on when I showed up at the beach house, we could have figured something else out.

I wonder if he was right back in the forest clearing with Emma when he’d said I wasn’t ready for all of this. For a moment, I question whether I’m ready for my new place as the right hand of Setrákus Ra.

But there’s no other way. My best chance of survival is with the Mogs. Ethan knew that, and I know that too. There’s no way the Garde can fight them. A handful of teenagers versus an army—only a fool would choose to be on their side. And to keep in the Mogs’ good graces, I had to kill Ethan. Survival of the fittest.

So why do I feel like my chest is in a vise?

The blade on my arm suddenly feels heavy and constrictive. I rip off the sheath and toss it into the Chest, then throw the whole thing into the ground. Ethan’s note goes into my pocket. And then I use my telekinesis to cover everything up, pushing sand into the hole. The act feels so familiar, and then I realize that I’ve buried things using my Legacy before. Back on the island, when Rey died. Pushing everything down just like I am now. And I think of Rey’s final advice. Do whatever it takes to survive.

It’s strange how similar his words were to Ethan’s. Sure, Rey probably meant that I had to survive for Lorien, but the basic principle is the same.

I wonder how I got myself into this situation with two dead guardians. I keep telling myself one thing: this isn’t my fault. I was just doing what Ethan would have wanted—to survive by pleasing the Mogs. This is his fault if it’s anyone’s.

No, not Ethan’s. This is Nine’s fault. And Four’s. If they hadn’t shown up when they did, I could have carried out Nine’s execution as planned, and none of this would have happened. Nine would be dead and Ethan would be alive and Setrákus Ra would be crowning me as his right hand because I’d killed one of the Loric. But the Garde had to ruin it all for me, and now everything’s gone to shit.

The picture of Nine from my study is so burned into my mind that I can envision it clearly, even as I stand sweating over a newly filled hole in the middle of the Everglades. I focus the anger bubbling up inside me on him. He’ll pay for what he’s forced me to do. Somehow. Someway. The other Garde will hopefully come to their senses, but he won’t. And that’s just fine with me.

I’ll see him dead.

I fish around in my pocket and pull out the metal ball bearing Ethan gave me to practice with. A gift. It’s cool in my hand, and I focus on it, trying to turn my brain off as much as I can—to think of anything else in the world other than the fact that I’ve murdered perhaps the only person who was truly looking out for me. As my body takes on the properties of the ball, I start to calm down a little. My skin gets hard. I’m untouchable. There’s something comfortable about turning into steel. Into something cold and unbreakable.

I don’t have time to wallow. I don’t have time for pity or regret. The next day our plan goes into action.

It starts with a cornfield.

I hover above it. Using my telekinetic powers, I flatten the corn into the shape of my Loric symbol, the one that’s engraved on my Chest. I empty two giant gas cans on the pressed-down vegetation. The corn is wet from a recent storm, but that’s perfect—it just means that my symbol will burn alone for a while before it ignites the rest of the damp crop.

I take a look around. It’s dark out. There’s no one here but me and the corn and the farmhouses that will call this fire in as soon as I light it. I slip my hand into the inside pocket of my black Mog uniform and pull out the letter Ethan left for me, along with the folded-up notes about Nine. I can’t hold on to the letter. Regardless of its content, carrying around a note that Ethan left behind for me would be a sign of weakness, and I’m not supposed to have any of those. I’m stupid for not having gotten rid of it in the Everglades. Besides, the only way to honor Ethan is to live up to his words. And so I use my telekinetic powers to slip the papers into the gasoline-soaked corn.

Part of me is undeniably sad that Ethan is gone, but I realize that without him around, I have no one to worry about getting hurt. And I promise myself that I won’t let someone be my weakness like he was ever again. I won’t let anyone get too close to me. Why have friends when I can have troops? I don’t need anyone.

I am fearless.

From another pocket, I pull out a fancy metal lighter. It sparks and drops through the air, landing beside the notes I’ve left behind. Suddenly I’m hovering above a flaming testament to my greatness. The sign will be impossible to miss.

I jet through the air and catch up with a ship hovering far above the clouds a few miles away. It’s milky white and perfectly round. A small passageway opens on one side as I approach—my entry point.

Inside the ship, I allow myself to relax a little. I pop my knuckles and crack my wrists. I think about my hidden blade, buried with my Chest in the Everglades. I was stupid for getting so emotional yesterday. An idiot. But I won’t make that mistake again, unless I want to end up killed. From now on, nothing matters but keeping myself alive, and that means making the Mogs happy.

