“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.
“No,” he says. “It’s up to me now. It’s up to me to fix things, because I’m the only one with his head on straight. I’m the only one who seems to grasp the enormity of what’s ahead of us. I’m the only one who sees how close we are to complete and utter ruination. I am determined to make this right, Paris, even if it means taking you out in the process. So step aside.”
“Be reasonable,” Anderson says, his eyes wary. “I can’t just step aside. I want our movement—everything we’ve worked so hard to build—I want it to be a success, too. Surely you must realize that. You must realize that I haven’t given up my life for nothing; you must know that my loyalty is to you, to the council, to The Reestablishment. But you must also know that she’s worth too much. I can’t let this go so easily. We’ve come too far. We’ve all made too many sacrifices to screw this up now.”
“Don’t force my hand, Paris. Don’t make me do this.”
J steps forward, about to say something, and Anderson pushes her body behind him. “I ordered you to remain silent,” he says, glancing back at her. “And I am now ordering you to remain safe, at all costs. Do you hear me, Juliette? Do y—”
When the shot rings out, I don’t believe it.
I think my mind is playing tricks on me. I think this is some kind of weird interlude—a strange dream, a moment of confusion—I keep waiting for the scene to change. Clear. Reset.
It doesn’t.
No one thought it would happen like this. No one thought the supreme commanders would destroy themselves. No one thought we’d see Anderson felled by one his own, no one thought he’d clutch his bleeding chest and use his last gasp of breath to say: “Run, Juliette. Run—”