“That fast?” It isn’t a question. More an expression of horror. “What happens when they get here?

“They destroy.”

I shiver, imagining it. Just last night I saw a trailer on TV for a new video game. It starts with children playing in the sunshine, heads tipping up one by one as a massive dark shadow moves across the sky. Then flames, cries, destruction. The alien ships come and fire on Earth. Everything burns. Everyone dies. I shake my head to clear the image. I need to focus on the here and now. But it won’t clear. It lingers and morphs and I see a world burning. Not my world. Theirs. They’re showing me the truth of the Drau invasion. They’re showing me the destruction of their world, pushing horrific images through my thoughts.

It’s far worse than anything I could have imagined.

Panting, I press my fists to my forehead, trying to make the images stop, trying to make the death cries fall silent. The heat of the flames sears me. My heart pounds as I watch my ancestors herded into pens. They look like humans, all different shapes and sizes, their cries of fear and pain the same as human cries of fear and pain. They’re killed. Cut into manageable-sized portions. My whole body trembles. My lungs scream but the air is too hot and filled with choking ash. I almost fall. Jackson catches my elbow, holding me upright. At his touch, the pain and horror don’t disappear, but they ease enough that I can draw a breath.

“Enough.” The word slices through the room, through my thoughts, through the screams, slick as steel. Jackson’s voice, barking an order.

And the Committee obeys.

The images, the noise, the terror . . . they all stop, like someone pulled a plug and the projector went dark.

I just stand there, my heart beating so hard it feels like it’s jumping into my throat. “You said the Earth will be no more? The world? The whole world? Like that? Like what they did to you?”

“The whole world,” the Committee agrees. “Like that.”

I must make a sound, or maybe I sway on my feet, because Jackson’s there, shoulder to shoulder with me, his arm looping around my waist, offering silent support. I don’t look at him. I don’t dare. I need to keep it together, keep my emotions locked down. I should step away, rely only on myself. But I can’t manage to do it. Instead, I lean on him and keep asking questions, like they haven’t just told me the date the world ends.

“The thousand points. Is that truth or rumor? If we get a thousand points, do we get to go free?” Would I want to go free? Or would I want to keep fighting?

“No one on this planet will be free until the Drau threat is neutralized.”

I’m breathing too fast, my chest tight, shoulders tense. “Truth or rumor?” I ask again.

There’s a hesitation. A split second of silence that’s barely enough for me to notice. But I do notice it and I notice Jackson’s fists clenched at his sides.

“Truth,” the Committee says. “For most.”

“But not all?” Or none. Are they lying to me? Why pause if they’re not lying?

“Those at the heads of the teams may not leave. They are too few in number and too essential to the scheme.”

The heads of the teams. Jackson. I turn and stare at him. I remember sharp and clear how he told me there’s only one way out for him. Death? No. I can’t bear the thought of Jackson dead.

“They may not leave when they get a thousand points, but can they ever leave?” I pause. “Has anyone ever left? Has anyone reached the thousand points?”

“Enough,” Jackson says again, his tone completely different. He sounds . . . resigned, and infinitely sad. He drops his hand from my waist and steps away from me. I feel that wall between us again, the one he builds brick by brick. He’s done it with remarkable speed this time, never giving me a chance to knock out even a single block.

He looks up at the Committee and says, “Go.”

And to my astonishment, they do. One second, we’re surrounded by shadowy, dark figures, and then we’re alone in the massive echoing coliseum. The air is too still. The lights too dim. The shadows touch us, creeping across Jackson’s determined features.

“I need to do this. Just once,” he says, his voice soft, his gaze holding mine. “Just once.”

“Do what?” I ask, and something in his eyes makes my breath catch.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

WE’RE SEPARATED BY ONLY A SMALL SPACE, AND THEN WE aren’t because Jackson steps closer, so close that the faint citrus scent his shaving cream left on his skin lures me. So close that I have to tip my head back to meet his gaze.

Pulse racing, I stand perfectly still as he reaches up to pull the covered elastic from my ponytail. He takes his time, leaving me plenty of opportunity to stop him, to step away. My hair slides down over my shoulders. My breath stops as he takes a thick handful and drags his fingers through to the ends, then lowers his face so his nose traces up the side of my neck to my ear.

“You smell like strawberries,” he whispers.

“Shampoo.” I barely have enough breath for even that single word. All my senses are filled with him, the feel of his chest against mine, his lips on my skin, the beat of his heart thundering in time with my own.

My breathing turns ragged. I’m grateful for the solid weight of his forearm pressing against my lower back, drawing me closer, holding me up because my legs feel like noodles, my head spinning.

He drags his mouth over the angle of my jaw, my cheek, to my lips.