There’s a rumble of thunder from outside as I enter the ship’s control bridge. Setrákus Ra stands in front of a giant window flanked by two computer screens that keep refreshing with things written in the Mog alphabet. I’m learning the language, but I’m not nearly good enough to read anything on the screens yet. Our Beloved Leader’s eyes are fixed on the fiery symbol that’s fading away in the distance as the ship shoots through the sky.

“This is the beginning of the end for the Garde,” he says. His voice is low and steady, and there’s not a glimmer of doubt in it.

I take my place at his right side.

“Are you worried at all?” he asks. “That you might not be able to blend in among them?”

“No,” I say honestly. “I can be an excellent liar when I need to. It’ll be simple. I just won’t tell them anything true. It’ll be like a game I used to play when I was very young. Before the Mogadorians saved me.”

“I have no doubt that you’ll make an excellent double agent.”

He smiles and places a hand on my shoulder.

“They’ll be given the same chance I was, yes?” I ask. “I can try to get a feel for who might have the intelligence to join us.”

“Of course. You are my right hand, Five. But I have foreseen that another of them will be my left. You will help her come to see reason.”

Her?

“What about Nine?” I ask.

Setrákus Ra grins.

“I’ll leave that to you when the time comes.”

A smile spreads across my face. I wonder what the Garde are doing at this exact moment. What Nine is doing. Are they trying to figure out what the Mogs have planned next? Have they realized yet how powerful their enemies are?

Are you out there looking for me, fellow Loric?

I turn to my Leader and nod.

“I’m ready to meet the rest of my kind.”

Excerpt from The Revenge of Seven

DON’T MISS BOOK FIVE IN THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING I AM NUMBER FOUR SERIES

CHAPTER ONE

THE NIGHTMARE IS OVER. WHEN I OPEN MY EYES, there’s nothing but darkness.

I’m in a bed, that much I can tell, and it’s not my own. The mattress is enormous, somehow contoured perfectly to my body, and for a moment I wonder if my friends moved me to one of the bigger beds in Nine’s penthouse. I stretch my legs and arms out as far as they’ll go and can’t find the edges. The sheet draped over me is more slippery than soft, almost like a piece of plastic, and it is radiating heat. Not just heat, I realize, but also a steady vibration that soothes my sore muscles.

How long have I been asleep, and where the heck am I?

I try to remember what happened to me, but all I can think of is my last vision. It felt like I was in that nightmare for days. I can still smell the burned-rubber stench of Washington, D.C. Smog clouds lingered over the city, a reminder of the battle fought there. Or the battle that will be fought there, if my vision actually comes true.

The visions. Are they part of a new Legacy? None of the others have Legacies that leave them traumatized in the morning. Are they prophecies? Threats sent by Setrákus Ra, like the dreams John and Eight used to have? Are they warnings?

Whatever they are, I wish they’d stop happening.

I take a few deep breaths to clean the smell of Washington out of my nostrils, even though I know it’s all in my head. What’s worse than the smell is that I can remember every little detail, right down to the horrified look on John’s face when he saw me on that stage with Setrákus Ra, condemning Six to death. He was stuck in the vision, too, just like I was. I was powerless up there, stuck between Setrákus Ra, self-appointed ruler of Earth, and . . .

Five. He’s working for the Mogadorians! I have to warn the others. I sit bolt upright and my head swims—too fast, too soon—rust-colored blobs floating through my vision. I blink them away, my eyes feeling gummy, my mouth dry and my throat sore.

This definitely isn’t the penthouse.

My movement must trigger some nearby sensor, because the room’s lights slowly grow brighter. They come on gradually, the room eventually bathed in a pale red glow. I look around for the source of the light and discover it pulsing from veins interwoven through the chrome-paneled walls. A chill goes through me at how precise the room looks, how severe, lacking any decoration at all. The heat from the blanket increases, almost as if it wants me to curl back up beneath it. I shove it away.

This is a Mogadorian place.

I crawl across the mammoth bed—it’s bigger than an SUV, big enough for a ten-foot-tall Mogadorian dictator to comfortably relax in—until my bare feet dangle over the metal floor. I’m wearing a long gray nightgown embroidered with thorny black vines. I shudder, thinking about them putting me into this gown and leaving me here to rest. They could’ve just killed me, but instead they put me in pajamas? In my vision, I was sitting alongside Setrákus Ra. He called me his heir. What does that even mean? Is that why I’m still alive?

It doesn’t matter. The simple fact is: I’ve been captured. I know this. Now what am I going to do about it?

I figure the Mogs must have moved me to one of their bases. Except this room isn’t like the horrific and tiny cells that Nine and Six described from when they were captured. No, this must be the Mogadorians’ twisted idea of hospitality. They’re trying to take care of me.

Setrákus Ra wants me treated more like a guest than a prisoner. Because, one day, he wants me ruling next to him. Why, I still don’t understand, but right now it’s the only thing keeping me alive.

