He’s not fighting back because he knows it’s what Anderson wants. The cool, emotionless expression on Warner’s face is driving Anderson insane. And the more he fails to rattle his son, the more enraged Anderson gets. Blood still trickles, slowly, from the half-healed wound on his neck when he cries out, angrily, and pulls free a gun from inside his jacket pocket.

“Enough,” he shouts. “That is enough.”

Warner takes a careful step back.

“Give me the girl, Aaron. Give me the girl and I will spare the rest of these idiots. I only want the girl.”

Warner is an immovable object.

“Fine,” Anderson says angrily. “Seize him.”

Six supreme guards begin advancing on Warner, and he doesn’t so much as flinch. I exchange glances with Winston and it’s enough; I throw my invisibility over Winston just as he throws his arms out, his ability to stretch his limbs knocking three of them to the ground. In the same moment, Haider pulls a machete from somewhere inside the bloodied chain mail he’s wearing under his coat, and tosses it to Warner, who drops the machine gun and catches the blade by the hilt without even looking.

A fucking machete.

Castle is on his knees, arms toward the sky as he breaks off more pieces of the half-devastated building, but this time Anderson’s men don’t give him the chance. I run forward, too late to help as Castle is knocked out from behind, and still I throw myself into the fight, battling for ownership of the soldier’s gun with skills I developed as a teenager: a single, solid punch to the nose. A clean uppercut. A hard kick to the chest. A good old-fashioned strangulation.

I look up, gasping for breath, hoping for good news—

And do a double take.

Ten men have closed in on Warner, and I don’t understand where they came from. I thought we were down to three or four. I spin around, confused, turning back just in time to watch Warner drop to one knee and swing up with the machete in a sudden, perfect arc, gutting the man like a fish. Warner turns, another strong swing slicing through the guy on his left, disconnecting the dude’s spine in a move so horrific I have to look away. In the second it takes me to turn back, another guard has already charged forward. Warner pivots sharply, shoving the blade directly up the guy’s throat and into his open, screaming mouth. With a final tug, Warner pulls the blade free, and the man falls to the ground with a single, soft thud.

The remaining members of the Supreme Guard hesitate.

I realize then, that—whoever these new soldiers are—they’ve been given specific orders to attack Warner, and no one else. The rest of us are suddenly without an obvious task, free to sink into the ground, disappear into exhaustion.

Tempting.

I search for Castle, wanting to make sure he’s okay, and realize he looks stricken.

He’s staring at Warner.

Warner, who’s staring at the blood pooling beneath his feet, his chest heaving, his fist still clenched around the shank of the machete. All this time, Castle really thought Warner was just a nice boy who’d made some simple mistakes. The kind of kid he could bring back from the brink.

Not today.

Warner looks up at his father, his face more blood than skin, his body shaking with rage.

“Is this what you wanted?” he cries.

But even Anderson seems surprised.

Another guard moves forward so silently I don’t even see the gun he’s aimed in Warner’s direction until the soldier screams and collapses to the ground. His eyes bulge as he clutches at his throat, where a shard of glass the size of my hand is caught in his jugular.

I whip my head around to face Warner. He’s still staring at Anderson, but his free hand is now dripping blood.

Jesus Christ.

“Take me, instead,” Warner says, his voice piercing the quiet.

Anderson seems to come back to himself. “What?”

“Leave her. Leave them all. Give me your word that you will leave her alone, and I will come back with you.”

I go suddenly still. And then I look around, eyes wild, for any indication that we’re going to stop this idiot from doing something reckless, but no one meets my eyes. Everyone is riveted.

Terrified.

But when I feel a familiar presence suddenly materialize beside me, relief floods through my body. I reach for her hand at the same time she reaches for mine, squeezing her fingers once before breaking the brief connection. Right now, it’s enough to know she’s here, standing next to me.

Nazeera is okay.

We all wait in silence for the scene to change, hoping for something we don’t even know how to name.

It doesn’t come.

“I wish it were that simple,” Anderson says finally. “I really do. But I’m afraid we need the girl. She is not so easily replaced.”

“You said that Emmaline’s body was deteriorating.” Warner’s voice is low, but clear. Miraculously steady. “You said that without a strong enough body to contain her, she’d become volatile.”

Anderson visibly stiffens.

“You need a replacement,” Warner says. “A new body. Someone to help you complete Operation Synthesis.”

“No,” Castle cries. “No— Don’t do this—”

“Take me,” Warner says. “I will be your surrogate.”

Anderson’s eyes go cold.

He sounds almost convincingly calm when he says, “You would be willing to sacrifice yourself—your youth and your health and your entire life—to let that damaged, deranged girl continue to walk the earth?” Anderson’s voice begins to rise in pitch. He seems suddenly on the verge of another breakdown.

“Do you even understand what you’re saying? You have every opportunity—all the potential—and you’d be willing to throw it all away? In exchange for what?” he cries. “Do you even know the kind of life to which you’d be sentencing yourself ?”

A dark look passes over Warner’s face. “I think I would know better than most.”

Anderson pales. “Why would you do this?”

It becomes clear to me then that even now, despite everything, Anderson doesn’t actually want to lose Warner. Not like this.

But Warner is unmoved.

He says nothing. Betrays nothing. He only blinks as someone else’s blood drips down his face.

“Give me your word,” Warner finally says. “Your word that you will leave her alone forever. I want you to let her disappear. I want you to stop tracking her every move. I want you to forget she ever existed.” He pauses. “In exchange, you can have what’s left of my life.”

Nazeera gasps.

Haider takes a sudden, angry step forward and Stephan grabs his arm, somehow still strong enough to restrain Haider even as his own body bleeds out. “This is his choice,” Stephan gasps, wrapping his free arm around a tree for support. “Leave him.”

“This is a stupid choice,” Haider cries. “You can’t do this, habibi. Don’t be an idiot.”

But Warner doesn’t seem to hear anyone anymore. He stares only at Anderson, who seems genuinely distraught.

“I will stop fighting you,” Warner says. “I will do exactly as you ask. Whatever you want. Just let her live.”

Anderson is silent for so long it sends a chill through me. Then: