It’s wild.

These guys look almost like aliens here, among the normals of the world who don’t wear chain mail to breakfast. But even I can tell that Haider looks like some kind of warrior with all that metal draped across his chest, and that the gold jacket really pops against the brown of Stephan’s skin. But who sells shit like that? They’re like outer-space clothes or something. I have no idea where these guys do their shopping, but I think they might be going to the wrong stores. Then again, what the hell would I know. I’ve been wearing the same ripped pants and shirts for years. Everything I once owned was faded and poorly mended and a little too tight, if I’m being honest. I considered myself lucky to have one good winter coat and a decent pair of boots. That’s it.

“Kenji?”

I startle, realizing too late that I got lost in my head again. Someone is talking to me. Someone said my name. Right? I glance at their faces, hoping for recognition, but I get nothing.

I look to J for help, and she smiles. “Nazeera,” she explains, “just asked you a question.”

Shit.

I was ignoring Nazeera. On purpose. I thought that was obvious. I thought she and I had an understanding—I thought we’d entered into a silent agreement to ignore each other forever, to never acknowledge the dumb shit I said last night, and to pretend that I can’t feel the blood rush to all the wrong places in my body when she touches me.

No?

Okay then.

Shit.

Reluctantly, I turn to look at her. She’s wearing that leather hood of hers again, which means I can see only her lips, which seems really, really unfair. She has a gorgeous mouth. Full. Sweet. Damn. I don’t want to stare at her mouth. I mean, I do, obviously. But I also definitely don’t. Anyway, it’s hard enough to have to keep staring at her mouth, but her hood is hiding her eyes, which means I have no idea what she’s thinking right now, or if she’s still mad at me for what I said last night.

Then—

“I was asking if you’d suspected anything,” Nazeera says. “About James. And Adam.”

How did I miss that? How long did I spend staring into space thinking about where Haider does his shopping?

Jesus.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I give my head a slight shake, hoping to clear it. “Yeah,” I say. “I kind of freaked out about it when we showed up here and I didn’t see Adam and James. I told everyone, too,” I say, shooting individual glares at my useless friends, “but no one listened to me. Everyone thought I was crazy.”

Nazeera pulls back her hood, and for the first time this morning, I can see her face. I search her eyes, but I get nothing. Her expression is clear. There’s nothing in her tone or posture to tell me what she’s really thinking.

Nothing.

And then her eyes narrow, just a tiny bit. “You told everyone.”

“I mean”—I blink, hesitate—“I told some people. Yeah.”

“You didn’t tell any of us, though.” She gestures at the little group of mercenaries. “You didn’t tell Ella or Warner. Or the rest of us.”

“Castle said I wasn’t supposed to tell you guys,” I say, glancing between J and Warner. “He wanted you to be able to have a nice evening together.”

J is about to say something, but Nazeera cuts her off.

“Yes, I understand that,” she says, “but did he also tell you not to say anything to Haider and Stephan? To me? Castle didn’t say that you had to withhold your suspicions from the rest of us, did he?”

There’s no inflection in her voice. No anger, not even a hint of irritation—but everyone turns suddenly to look at her. Haider’s eyebrows are raised. Even Warner looks curious.

Apparently, Nazeera is being weird.

But exhaustion has crashed into me again.

Somehow, I know this is the end. I’m out of lives. No more power-ups. There won’t be any more bursts of anger or adrenaline to push me through another minute. I try to speak, but the wires in my brain have been disconnected, rerouted.

My mouth opens. Closes.

Nothing.

This time the exhaustion drives into me with such violent force I feel like my bones are cracking, like my eyes are melting, like I’m looking at the world through cellophane. Everything takes on a slightly metallic sheen, glassy and blurred. And then, for the first time, I realize—

This doesn’t feel like normal exhaustion.

It’s too late, though. Way too late to realize that I might be more than just really, really tired.

Hell, I think I might be dying.

Stephan says something. I don’t hear him.

Nazeera says something. I don’t hear her.

Some still-functioning part of my brain tells me to go back to my room and die in peace, but when I try to take a step forward, I stumble.

Weird.

I take another step forward, but this time, it’s worse. My legs tangle and I trip, only catching myself at the last moment.

Everything feels wrong.

The sounds in my head seem to be getting louder. I can’t open my eyes fully. The air around me feels tight—compressed—and I try to say I feel so strange but it’s useless. All I know is that I feel suddenly cold. Freezing hot.

Wait. That’s not right.

I frown.

“Kenji?”

The word comes to me from far away. Underwater. My eyes are closed now, and it feels like they’ll stay that way forever. And then— Everything smells different. Like dirt and wet and cold. Weird. Something is tickling my face. Grass? When did I get grass on my face?

“Kenji!”

Oh. Oh. Not cool. Someone is shaking me, hard, rattling my brain around in my skull and something, some ancient instinct, pries the rusted hinges of my eyelids open, but when I try to focus, I can’t. Everything is soft. Mushy.

Someone is shouting. Someones. Wait, what’s the plural of someone? I don’t think I’ve ever heard so many people say my name at the same time. Kenji kenji kenji kenjikenjikenji

I try to laugh.

And then I see her. There she is. Man, this is a nice dream. But there she is. She’s touching my face. I turn my head a little, rest my cheek against the smooth, soft palm of her hand. It feels amazing.

Nazeera.

So fucking beautiful, I think.

And then I’m gone.

Weightless.

Eight

When I open my eyes, I see spiders.

Eyes and arms, eyes and arms, eyes and arms everywhere. Magnified. Up close. A thousand eyes, round and shining. Hundreds of arms reaching toward me, around me.

I close my eyes again.

It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of spiders, otherwise I think I’d be screaming. But I’ve learned to live with spiders. I lived with them in the orphanage, on the streets at night, underground at Omega Point. They hide in my shoes, under my bed, capture flies in the corners of my room. I usually nudge them back outside, but I never kill them. We have an understanding, spiders and I. We’re cool.

But I’ve never heard spiders before.

And these things are loud. It’s a lot of discordant noise, a lot of humming, vibrating nonsense I can’t separate into sounds. But then, slowly, they begin to separate. Find forms.

I realize they’re voices.

“You’re right that it’s unusual,” someone says. “It’s definitely strange that he’d be experiencing any lingering effects this long afterward—but it’s not unheard of.”