The girl sweeps my sword off the ground, lunges, and pins the Drau through the chest. It arches, shudders, lies still. She tosses my sword down beside me and takes off down the corridor, chasing after a blur of light—a fleeing Drau. She pours on speed. But the Drau are so fast. She shouldn’t be able to catch it. . . .

They turn a corner and they’re gone.

“Miki!” Luka drops and slides across the floor to my side. He jerks my fingers out of the way, and makes a low sound as he stares at my wound. Then he puts the wadded T-shirt back in place, layers his palms, right on left, and presses hard. I scream. Really scream.

“I’m sorry.” His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t ease up. “You’re bleeding out. I need to put pressure. I need to keep you alive.”

“Two Drau. Two o’clock,” Tyrone snarls, his weapon belching black death.

Lien and Kendra zip forward. Lien’s faster, her weapon aimed and steady, but she doesn’t fire. It’s Kendra who takes both Drau down.

“I had it, but thanks for the help,” Tyrone says. He sounds angry, and the way he said thanks made it sound like he meant anything but.

I want to ask him why, but I can’t find the strength. I’m tired. Weak. My side hurts. I pull at the edge of the pad Luka’s pressing down on my wound. The whole thing is sticky, even the edge I’m tugging at.

My head falls back against the concrete floor. I stare at the corrugated metal ceiling, trying to breathe through the pain. My eyes drift shut. I exhale, but can’t seem to find a way to inhale again.

Jackson’s there. I feel his cheek against my lips, then his lips on mine, warm, smooth. His breath is my breath. My lungs fill.

I love you.

Did I say that, or did he?

“Breathe, Miki. Come on! Breathe!”

With a gasp I open my eyes. Luka’s above me, his face inches away.

“Okay,” he says, his voice ragged. “Okay, she’s breathing.”

My vision goes foggy. I hear Tyrone’s voice from a million miles away. He’s talking, but I can’t figure out what he’s saying.

Snap. Luka’s face comes back into sharp focus.

“Miki, answer me! How long till we make the jump?”

“What? Why . . . ?” I stare at him. “Did you kiss me?”

“Yeah. Right. Kiss of life. You stopped breathing,” he says, his voice is tight and strained. “Be happy that I know CPR. How long till we make the jump?” he repeats.

“Thirty,” I whisper as the knowledge gets dropped in my head by the Committee. My gaze drifts away from Luka and I see Tyrone and Lien and Kendra watching me, faces pale, expressions drawn. I try for a reassuring smile, and from Tyrone’s frown, figure I fail miserably. “The girl . . . ?” I ask Luka. “She okay?”

“What girl?”

How did he not see her? He was running toward me as she was running away.

“There’s no girl,” Kendra says, her voice gentle.

“There is . . . was,” I whisper, weak, so weak. “From another team.”

“She’s not here now,” Luka says, and I can tell he doesn’t think she was ever here.

“She—”

A shout of agony echoes in my brain, deep and guttural. I echo the sound, crying out, my whole body tensing, pressure building inside my head as though a vise is crushing my skull.

As the cry in my mind fades, another follows. I arch my back, heels pressed to the floor, screaming. Screaming.

“Miki!”

Hands on my shoulders, holding me down.

“Keep her still!” Lien’s voice. “She’s making the bleeding worse.”

Pain in my gut. Pain in my brain. Something trying to get in.

I can’t—

Get out of my head.

I know that voice.

Jackson.

I can hear him, cursing them, fighting them.

You’ve taken enough. You don’t get to take this from me. He sounds angry, determined.

“Jackson,” I scream.

“It’s Luka, Miki. I’m right here. Hang on. Just a few more seconds.”

I want to tell him I know that Jackson’s not here, that he’s somewhere else, somewhere terrible. I can feel what he feels. Someone’s hurting him. On purpose. Tunneling into his brain.

“Drau . . .”

“We got them. We’re going to jump. Any second now.”

No. He doesn’t understand. I think the Drau have Jackson. They’re cutting open his skull, taking his brain, like they did to the girl in the cold room we found in the caves. They’re going to use him to make an army of shells.

I thrash under the pressure of Luka’s hand. He rests his palm against my chest, just like Jackson did the first time I woke up in the lobby.

“I need to get to him. I need to—”

Jump. The Committee’s inside my head, the word shimmering through all my senses. I taste it. I see it dancing like a halo of light. I feel it skittering across my skin.

A familiar agonizing pain takes root at the base of my skull and pulses outward until it blows me apart.

CHAPTER NINE

MY BACK ARCHES AS I COME TO, MUSCLES CLENCHING, HEART racing.

“Jackson!” His name comes out as a howl. I try to jump to my feet, fight my way to him, but my body’s sluggish, refusing to obey my mental commands.

And there’s no one to fight.

I’m alone, lying on a cold, hard floor, hands and feet prickly and numb, my stomach churning.