Jackson doesn’t acknowledge the interruption. “By going in at night,” he continues, “we stand a better chance that all of us will walk out of here.”

“With our health still green,” I say, holding up my wrist.

“That’s the plan.” He pauses, and it’s clear that he’s battling over whether or not to say more. “I heard what you said earlier, about not being a team player—”

“I—”

“No.” He cuts off my attempt to cut him off. “Listen to me. Not being a team player is good. I don’t want you to be one. This isn’t a team thing, Miki. Not really. If push comes to shove, you need to be all about you. You need to make sure your health stays green. Forget about everyone else. Take care of you, because no one else can do it for you.”

And here I’d just started feeling a little warm and fuzzy toward him.

But he’s just voiced aloud my darkest suspicion, the belief that started the day Mom died: You can’t really count on anyone but yourself. Everyone leaves. “Is that what you do? Take care of you?” My cynicism leaks into the words.

“In the end, it’s what we all do.”

My mouth goes dry. “So despite what you said before, you’re not actually going to watch out for this recruit.” Why does that bother me? I’ve been relying on myself for a long time.

He huffs a short laugh, but it has a hard, ugly edge. “See, that’s the thing. I shouldn’t. But I’m going to. I just hope it doesn’t get me killed.”

I narrow my eyes. “Eight years of kendo,” I toss back the reminder that he tossed at me earlier. “I won’t let you get killed.” I think we’re both startled by my vehemence.

“You ought to just take my advice and watch your own ass.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” For a second, I think I’ve done it, that I’ve had the last word.

“You do that,” he says, and grins. White teeth and that killer dimple carved in his cheek. He’s not afraid to go in there, to face the Drau, and that makes me a tiny bit less afraid.

As he walks around me, back toward the door, I catch Richelle watching me with a frown.

Everyone gets back in formation, Richelle reaching for the door while the others cover her. She pushes it open. The feeling of wrongness oozes out from the dark interior, weaving through my cells. Everything inside me screams for me to run. But I force myself to step forward. This is just a game of some sort. Richelle and Luka said we get to go back when we’re done. And if their word isn’t enough, I’ve already seen it in action: I got hit by a truck and survived that. Whatever happens in here can’t be any worse.

CHAPTER FIVE

RICHELLE GOES IN FIRST. HER HAND SHOOTS BACK AND SHE gives a little come on curl of her fingers. Tyrone follows, then Luka. Jackson points to me, then to the open door. In I go, forcing my feet to move one in front of the other. With each step I feel colder, more desperate to get away. A rush of terror crashes over me. It’s like I’m underwater and my lungs are screaming and I have to hold myself back from the surface, from the air.

Nearly choking on my fear, I fight it back and follow the others deeper inside, which only makes it worse. I need to run, hide—

Richelle reaches over and closes her hand on mine, just for a second, but it’s enough. Her touch reminds me that I’m not alone, and that offers a weird sort of comfort.

It’s dark. After a minute, my eyes adjust, and I realize there’s a little light leaking through thin cracks in the boards covering the windows set high in the wall. Even so, I can’t see much more than vague, shadowy outlines. There are some huge cardboard boxes in the corner, and some more stacked in a towering pyramid against the far wall.

Jackson prowls forward. I don’t hear him move, and I can barely see him; he’s just a shadow among shadows. I follow, trying to keep my movements as silent as his. He stops. I stop. After a second, I make out the shape of another door, directly ahead.

The terror that grabbed me outside digs deeper, grows bigger, and I feel like it’s going to burst outward like a bomb.

Richelle’s beside me. Shoulder to shoulder, we edge toward the door.

“Close your eyes,” Jackson barks.

Confused, I freeze.

There’s a flash of light, blindingly bright. I blink, wishing I had done as Jackson said as colored halos obscure my vision. They dance and flicker and then disappear, leaving only a rectangle of light boxed in by the dark doorframe.

I see then that the door’s gone and in front of me are people. No . . . they aren’t people. They have limbs, hair, faces, but they aren’t human. After the first glance, they don’t look even remotely human. They’re pure, painful white, so bright they throw off a glare. They look like they’ve been dipped in glass, smooth and polished, but fluid. And their eyes . . . they’re a silvery color, like the mercury in the antique thermometer that my mom used to have at the side of the front porch.

When I was ten, I knocked that thermometer off with my wooden kendo sword, shattering the glass. The little blobs of mercury went all over the porch. I was a kid. I didn’t know better. I touched them, prodding the little balls until they joined the bigger blob. My mom swooped down on me and snatched me away, telling me it was poison. It could kill me.

I stare at the things in front of me: the Drau. I can’t look away.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember Jackson talking about Medusa. Don’t look at their eyes.