Our eyes are locked. The room is totally silent. If anyone’s watching us on the security camera, they must think we’re engaged in one epic staring contest.

Why did you tell me this?

Because I felt guilty, John. I thought you should know. Because I knew you’d ask to try copying my power, the clairvoyance, and I don’t think you should.

“Okay, Ella; please, just get out of my head.”

Ella narrows her eyes at me.

“You were in my head,” she says, both of us back to using our voices. “You initiated that.”

“I did?”

Ella nods and walks over to the window. She hugs herself and gazes out at the tranquil lake.

“I’m not surprised you’d pick up the telepathy,” she says. “I’ve used it on you enough times. Plus, if you can speak to a Chimæra telepathically, it’s not such a dramatic leap to a person.”

I clear my throat and try to put aside the conversation we just had. “Any tips?”

“Aim your thoughts,” she says with a shrug, not looking at me. “Direct them and they’ll find their target.”

“What about when I can’t see the person or we’re separated by a long distance? How do you do that?”

“Did you ever . . .” Ella pauses, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “Say you’re in a house and you know someone’s in another room. You kind of know, instinctually, how loud you need to yell to make them hear you, right?”

“I guess.”

“Think of it like that,” Ella says. “The better you know the person, the more familiar their mind is to you, the longer your range with them will grow. You’ll figure it out with practice. Sometimes it feels more natural than regular talking. At least to me.”

I’m not sure what else to say. I got what I wanted and more than I bargained for. I pick the atlas up from the table and tuck it under my arm.

“Thank you, Ella,” I say, hoping it doesn’t sound too cold, not sure if I could muster anything warmer.

“You’re welcome.”

I glance out the window. The sun is starting to get low in the sky, the light turning a muted gray.

What Legacies do I still need?

Five’s Externa and Adam’s seismic Legacy would be good; Eight’s teleportation would be incredible. If I had the time, maybe I could meditate on when I used the Loralite stones before, try to remember that feeling and figure out a way to reproduce it using my Ximic.

If I had the time. It’s already getting late.

I head back towards the elevator. Back down into the depths of Patience Creek.

Invisibility. Flight. Telepathy.

These are the tools I’ve got.

They’re enough.

Enough to take on a warship.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE WAITING HAS TO BE THE WORST PART.

The sun has set, not that you’d be able to tell down here in our latest subterranean hideout. Patience Creek still buzzes with activity; soldiers working on logistics and training against observed Mog tactics, researchers along with Sam and Malcolm trying to puzzle out the cloaking device, officers coordinating a worldwide war effort. Adam’s offered all the input he can and is now downstairs, helping to monitor the Mog communications.

Right now none of that involves me.

“Nine’s penthouse, that was really the best,” I say, pulling my hair back while I stare at an off-white wall. “I don’t think I really appreciated how great those windows were.”

Marina laughs softly. She sits across the table from me in one of Patience Creek’s small lounges. There’s a half-eaten microwave burrito, now cold, between us. The food selection here is really lacking, and neither of us has much of an appetite.

Marina smiles at me. “You remember that dinner we had before we went off to Florida? All of us together?”

“Yeah. Right before everything went to hell.”

“That was a good night,” Marina says with a quiet laugh. “We should’ve, I don’t know, taken pictures or something. Like normal people would’ve done.”

Marina’s smile slowly fades. I can tell that she’s thinking about Eight. I try to lighten the mood. “God, I remember being grossed out by that penthouse because it was Nine’s and he used to strut around with his shirt off like he was some hot-shit playboy. In retrospect, Nine overcompensating sure beats out an abandoned Mog Stepford community and this grungy basement.”

Marina laughs again. She reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of mine. I cross my eyes at her. I feel tired and wrung out—maybe that’s why I’m getting a little punchy and reminiscing.