Monday, May 28

  Portsmouth, New Hampshire

  Mission: Back to the YMPA

  6:33

  “How long was I out for?”

  “Two days,” September answered. “I brought you here from Valiant Stadium to the border of New Hampshire—though I’m pretty sure this isn’t where they planned to stop.”

  We were on a street that felt too quiet to be real. September said it was still part of town, but it looked like the kind of place that only becomes a town if you squint hard enough and lie to yourself.

  Three cars were wrecked across the road. One was on its side. One was folded into the curb at an angle that screamed insurance fraud. And the one I’d apparently been in was upside down.

  Glass and car parts were scattered everywhere.

  The Camry was toppled over too, but the damage looked surprisingly minimal. It was reinforced—like, actually reinforced—in a shade of black so deep it looked like someone had tried to trap a void inside car paint. Carbon fiber panels. Bullet-resistant frame. Wheels designed to survive the apocalypse.

  “This is kind of a crazy question,” September warned, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “But do you think you could use your Perk to push that over?”

  “What do you think my Perk is—some healing power?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “It’s strength and some other random stuff. I just need the strength part.”

  Casual.

  Like she was asking me to open a jar of pickles.

  “I’ll help you.”

  Even with the way my whole body felt like it had been thrown into a blender and set to high, the steadiness in September’s eyes made me ignore the pain long enough to function.

  We walked to the overturned car. She positioned herself beside me like this was a normal Monday morning task.

  Together—though I definitely did seventy-five percent of the work—we heaved the car back over.

  It didn’t land perfectly upright.

  It landed partially onto the underside of another overturned vehicle.

  I stared at the pile.

  “I’m not sure if this beast has permission to drive over other cars.”

  “Okay,” she breathed, hands on her hips and nodding once like she was grading an assignment. “Let’s push it off.”

  I sighed, and we both shoved again. The suspension groaned with a concerning, dramatic creak before the car finally settled on all four wheels.

  “Alright,” she said. “We need to contact the YMPA. And we need gas.”

  “You can’t?”

  “You want me to use my phone or something?”

  “Um… no,” I said quickly. “I just expected you to already have something since you came to save me and all.”

  “Stuff happened on the drive here,” she explained. “My only source of contact got compromised.”

  “They hacked it—?”

  She paused.

  “…in an explosion.”

  I rubbed my chin and nodded slowly.

  “At least that’s slightly better.”

  “Barely.”

  “Where do you plan on going to contact the YMPA to get us?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “There’s a secret base in Maine,” she said. “It’s usually for restocking and refueling, but we can go there and try to get a message to Mr. Drails—if he’s even available.”

  “He’s probably not… wait. D7!”

  September looked at me like I’d just said the alphabet backwards.

  “That was the guy they were using to… monitor me,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t really commit to happiness. “Or at least transfer whatever I reported.”

  “Spying on you and relaying intel you give are two different situations,” she corrected instantly. “But yes. You’re saying they can reach him?”

  “Definitely. He has direct communication with Principal Renner and White—and from there, my dad,” I said. “I wish I still had my earpiece.”

  “There was no way you were keeping that after what happened at the stadium,” September said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it vanished into the winds of chaos.”

  She opened the driver’s door, then circled around to me.

  “Come on.”

  She put a hand at my back and guided me toward the passenger side.

  I understood the logic.

  I was injured.

  That didn’t stop my heart from speeding up anyway.

  Once I sat down, she adjusted my legs forward like she was loading fragile cargo.

  “I can still use my body, September,” I said. “I just flipped a car.”

  “So I try to be nice and suddenly that’s a problem?”

  “No, no, no,” I rushed. “I’m just saying you didn’t have to do all that. But… thank you. Definitely.”

  “I don’t like the idea of the TSA having the superintendent’s son,” she replied, deadpan. “Doesn’t make EMO look great.”

  I shook my head slowly.

  “Glad you care about me.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said in the flattest tone a human being can legally produce.

  She started the engine, pulled out carefully, and turned us in the direction of Maine.

  It wasn’t even thirty seconds before the question burned out of me.