Oh no. If I’m here, what happened to the others in Chicago?

My hands start to shake and tears sting my eyes. I have to get out of here. And I have to do it alone.

I push down the fear. I push down the lingering visions of a decimated Washington. I push down the worries about my friends. I push it all down. I need to be a blank slate, like I was when we first fought Setrákus Ra in the New Mexico, like I was during my training sessions with the others. It’s easiest for me to be brave when I just don’t think about it. If I act on instinct, I can do this.

Run, I imagine Crayton saying. Run until they’re too tired to chase you.

I need something to fight them with. I look around the room for anything I can use as a weapon. Next to the bed is a metallic nightstand, the only other furniture in the room. The Mogs left a glass of water there for me, which I’m not dumb enough to drink even though I’m insanely thirsty. Next to the glass, there’s a dictionarysized book with an oily, snaky-skin cover. The ink on the cover looks singed, the words indented and rough around the edges, as if it were printed with acid for ink.

The title reads The Great Book of Mogadorian Progress, surprisingly in English. Under it is a series of angular boxes and hash marks that I assume is Mogadorian.

I pick up the book and open it. Each page is divided in half, English on one side and Mogadorian on the other. I wonder if I’m supposed to read this thing.

I slam the book closed. The important thing is that it’s heavy and I can swing it. I won’t be turning any Mogadorian guards into ash clouds, but it’s better than nothing.

I climb down from the bed and walk over to what I think is the door. It’s a rectangular panel cut into the plated wall, but there aren’t any knobs or buttons.

As I tiptoe closer, wondering how I’m going to open this thing, there’s a mechanical whirring noise from inside the wall. It must be on a motion sensor like the lights, because the door hisses upward as soon as I’m close, disappearing into the ceiling.

I don’t stop to wonder why I’m not locked down. Clutching the Mogadorian book, I step into a hallway that’s just as cold and metallic as my room.

“Ah,” says a woman’s voice. “You’re awake.”

Instead of guards, a Mogadorian woman perches on a stool outside my room, obviously waiting for me. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a female Mog before, and definitely not one like her. Middle-aged, with wrinkles forming in the pale skin around her eyes, the Mog looks surprisingly unthreatening in a high-necked floor-length dress, like something one of the sisters would wear back at Santa Teresa. Her head is shaved except for two long, black braids at the back of her skull, the rest of her scalp covered by an elaborate tattoo. Instead of being nasty and vicious, like the Mogs I’ve fought before, this one is almost elegant.

I stop short in front of her, not sure what to do.

The Mog glances at the book in my hands and smiles.

“And ready to begin your studies, I see,” she says, standing up. She’s tall, slender and vaguely spiderlike. Standing before me, she dips into an elaborate bow. “Mistress Ella, I shall be your instructor while—”

As soon as her head comes low enough, I smack her across the face with the book as hard as I can.

She doesn’t see it coming, which I guess is strange because all the Mogs I’ve encountered have been ready to fight. This one lets out a short grunt and then hits the floor with a fluttering of fabric from her fancy dress.

I don’t stop to see if I’ve knocked her out or if she’s pulling a blaster from some hidden compartment in that dress. I run, choosing a direction at random and hurtling down the hallway as fast as I can. The metal floor stings my bare feet and my muscles begin to ache, but I ignore all that. I have to get out of here.

Too bad these secret Mogadorian bases never have any exit signs.

I turn one corner and then another, sprinting through hallways that are pretty much identical. I keep expecting sirens to start blaring now that I’ve escaped, but they never do. There aren’t any heavy Mogadorian footfalls chasing after me, either.

Just when I’m starting to get winded and thinking about slowing down, a doorway opens on my right and two Mogadorians step forward. They’re more like the ones I’m used to—burly, dressed in their black combat gear, beady eyes glaring at me. I dart around them, even though neither of them makes any attempt to grab me. In fact, I think I hear one of them laughing.

What is going on here?

I can feel the two Mog soldiers watching me run, so I duck down the first hallway that I can. I’m not sure if I’ve been going in circles or what. There isn’t any sunlight or outside noises at all, nothing to indicate that I might be getting closer to an exit. It doesn’t seem like the Mogs even care what I do, like they know I’ve got no chance to get out of here.

I slow down to catch my breath, cautiously inching down this latest sterile hallway. I’m still clutching the book—my only weapon—and my hand is starting to cramp. I shake it loose and press on.

Up ahead, a wide archway opens with a hydraulic hiss; it’s different than the other doors, wider, and there are strangely blinking lights on the other side.

Not blinking lights. Stars.

