“What about Four? Have you got a lock on him?”
My head pounds.
What’s going on?
“We have a few leads.” The Mog grins, exposing rows of gray teeth. “It shouldn’t be long now. It’s only a matter of waiting for him to slip up now that Number Three has been taken off the board. We’d had leads connecting him to Florida, but it seems like those were probably all pointing to your charge.”
No, no, no, none of this is right.
“More than likely.” Ethan nods. “None of our eyes in Miami have reported anything, at least.”
His charge. The Mog is talking about me. My heart leaps into my throat. They know where I am.
Is Ethan working for them? Is he one of them?
Nothing’s making sense. My thoughts race. The red mark on my calf burns.
“And Number Five?” the Mog bastard asks. “I trust his training continues as planned.”
My hands tremble.
“He remains well,” Ethan says. He cocks his head to the side just a bit. “In fact, he’s here right now.”
A little cry escapes through my lips.
“I’ll have to call you back,” Ethan says, tapping on the keyboard. The Mog disappears.
So do I.
I have to get out of this house. Whatever is happening, my cover’s been blown, and I can’t afford to stick around and try to figure things out.
I dart for the front door, but it’s locked. My key card is upstairs, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn’t do any good.
I head to the back door—the sliding one that opens up to the patio, the one that’s never locked—but it won’t budge. I pick up a nearby chair and slam it into the glass. It should be more than enough force to shatter it. Instead, the chair just bounces off.
This house suddenly seems like one big prison.
“Bulletproof,” Ethan says from behind me.
I whirl around, holding up my fists, ready to punch him or use my telekinesis against him. He just stands there unarmed with his hands out in front of him, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.
“Explain yourself!” I shout with a fury I didn’t even know I had in me. I’m running on pure adrenaline now.
“Look, there’s no reason for us to fight. I don’t want to, and we both know there’s no way I could even attempt to match you if—” He takes a step forward and I blast him back, sending him toppling over a gray couch in the living room, crashing through a glass coffee table.
When he looks up, he seems oddly pleased.
“I deserved that.”
“Explain yourself,” I say again. Not as loud, but more earnestly.
What has he done? What have I done?
Ethan gets up slowly and sits on the edge of the couch. He pulls a piece of glass out of his palm, wincing slightly.
“All right,” he says. “Let’s be honest with each other for once.”
I nod. He takes a deep breath and then starts to talk.
“I am not a thief or playboy criminal or anything like that. Not originally, at least. That was just a persona that was created for me. We have so many ties to the people that run this city—both the criminals and the politicians—that it was easy to plant me here.”
“How did you even find me?” is all I can manage to sputter.
“You flew to shore last year. That sort of thing gets noticed. Maybe not by the media or the police, but people talk. And we were listening.”
“Who are you? You don’t look like a Mog.”
“Do you know about the Greeters?”
That word brings up memories of Rey talking. An image of us in Canada flashes in my mind, me tucked into bed and my Cêpan telling me about our escape from Lorien. Ethan just keeps on talking.
“The Greeters were humans who met the Cêpans when you first arrived on Earth. They helped the Garde transition into life here. That sort of thing.”
Garde. Cêpan. It’s so strange to hear these words coming out of Ethan’s mouth—words I’ve kept hidden for so long.
“Right,” I say. “So what does that have to do with you?”
“I was supposed to be one of them.”
“You’re a Greeter?”
“I was a part of this message board that a man named Malcolm . . . You know what, that part doesn’t matter. What matters is that I predicted the future. I know power—know potential—when I see it. That part of me is true. And I could see that there was no way that Lorien’s squad of children could ever hope to stand up to the Mogadorians. So when the Mogs came to Earth looking for you, I struck a deal with them. In exchange for my service, I will be spared. Earth’s future belongs to the Mogadorians, and when they take over they’ll remember that I was the one who helped them.” He slumps a little, and when he talks again it’s more to himself than to me. “I chose correctly too. The Greeters haven’t necessarily had a great life since then.”
“You sold me out so you could live,” I say quietly, backing up against the door. My eyes dart outside. Suddenly I realize what this means. “They’re here to kill me already, aren’t they?”
“Whoa, whoa,” Ethan says, raising his hands again, one of them bloody from the glass. “You misunderstand. I’m not helping them by handing you over to them so they can kill you. They don’t want to hurt you at all. I’m helping them by training you. You’re going to rule here, Cody. The Mogadorians want you to reign alongside them.”
My mouth drops open.
“What?” I ask again dumbly, but it’s the only word I can summon right now.
“The Garde are done for,” Ethan says. “You’ve got another scar, right? That leaves six of you. The Mogadorians have an entire army—hell, entire worlds at their disposal. Do you really think Lorien poses any threat? That Earth could stop them?”
I don’t answer, just stand there trying to make sense of everything that’s happening.
“Why me?”
“They have others. Number Nine is in their custody right now, but he’s not leadership material. I know, because I’ve met him. You’re the one that’s got what it takes. The power and the hunger. All this—this house, the staff, me teaching you—everything was put together for you. To make you stronger.”
“You have Nine?” My mind races. For so long the other Garde have just been stories and scars—it’s almost shocking to hear that Ethan’s actually met one of them.
“Oh yes,” Ethan says. “You wouldn’t like him. He’s arrogant and cocky. A pretty boy. And do you know where he and his Cêpan were while you were picking pockets on the beach to stay alive? In a giant apartment in Chicago. Living a life of luxury. The life you should have been leading—and have been leading since you’ve been in my care.”
The last year of my life has been a lie. No wonder I haven’t felt like I’ve been hunted while in Miami—I’ve been in their care the whole time.
“But . . .” I struggle for words. “Rey . . . my destiny . . .”
“Your destiny is whatever you make of it,” Ethan says. He pats at something in his pants pocket and I can hear a metallic click in the door behind me. “You’re free to go if you want. But think about what that would mean. Three have fallen. The rest will fall in time. You can die with them, for some fight that you inherited, a fight that was forced upon you, or you can live like a king. The Mogs will give you Earth. They’ll give you anything you want. You were raised to think of them as the enemy, but that’s just because it’s all you knew. It’s a weird form of brainwashing. Try to put things in perspective. The Mogs are not your enemy. They’re your only chance for survival.”