“We don’t torture,” Marina says emphatically. Even after everything she’s been through, even after losing Eight—she’s still the moral compass. She looks over at me for support. “Right, Six?”
“We’ll figure it out,” I reply, not wanting to take a position at the moment. “First things first. Let’s get the bitch.”
The three of us make a big show of separating, each of us carrying one of the electric lanterns into the forbidding jungle. As I duck through the thick vines and clawlike branches in the dense brush, I focus my hearing as much as possible. I’m hoping maybe I’ll stumble upon Phiri, shorten this whole plan Adam hatched, but no such luck. I’m only successful in amplifying the ceaseless sounds of the jungle. On my left, something dark and furry shrieks out a warning as I move through its territory. There’s so much movement and noise out here—Adam was right, it’d be next to impossible to track Phiri Dun-Ra.
I push aside a branch with more force than necessary. It snaps back and slaps my shoulder. I grit my teeth and wonder if I could just call a hurricane down on this whole stupid jungle and pick up Phiri Dun-Ra.
One Mog. We’re out here chasing one stupid Mog. This must be exactly what Phiri Dun-Ra wanted, to take us out of the game while who the hell knows what happens back in New York. A full-scale invasion could be under way. I imagine John and Nine trying to fight off hordes of Mogadorians, Sam running for his life, the entire world engulfed in flames.
Yeah. We need to hurry this up.
Before splitting up and heading into the jungle, we turned on the large halogen work lights around the Sanctuary’s perimeter so we’d be able to find our way back. Once I’ve gone far enough that I can barely see the lights through the trees, I turn invisible. Just in case Phiri Dun-Ra is watching me instead of Marina, I use my telekinesis to float my lantern ahead of me. I wait a few seconds to see if any shadowy forms detach from the surrounding jungle to pursue my ghostly lantern and, when none do, I hook the lantern to a low-hanging branch and leave it behind.
I’m comfortable with my own invisibility, having developed a good sense of spatial awareness after years of practice. Still, it isn’t easy navigating without my light. At least I’ve got some experience from back in Florida. I take it slow, glancing often at muddy ground in front of me, ducking low to go under branches. At one point, I have to carefully step over a striped rattlesnake, the thing not even shifting as I pass by.
Before long, I spot Adam’s lantern bobbing through the jungle. He’s moving purposely slow, waiting for me to catch up to him. He doesn’t hear me coming. When I slip my hand into his, in the moment before I turn him invisible, I hear his breath catch and shoulders tense.
“Scare you?” I whisper to him. I pluck the lantern out of his other hand with my telekinesis, going through the same routine that I did with my own.
“Surprised me, that’s all,” he replies quietly. “Let’s go.”
We start picking our way through the jungle towards where Marina should be. I’m careful not to go too fast at first, but Adam has good balance and seems to be keeping up just fine. His hand is surprisingly cool and dry despite the humid jungle air—he’s steady, this whole situation isn’t weird to him at all. I can’t help but breathe out a little laugh.
“What?” he asks me, his voice a whisper in the darkness.
“Just never imagined reaching a point in my life where I’d be holding hands with a Mogadorian,” I reply.
“We’re allies,” Adam responds. “It’s for the mission.”
“Yeah, thanks for clearing that up. Still, it isn’t weird for you?”
Adam pauses. “Not really.”
Adam doesn’t say anything more. I remember something he said back on the flight to the Sanctuary.
“Who do I remind you of?” I ask him as we carefully climb over a fallen log.
“What?”
“Back in the Skimmer, you said I reminded you of someone.”
“You want to talk about that now?” he whispers back.
“I’m curious,” I reply, keeping an eye out for the telltale glow of Marina’s lantern. We don’t see it yet.
Adam is quiet for long enough that I start to think he’s just done talking, like his silence is a reprimand for not staying on mission. I’m about to tell him that I can successfully track one Mogadorian while also carrying on small talk, thank you very much, when he finally answers me.
“Number One,” he says. “That’s who you remind me of.”
“One? The Garde you took your Legacies from?”
His hand tenses up in mine, like he has to stop himself from yanking away.
“She gave her Legacy to me,” Adam snaps. “I didn’t take anything.”
“All right,” I reply. “Sorry. Poor choice of words. I didn’t realize that you actually got to know her.”
“We had a . . . complex relationship.”
“Like, you were in charge of the Mogs stalking her or something?”
Adam sighs. “No. After she was killed, One’s consciousness was implanted in my brain alongside my own. For a while, basically, we shared a body. I guess that’s why I’m not concerned with holding hands or whatever juvenile thing has been making you uncomfortable for the last five minutes. I’ve been really, really close to Garde before.”
Now it’s my turn to fall silent. I never even met Number One. She remains a complete mystery to me, more like a concept. The unlucky one. First up to bat. The first one to get killed. And yet Adam has all this intimate knowledge of her. It’s weird to think that a Mogadorian has given more thought to Number One than I ever did. Not just that, but it sounds like he actually cared about her. Our world just gets stranger and stranger.