As I walk under the archway, the metal-plated ceiling gives way to a glass bubble, the room wide open, almost like a planetarium. Except real. There are various consoles and computers protruding from the floor—maybe this is some kind of control room—but I ignore them, drawn instead to the dizzying view through the expansive window.

Darkness. Stars.

Earth.

Now I understand why the Mogadorians weren’t chasing me. They know there’s nowhere for me to go.

I’m in space.

I get right up to the glass, pressing my hands against it. I can feel the emptiness outside, the endless, ice-cold, airless space between me and that floating blue orb in the distance.

“Glorious, isn’t it?”

His booming voice is like a bucket of cold water dumped on me. I spin around and press my back to the glass, feeling like the void behind me might be preferable to facing him.

Setrákus Ra stands behind one of the control panels, watching me, a hint of a smile on his face. The first thing I notice is that he’s not nearly as huge as he was when we fought him at Dulce Base. Still, Setrákus Ra is tall and imposing, his broad physique clad in a stern black uniform, studded and decorated with an assortment of jagged Mogadorian medals. Three Loric pendants, the ones he took from the dead Garde, hang from around his neck, glowing a subdued cobalt.

“I see you’ve already taken up my book,” he says, gesturing to my dictionary-sized club. I didn’t realize I was clutching it to my chest. “Although not necessarily in the way I’d hoped. Fortunately, your Proctor wasn’t badly injured. . . .”

Suddenly, in my hands, the book begins to glow red, just like the piece of debris I picked up back at Dulce Base. I don’t know exactly how I’m doing it, or even what I’m doing.

“Ah,” Setrákus Ra says, watching with a raised eyebrow. “Very good.”

“Go to hell!” I scream, and fling the glowing book at him.

Before it’s even halfway to him, Setrákus Ra raises one huge hand and the book stops in midair. I watch as the glow I’d infused it with slowly fades.

“Now, now,” he chides me. “Enough of that.”

“What do you want from me?” I shout, frustrated tears filling my eyes.

“You already know that,” he replies. “I showed you what’s to come. Just as I once showed Pittacus Lore.”

Setrákus Ra hits a few buttons on the control panel in front of him, and the ship begins to move. Gradually, the Earth, seeming both impossibly far and also like it’s so close I could reach out and grab it, drifts across my view. We aren’t moving toward it; we’re turning in place.

“You are aboard the Anubis,” Setrákus Ra intones, a note of pride in his gravelly voice. “The flagship of the Mogadorian fleet.”

When the ship completes its turn, I gasp. I reach out and press my hand against the glass for support, knees suddenly weak.

Outside, in orbit around the Earth, is the Mogadorian fleet. Hundreds of ships—most of them long and silver, about the size of small airplanes, just like the ones the Garde have described fighting before. But among them are at least twenty enormous warships that dwarf the rest—looming and menacing, mounted cannons jutting off their angular frames, aimed right at the unsuspecting planet below.

“No,” I whisper. “This can’t be happening.”

Setrákus Ra walks toward me, and I’m too shocked by the hopeless sight before me to even move. Gently, he drapes his hand on my shoulder. I can feel the coldness of his pale fingers through my gown.

“The time has come,” he says, gazing at the fleet with me. “The Great Expansion has come to Earth, at last. We will celebrate Mogadorian progress together, granddaughter.”

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

AUTHOR PHOTO © HOWARD HUANG

PITTACUS LORE is Lorien’s ruling Elder. He has been on Earth preparing for the war that will decide Earth’s fate. His whereabouts are unknown.

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BOOKS BY PITTACUS LORE

NOVELS

I AM NUMBER FOUR

THE POWER OF SIX

THE RISE OF NINE

THE FALL OF FIVE

THE REVENGE OF SEVEN

NOVELLAS

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES #1: SIX’S LEGACY

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES #2: NINE’S LEGACY

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES #3: THE FALLEN LEGACIES

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES #4: THE SEARCH FOR SAM

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES #5: THE LAST DAYS OF LORIEN

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES #6: THE FORGOTTEN ONES

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES #7: FIVE’S LEGACY

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES #8: RETURN TO PARADISE

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES #9: FIVE’S BETRAYAL

NOVELLAS COLLECTIONS

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES: THE LEGACIES (CONTAINS NOVELLAS #1–#3)

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES: SECRET HISTORIES (CONTAINS NOVELLAS #4–#6)

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES: HIDDEN ENEMY (CONTAINS NOVELLAS #7–#9)

COPYRIGHT

Copyright © 2014 by Pittacus Lore

I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES: FIVE’S BETRAYAL. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition © 2014

ISBN: 978-0-06-228767-0

EPub Edition MAY 2014 ISBN 9780062287670

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