“I appreciate that you’re answering my questions, Luka. The thing is, I’d like to know why.”

He looks confused. “You asked me to.”

“But I asked before, too, and you refused. What’s changed?”

“I told you, I’m sorry I left you alone before. That I didn’t tell you stuff.”

“I know. And I’m okay with that.” Sort of. I’m not so good at the forgiveness thing. “But why are you telling me stuff now?”

Now he looks embarrassed. He shrugs. “Jackson told you stuff, and he didn’t die a slow and painful death. Or a quick and painless one. So I figure that it’s okay to talk, so long as we’re careful.”

“Okay, that makes sense.” I think about my next words and choose them with care. “But I agree that we still need to be careful. I think that there really is a danger if we talk about stuff here in the real world. Maybe there are shells living right next door to us.” My gaze slides along the street, then back to Luka. “After what I saw today, I think the rules really are there for a reason.”

“I never thought they weren’t.”

A cool breeze dances across my skin. Except, there’s no breeze; it’s a hot, sunny, sticky day. Again, I look up the street, then down. There’s no one else around. Just to be sure, I recheck, letting my gaze slide along the porches of the houses closest to us.

“Have you ever seen one—not a shell . . . a real one—here in the real world?”

Luka looks as horrified by that possibility as I feel. “No.” He shakes his head. “That would be . . .”

“Yeah, it would be. I feel like I’m in a horror movie,” I blurt out.

“Or a nightmare,” Luka says.

Grab hold and steer the nightmare. Maybe that’s exactly what Jackson’s doing. Maybe he’s steering all of us precisely where he wants us, like pieces on a chessboard or players in a game.

“Do you know what Jackson was doing just before we made the jump back to reality?”

“When you two were alone in that room? I think I do. And if I’m right, he does it so the rest of us won’t have to.”

So we won’t have to terminate a body that was once human. I shudder.

“She was already dead,” I say, wanting Luka to know that Jackson didn’t kill a person. “She wasn’t alive. They took—” I swallow, then huff out a sharp breath. “They took her brain. Because it’s a delicacy for them.”

Luka’s appalled expression mirrors my feelings precisely.

“You can do this,” he says softly. “I’ve been doing it for a year, and I’m okay. This time was a bit weird because we got pulled again so fast, but usually there’s at least a couple of weeks between missions.”

“Who sends us on those missions?” My voice is equally soft. “Who sends the weapons? Who keeps score?”

Luka just shakes his head, saying nothing, because there’s nothing for him to say. He doesn’t know. I suspected that before I ever asked. Then he shrugs. “Jackson says it’s—”

“—decided by committee.”

We stand facing each other on the driveway, separated by about three feet. Separated by a million miles. I want to ask him so many things. He won’t have the answers, not all of them. There’s only one person who has those, and I don’t know when he’ll show up again.

“Luka, I want Jackson’s number.”

He hesitates, his hands clenching at his sides. “Why?”

“You have it,” I point out instead of answering his question.

“Because he gave it to me. If he didn’t give it to you, I’m not sure it’s okay if I do.”

Now it’s my turn to study him, and I get the impression that Luka’s worries have nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the kind of person he is. “You don’t mean okay because of the game. You mean okay because you don’t want to mess with his privacy.”

“Well . . . yeah . . . Just like I wouldn’t give him your number without checking with you first.”

“What about my address?”

Luka’s eyes widen. “No! Never. Not without asking.”

“So you never gave him my address when you told him you were planning to break the rules and talk to me?”

“No.”

“Then how come he showed up on my driveway just in time for my run?”

Luka opens his mouth, closes it, then says, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, Luka. There’s probably a simple explanation.” Like Jackson followed me home after the first mission. Or he has secret methods of getting info. Or he’s a hacker. Or a stalker—actually that one I’m sure of. He already admitted he was watching my house. Whatever. I’m sure now that I won’t get answers from Luka, because he doesn’t have them.

On impulse I reach over and hug him. It’s sort of nice and sort of awkward, and it feels pretty much like hugging Carly except Luka’s taller and broader and his chest is hard and leanly muscled. It feels safe and pleasant.

It doesn’t feel anything like hugging Jackson.

Luka pats my back in awkward little spurts, and then he clears his throat and steps back. “So, uh, see you tomorrow,” he says, even though he obviously wants to say something else.

“Wait, just one more question. If none of us are supposed to have contact outside the game, why did Jackson give you his number?”