I can’t think about that.

“I believe he’s alive,” I say.

“Believe,” Tyrone repeats, then shifts his attention to Luka. “You believe that?”

“Yeah,” Luka says.

“Then I’ll believe it, too.” Tyrone walks over and stares down at me, his full lips pulled in a taut line. “You okay?”

I nod, but can’t get a single word past the lump in my throat. I glance over at Kendra. She’s standing to one side, arms wrapped tight around her stomach, shoulders hunched forward. I’m more okay than she is, anyway.

When Lien appears, Kendra runs to her with a cry and they weave their fingers together, Lien lowering her head as she whispers to Kendra. It reminds me of the first time I ever saw them, how they stood so close their shoulders touched, warding off the world by forming a wall of two. Everyone else on their original team was killed. They’re the only ones left. But they’re part of my team now and I mean to make certain we all stay safe.

A tremor runs through me. How did I end up responsible for four other lives?

I hear snippets of their whispered conversation.

“. . . can’t do this . . .”

“. . . then you jump in and take the . . . be okay . . .”

“. . . what if we get caught . . .”

Lien catches me watching them and her expression goes completely blank. She runs her hand through her sleek, dark hair, then shakes off the droplets of water that cling to her fingers. “I just got out of the shower.” She gestures at her yoga pants and flip-flops. “Guess I’m lucky I had time to pull on some clothes. Can you imagine if I got pulled five minutes sooner?”

Luka looks her up and down and waggles his brows. “I’d like to have seen that.”

Kendra shoots him a look I can’t read, but Lien’s glare carries a clear message.

The rest of us laugh even though it wasn’t that funny. Comic relief.

But Lien’s question gets me thinking. I did get pulled five minutes sooner. Why not Lien? Because the leaders get pulled first? Or because the Committee knew exactly what she was doing—exactly what each of us was doing—at any given second? Do they watch us while we sleep? While we’re in the bathroom? The possibility of that sends a shiver down my spine on prickly little centipede legs.

“Got a bad feeling about this,” Tyrone says, crossing his arms over his chest as he bends one knee so the sole of his shoe rests against the boulder. “Last mission sucked.”

“That it did,” Luka agrees.

Kendra nods and Lien huffs a short laugh. Unanimous agreement. I think that’s a first.

The last mission was one of firsts: first time any of us had worked with another team; first time there were so many Drau in one place; first time that the battle was truly a battle and not a skirmish.

My first time as leader.

The first time Jackson didn’t make it out.

It takes me a second to realize I’m clenching my fists so tight that my nails are digging into my palms.

“We come back healed in body but not in spirit. We need some downtime or we’re going to make mistakes. Deadly ones. This is too soon,” Tyrone says.

I shake off the feeling of déjà vu. Tyrone said that when we got pulled for the first time after Richelle died. He was standing by one of the boulders, his voice hoarse and raw from crying, and Jackson told us we had a job to do, that we’d do it. He didn’t need to add, Or we’ll die.

“Doesn’t matter how soon it is,” Luka says. “Obviously they don’t care.” He sounds angry and afraid, and I have zero doubt that he’s mirroring the emotions of the whole team.

I can’t let him sink any lower. His life—all our lives—depends on focus and commitment. The pit of despair isn’t exactly the ideal place for us to be. Luka needs to get his head in the game. We all do. Being angry with the Committee isn’t going to lead to anything good.

“Maybe they don’t have the luxury of caring,” I say. “You think they get to pick when there’ll be a Drau attack? You think they’re choosing the time line of this war? I doubt they get a weekly schedule from Drau high command.”

Lien snorts. I have everyone’s attention, so I forge ahead, spinning an idea as I go, with no clue where I’m going to end up. “They have a mission that needs completing, so they pull a team to complete it. We’re that team. But we’re not alone.” I look at each of them in turn. “How many others were there in Detroit? I lost count, and I guess the actual number doesn’t really matter. What matters is that there are others gearing up right now to head out. They’re going to fight. Just like us. So the world can survive.” I pause. “I know it sounds crazy when I say it. A few groups of teenagers are all that stand against mankind’s annihilation. But crazy or not, it is what it is.”

“Not so crazy,” Kendra says softly. “My great-grandfather was eighteen when he went overseas to fight against Hitler. He was a gunner in World War Two. He used to tell us stories about what he called the boys . . . his platoon, or whatever. They were all young. Just like us.”

“My great-grandfather was too young to fight.” I decide not to mention that he spent part of that war interned in a War Relocation camp. His loyalty and that of his parents was brought into question because of their Japanese ancestry. War has a way of amping up paranoia and hate and prejudice.

“Miki, how do you know there are other teams?” Luka asks.