My team is close enough that I can call to them. My team. Like I’m some sort of leader. I remember all the times Jackson told me he didn’t want me to be a team player. No. Of course not. He needed me to be a team leader. The thought makes me want to laugh like I did that day on the driveway with Luka. Instead, I focus on what needs to get done. I need to know how many Drau are left on this floor, and how many humans.

“Luka. Tyrone.” When they look my way, I jerk my head to the left. “Recon.” They move off in that direction.

“Kendra. Lien.” I jerk my head to the right, sending them to scout on the far side of the wall.

I push to my feet so I can offer cover to both pairs as they check to see if the floor’s clear. My thigh screams in agony. I glance down. No blood. That’ll have to do for now. Beside me, the boy with the black hair, the one I saved earlier, struggles to stand. His face is streaked with sweat, or maybe tears. But his features are set with determination. He moves to stand at my side, so we’re two instead of one, strangers united by a common foe, a common goal.

“This floor’s clear,” Tyrone says as he and Luka return.

A minute later, Kendra and Lien offer the same report.

“We go up,” I say.

“Which stairs?” Luka asks.

“Were there stairs at that end of the corridor?”

He nods.

I glance at Lien. “And at the end you checked?”

She nods as well.

With the stairs we took to get here, that makes three sets.

“We should split into teams and each take a set,” Luka says, his gaze sliding curiously to the silent boy at my side.

“We should stay together,” Lien argues, reminding me of the caves and the way I said that to Jackson. I remember the way he acted, like he wanted me to figure out what course we should follow and be the one to make the call. I didn’t get it at the time, but I do now. He was getting me ready to take his place. It hurts to think about that, to think about him, so I don’t.

“Safety in numbers,” I murmur. “But if we don’t cover all the exits, there’s a chance some of them will get out without us noticing.” I hate the decision I’m about to make. I hate letting my team fragment into pieces. But in the big scheme of the mission, it’s the best choice.

“We split,” I say. I look at the black-haired boy. “What’s your name?”

“Tom.”

I nod. “Miki.” I don’t bother to introduce the others since we’ll be splitting up and the chances of him remembering everyone’s name are pretty slim. “Show me your cons.” They all hold out their wrists. Everyone’s con is now a shade of yellow, some more orangey than others. Their clothes are torn, dust and sweat streaking their faces, eyes shadowed and grim. I figure I look pretty much the same as they do.

Before I can say anything, Luka grabs my wrist and turns it so my con is visible. The little map with the triangles is still in the corner. The live feed of our surroundings still takes up most of the screen. The frame is nowhere near the swirling green it was when we started. It’s a dark yellow, shaded by orange.

Luka’s eyes meet mine. I don’t give him the chance to say a word.

“Luka, Tyrone”—I jerk my head toward the corridor they just checked—“Kendra. Lien”—I nod at the corridor they pronounced clear. “Tom, you’re with me.” I pause and take a second to meet each of their gazes in turn. “Remember what I said about orange.”

“You remember, too,” Luka says with a hard look, and then they’re gone.

The stairs are a challenge. My injured leg won’t take my full weight, so I have to climb one agonizing step at a time with my good leg, dragging my bad one up behind. We encounter nothing on our way up, but as soon as we reach the next floor we’re caught in the vortex of the battle. The Drau are so numerous and so bright here that the humans fighting them are merely dark silhouettes that pirouette and surge and dance away.

There’s no time, no chance to make a plan. There’s only me with a stranger at my back, shooting, turning, shooting again, trying to stay on my feet even though my thigh’s screaming in agony with each step I take.

I don’t know where Luka and Tyrone are, or Lien and Kendra.

Or Jackson.

I don’t even know if he’s here. But if he is, if he was sent here to this version of hell, I can only hope he’s safe.

Instinct makes me duck. Too late. I arch back, my arms surging up, and pain gouges my back, my spine. I’ve been hit. I turn. Tom’s going down, crumpling to the ground. Light comes at me. Adrenaline slams me like a train.

Grabbing the hilt of my sword, I drag it free of its sheath once more. My attack lacks finesse and any pretense of skill. I hack, I chop—ugly, short movements that get the job done. And still they come. The more I cut down, the more surge forward to take their places.

Their weapons discharge, shards of light piercing me, making me scream, the agony searing clear through my flesh and muscle and bone.

I sink to my knees, and still I fight.

My head jerks up and in that never-ending second, I see the Drau in front of me lift its weapon. I see the flare of the muzzle, burning bright. It fills my vision, fills my mind. I’m frozen, too shocked to even be afraid. I don’t want to die here, kneeling on the floor. I don’t want to die.

The bright surge comes straight at me and there’s nowhere for me to hide.

Then a shadow blocks the light.