“Max,” Anderson says sharply, but Max is already rushing out the door, Azi and Tatiana on his heels.

“Go collect your son,” Ibrahim barks at Anderson.

“Why don’t you go collect your daughter?” Anderson shoots back.

Ibrahim’s eyes narrow. “I’m taking the girl,” he says quietly. “I’m finishing this job, and I’ll do it alone if I have to.”

Anderson glances from me to Ibrahim. “You’re making a mistake,” he says. “She’s finally become our asset. Don’t let your pride keep you from seeing the answer in front of us. Juliette should be the one tracking down the kids right now. The fact that they won’t be anticipating her as an assailant makes them easier targets. It’s the most obvious solution.”

“You are out of your mind,” Ibrahim shouts, “if you think I’m foolish enough to take such a risk. I will not just hand her over to her friends like some common idiot.”

Friends?

I have friends?

“Hey, princess,” someone whispers in my ear.

KENJI

Warner just about slaps me upside the head.

He yanks me back, grabbing me roughly by the shoulder, and drags us both across the overly bright, extremely creepy laboratory.

Once we’re far enough away from Anderson, Ibrahim, and Robot J, I expect Warner to say something—anything—

He doesn’t.

The two of us watch the distant conversation grow more heated by the moment, but we can’t really hear what they’re saying from here. Though I think even if we could hear what they were saying, Warner wouldn’t be paying attention. The fight seems to have left his body. I can’t even see him right now, but I can feel it. Something about his movements, his quiet sighs.

His mind is on Juliette.

Juliette, who looks the same. Better, in fact. She looks healthy, her eyes bright, her skin glowing. Her hair is down—long, heavy, dark—the way it was the first time I ever saw her.

But she’s not the same. Even I can see that.

And it’s devastating.

I guess this is somehow better than if she’d replaced Emmaline altogether, but this weird, robotic, super-soldier version of J is also deeply concerning.

I think.

I keep waiting for Warner to finally break the silence, to give me some indication of his feelings and/or theories on the matter—and maybe, while he’s at it, offer me his professional opinion on what the hell we should be doing next—but the seconds continue to pass in perfect silence.

Finally, I give up.

“All right, get it out,” I whisper. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Warner lets out a long breath. “This doesn’t make sense.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I get that. Nothing makes sense in situations like these. I always feel like it’s unfair, you know, like the worl—”

“I’m not being philosophical,” Warner says, cutting me off. “I mean it literally doesn’t make sense. Nouria and Sam said that Operation Synthesis would turn Ella into a super soldier—and that once the program went into effect, the result would be irreversible.

“But this is not Operation Synthesis,” he says. “Operation Synthesis is literally about synthesizing Ella’s and Emmaline’s powers, and right now, there’s no—”

“Synthesis,” I say. “I get it.”

“This doesn’t feel right. They did things out of order.”

“Maybe they freaked out after Evie’s attempt to wipe J’s mind didn’t work. Maybe they needed to find a way to fix that fail, and quick. I mean, it’s much easier to keep her around if she’s docile, right? Loyal to their interests. It’s much easier than keeping her in a holding cell, anyway. Babysitting her constantly. Monitoring her every movement. Always worried she’s going to magic the toilet paper into a shiv and break out.

“Honestly”—I shrug—“it feels to me like they’re just getting lazy. I think they’re sick and tired of J always breaking out and fighting back. This is literally the path of least resistance.”

“Yes,” Warner says slowly. “Exactly.”

“Wait— Exactly what?”

“Whatever they did to her—prematurely initiating this phase—was done hastily. It was a patch job.”

A lightbulb flickers to life in my head. “Which means their work was sloppy.”

“And if their work was sloppy—”

“—there are definitely holes in it.”

“Stop finishing my sentences,” he says, irritated.

“Stop being so predictable.”

“Stop acting like a child.”

“You stop acting like a child.”

“You are being ridicu—”

Warner goes suddenly silent as Ibrahim’s shaking, angry voice booms across the laboratory.

“I said, get out of the way.”

“I can’t let you do this,” Anderson says, his voice growing louder. “Did you not just hear that alarm? Santiago is out. They took out yet another supreme commander. How much longer are we going to let this go on?”

“Juliette,” Ibrahim says sharply. “You’re coming with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Juliette, stop,” Anderson demands.

“Yes, sir.”

What the hell is happening?

Warner and I dart forward to get a better look, but it doesn’t matter how close we get; I still can’t believe my eyes.

The scene is surreal.

Anderson is guarding Juliette. The same Anderson who’s spent so much of his energy trying to murder her—is now standing in front of her with his arms out, guarding her with his life.

What the hell happened while she was here? Did Anderson get a new brain? A new heart? A parasite?

And I know I’m not alone in my confusion when I hear Warner mutter, “What on earth?” under his breath.

“Stop being foolish,” Anderson says. “You’re taking advantage of a tragedy to make an unauthorized decision, when you know as well as I do that we all need to agree on something this important before moving forward. I’m just asking you to wait, Ibrahim. Wait for the others to return, and we’ll put it to a vote. Let the council decide.”

Ibrahim pulls a gun on Anderson.

Ibrahim pulls a gun on Anderson.

I nearly lose my shit. I gasp so loud I almost blow our cover.

“Step aside, Paris,” he says. “You’ve already ruined this mission. I’ve given you dozens of chances to get this right. You gave me your word that we’d intercept the children before they even stepped foot in the building, and look how that turned out. You’ve promised me—all of us—time and time again that you would make this right, and instead all you do is cost us our time, our money, our power, our lives. Everything.

“It’s now up to me to make this right,” Ibrahim says, anger making his voice unsteady. He shakes his head. “You don’t even understand, do you? You don’t understand how much Evie’s death has cost us. You don’t understand how much of our success was built with her genius, her technological advances. You don’t understand that Max will never be what Evie was—that he could never replace her. And you don’t seem to understand that she’s no longer here to forgive your constant mistakes.