“I’m a girl, you slow hacks!” the Whiz declares and then hauls ass up the rock, leaving us in her dust.

I’m pretty sure the Whiz just pulled a Joker knife on us. The old blade in the shoe trick. I’m impressed.

Blaise, however, is not.

“I’m going to toss that kid off this rock when I get my hands on him.”

“On her,” I correct him.

Now we have to find the hard drive and the Whiz. I take another one of those deep, calming breaths. This time, it doesn’t work.

“I think the kid took the ‘you’re in control’ bit to heart,” Blaise growls at me. “Hope this was part of your plan.”

I swallow a fiery admission that there is no plan! Don’t you know I’m winging it, and this could all turn out to be a complete waste of time?!

Ava and Mira’s team could be facing off with Roth in Mexico already while we’re out here in Nowhere, Texas, chasing our own tails.

“Nothing to do but follow,” I say instead, continuing our ascent up the granite rock.

Hours have wasted away. Still no Whiz. No hard drive.

All I’ve gained so far: an infestation of cacti barbs on my boots and shins, buns of steel from that serious incline, and a cranky, incensed Blaise who mutters truly pioneering curses with each one of our plodding steps.

“All right,” I huff, winded to the point it feels like I’m breathing out of a straw. “I swear we’ve passed this same megaboulder three times.”

Blaise wheezes behind me. “We’re walking in circ—!” His observation cuts off with a gfft! He must’ve tripped again over one of the gazillion potholes that pit this humankind-forsaken rock.

I stop our slog to take a breather and find my bearings. Enchanted Rock covers over six hundred acres. The park, over a thousand. I divulged none of these discouraging particulars to Blaise, of course. Best to keep the “indoor” rebel ignorant.

Because, really, I’m starting to think we can search all we want, and all we’re going to find is a mountain-sized slice of humble pie.

But what I do see is the Milky Way. With no light pollution out in this dark zone, the image is striking. Straight-up mystifying. That white-as-milk swath of light is our galaxy.

Blaise lumbers up by my side, and we both click off our headlamps to better stargaze.

I wait for him to call it. To tell me the mission is over. He’s had enough.

I expect him to say that we’re small, inconsequential, not only in the universe, but in the fight.

What we do doesn’t matter. Couldn’t matter.

Instead, he breaks into a sprint. “Get moving!” he yells at me, finger shooting to the sky.

A shadow zips across the horizon. Is it a spirit? A bird? A Scent Hunter?

Inhaling a long, ragged breath, I kick into a gear I didn’t think I had in me.

Blaise gets there first.

“Holy . . . ,” Blaise breathes beside me.

“Shit!” I finish the sentiment for him.

A mutant drone—a nightmare-inducing mix of bird of prey and spider—has hold of the Whiz. The kid’s wrists are bound by some kind of super-rope attached to the drone’s belly, while one of the demon-robot’s claws forces the kid’s protesting face up and still. My stomach flips when a blue light flashes.

A facial recognition scan.

The Guard. They know we’re here.

All hell breaks loose when the drone’s spider hand releases the kid’s face and then straight-up takes off, lifting the Whiz into the air by her wrists.

The drone flying away with our teammate is a terrifying sight. It stuns me to a standstill.

Her screams bring me back to action.

Nope. Not on my watch.

“Let her go!” I shout, lighting the mutant drone up with bullets. Blaise charges forward and wraps his arms around the Whiz’s legs, weighting her to the granite ground.

“Don’t let go!” she cries out.

Bet you wish you didn’t run from us now, huh, kid?

Lucky for her, this isn’t my first time wrangling a drone.

Double-quick, I pull out a net gun from my bag, aim, and fire. A snare launches from the barrel, and just like the Killer Drone I took down with Blaise and Malik, I don’t miss.

The wide netting wraps around the drone’s four propellers, entangling its blades. The mutant robot struggles to stay in the air, but with its rotors snared and Blaise pulling it down via the captured Whiz, it doesn’t stand a chance.

The propellers falter, and the drone, along with the kid, comes crashing down on top of Enchanted Rock.

The Whiz starts hacking at the net with the tiny blade attached to her boot tip, scrambling to unsnarl the drone.

“Whose is it?” Blaise asks, crawling on palms and knees to get to the downed UAV.

“PZH Orion,” the Whiz reads from the metal base. “A civilian model.”

I swear I hear a collective sigh of relief.

But the short recess from “we’re all about to be flown away to die” proves short-lived.

Lights. The size of fireflies, four hundred feet below. The beams of headlamps. Five of them.

“Could be bounty hunters,” Blaise calculates.

“Or just extremely territorial drifters,” I propose.

“The drone scanned my face,” the Whiz says, oddly composed as she cuts the ties that bind her wrists. “What if I’m already on the Wanted List . . . as a traitor . . . a squealer . . .”

“You’re not a squealer,” I try to embolden her, meaning it. “You’re a hero.”

“They’ll know where to find me now,” she responds.

We all know the “they” she’s referring to. She starts to get that shell-shocked look in her eyes again.

“The Common will protect you,” I swear. “We just have to get the drive and make it off this rock first.”

I don’t know if she believes me. Or if I even do. Emery didn’t sanction this mission. And no one can really promise a govdamn thing—none of us have any real control. But we have to try to act like we’ve got the wheel sometimes, right?

“My parents were government,” the Whiz reveals, continuing to chop the rope entangling her with the drone. “I was seven when they gave me away to work for my tormentors.” It could be sweat or tears that streak her ruddy cheeks. “They made me hide who I really am, hate my own skin.”

When she rubs away the drops with her shirt, she mumbles a bitter phrase. “Born a boy, always a boy.”

She throws off the last netting that traps her feet, and stands, her eyes meeting mine for the first time in our brisk acquaintance. “Thank you for seeing me. And saving me.”

“You saved yourself by getting to Dallas,” I tell her.

“I don’t mean to interrupt our team bonding here,” Blaise says, getting to his feet, “but those hunters aren’t slowing down.”

The band of lights that’s hightailing it our way is way too close for comfort now. Not good.

Time to go. But not before we get what we came here for.

I take a step toward the Whiz. “Please, can you just tell us—”

“Stop!” she yells, holding up her hands. “Don’t take another step!”

All the hairs on my arms stick up, and I sense imminent danger.