  “How did you even think to find me?”

  “I knew what their plan was for the most part,” she said. “Mari had one main objective: infiltrate the YMPA, access intel on the MP system, and use that to strengthen the MSTO. Simple. But she also wanted to capture you.”

  “For what reason?”

  “‘For the most part,’ Connor,” she reminded me. “I hadn’t gotten that specific piece yet. But they’ve been trying to move against you since they heard you were even in the academy. That’s why they sent two assassins after you earlier.”

  “And now they’re trying again,” I muttered.

  I stared out the window.

  There were days I really regretted accepting my dad’s offer.

  But what was I supposed to do? Say no to being drafted into an academy built on secrets, danger, and whatever brand of chaos this was?

  Now I was a walking target.

  My body felt like proof of it.

  I looked like I’d auditioned for a low-budget horror film when I could’ve been at home asleep—peacefully—like a normal human being who isn’t constantly surviving plot twists.

  I missed home so much it almost hurt worse than the bruises I didn’t want to inventory yet.

  And then something clicked.

  The information she was calmly laying out wasn’t random.

  It was too precise.

  It was too involved.

  “Wait,” I said. “Were you trying to find the mole too?”

  “Yeah,” September answered. “I’m pretty sure I told you, Connor.”

  “No. Not really. But kinda.”

  A faint smile tugged at her mouth.

  “I had to keep my distance from you so Principal Renner wouldn’t start suspecting me.”

  “But you’re one of the best in this school,” I said. “You took down a convoy basically by yourself. And Malachi was helping me way more blatantly than you were.”

  “Convoys are usually bigger than that,” she said. “And Renner likes Malachi. Mr. Drails doesn’t really care who, but I know Renner has favorites.” She glanced at the road, then added quietly, “The last time I met her, she clearly wasn’t a fan of me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s dumb,” she agreed. “Sorry if I made you feel ignored.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It was for a good reason.”

  She nodded once, then glanced at me.

  “You know I’m serious, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, softer. “I know.”

  We drove in silence for a few minutes.

  Then another car passed us in the oncoming lane, and the reality of what we’d left behind pressed down on me again.

  “Um, September. You said no one knew you were doing this, right?”

  “Saving you? Yeah,” she said. “Surprisingly. I expected someone to notice a spy with a Perk disappeared and start a manhunt, but… nope.”

  “So how are they going to clean up the mess you made back there?”

  She paused, thinking.

  “They might assume it’s just a crash.”

  “They’ll notice evidence of an attack.”

  “Then they’ll think it was a drive-by.”

  “Fair enough,” I admitted. “But what if they don’t?”

  “Unless they have secret cameras hidden in the mountains, they won’t be able to prove much,” September said. “Listen, Connor. You’re with me. We’re going back to safety. It’s going to be alright.”

  “All over,” I repeated with a humorless chuckle. “It’s never going to be.”

  Her face tightened.

  “What—why would you say that?”

  “It’s what you said,” I replied. “They want me for something. That means they’ll keep sending assassins, keep sending infiltrators, keep throwing disaster at me until they get what they want. I’m a living target. Even when I think I’m safe, I’m not.”

  I swallowed.

  “Plus… I failed the mission. We didn’t find the mole. She got the intel. Now what?”

  September exhaled through her nose.

  “I won’t lie,” she said. “You did fail. There isn’t much of an excuse for that.” She glanced at me, then back to the road. “But no TSA, no BMO, no random MSTO branch is going to get you. Not on my watch.”

  I studied her expression.

  It wasn’t soft.

  It wasn’t sentimental.

  It was certain.

  “It will be over soon,” she said. “Can you believe me in that?”

  I looked at her. Really looked.

  The sunrise painted soft orange along her cheek and the edge of her hair, and for a second the world felt almost normal.

  “Not really,” I said honestly.

  She leaned back into the driver’s seat with a tired sigh.

  “I give up…”

  I laughed a little.

  She laughed a little.

  I chuckled a little bit. She chuckled a little bit. She glanced at me, I kept staring at her, and we continued to go along the way.