Seven people missing. It made sense that Tyler had a chance of being taken if we could just get him there in time.

The problem was, of those seven people, only one had returned.

One.

That was only 14 percent, Jett had explained. Considerably lower than the 33 percent average. The idea of subjecting Tyler to those odds made me sick.

But listening to Tyler breathe now, I knew time was against us. Devil’s Hole was his last chance.

“Can I ask you something?” I probed, trying to push aside numbers and statistics because Tyler was more than that. “Why do you think they’re doing it? The experiments, I mean? What’s the purpose? What are we being put back here for?”

Simon stared out at the road for a long, long time, and for a long, long time I waited. After a while I gave up, turning my attention to the road, too, convinced he had no intention of answering me.

And then I heard him. “I ask myself that every day. Every day since I realized what I was. We all have. A lot of what Jett does is search for theories. He coordinates with other camps and even tracks down the lone Returned, trying to come up with some . . . reason for what’s been done to us.” He went silent again, and I remained rigid. Eventually he sighed. “I think there must be a reason; we just don’t know what it is yet. But it’s something big, and I think the No-Suchers think so, too, and that’s why they want to get their hands on us so badly.” Swallowing, he looked over at me. “I believe there’s a reason you were gone so much longer than the rest of us before you were returned. That they’re perfecting what they do to us, preparing for something. And those things you can do that we can’t, I think they’re important.”

I shook my head, afraid he might be able to see how much he was scaring me with all his talk of plans and something coming. “I think you’re wrong,” I denied in a whisper. “I think we were just in the wrong petri dish at the wrong time.”

Simon smiled at me. “Maybe you’re right. I think that, too, sometimes. That they’re just f**king with us because they can. That it’s all just a game, and we’re the pawns.”

I turned away. I hated to think my life had been turned upside down for some cosmic chess match. “How much longer till we get there?”

Simon looked at the gauges in front of him. “About two and a half hours. Three at most. It’ll be dark by then.” He cast me a wry look, and I knew he was making a mental list of things I could do that the other Returned couldn’t. “But that shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

I leaned my head against the window, wondering how I’d last for three more hours listening to the labored sounds coming from the backseat and wishing I could stop myself from asking “How much longer do you think he has?”

Simon didn’t stop to ponder his answer the way I would have. He didn’t candy coat it either. “He might not survive the trip.”

It was a strange location. Not as hidden or off the beaten path as I’d expected, considering all the weird things Jett had told us about the place.

Because he was so into legends and facts, and where the two intersected, Jett had given us the exact coordinates, along with driving directions for how we could find the real Devil’s Hole.

The directions, however, were relatively simple to follow, and like Simon had predicted, it was just starting to get dark when we pulled off the main highway and onto the gravelly side road that Jett had marked for us.

After a couple of turns, we found the place at the end of a dirt road. No warning signs—no signs at all.

The only thing that struck me as unusual were the crickets, which shouldn’t have since we were out in the middle of the desert. Even with my window up I could hear them, giving the whole scene—the dry, weedy grasses and scrub brush for as far as I could see—a poetic vibe.

I twisted around in my seat as we came to a stop at the top of the short hill where the road ended. I was relieved that Tyler was still breathing.

Reaching out to Simon, I let out a shaky laugh. “We did it.”

Simon shut off the engine, his expression reserved. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We haven’t done anything yet.”

I frowned at him, wanting him to be more optimistic. This had to work.

Glancing back at Tyler once more, I bit my lip. He was still unconscious, and I told myself it was the morphine. “Hang in there,” I whispered softly.

Beside me, Simon reached over and pressed his hand over mine. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t want you to get hurt.” He withdrew his hand. “You need to be prepared, because this might not work, Kyra. He might not be taken. And even if he is . . .” He didn’t finish.

I swallowed. “I know.”

Simon opened his door and switched on his flashlight. “Don’t let your guard down,” he said in the same voice he used when he spoke to Willow or Jett. I wondered if that’s who I was now, one of his Returned. “The last thing we need is to be caught unaware.”

Caught. My mouth went dry at the reminder that the NSA might know about this place.

I searched the spare terrain, looking everywhere the flashlight couldn’t reach—all the places Simon couldn’t see. The car had kicked up a cloud of fine sand behind us, dust that would take several long minutes to settle. And our tracks, if someone was looking for them, would be easy enough to find.

I joined him, pretending I was interested in the map, even though the lines and squiggles, the keys and symbols, and the scales were complete gibberish to me. “Where is it?”