“I’ll see it done.”

Luc rolls his chair after the skittering girl. I expect if he were still able to walk, he’d be stomping. The girl keeps a healthy distance ahead of him. They disappear down the next corridor. The door to Galilei’s room has closed again, and I look to Crixus, waiting for him to open it, but then spy a map drawn on light calfskin stretched across the wall next to the door.

A map of Tenebra.

I step closer, feeling Crixus’s eyes on me. There are hand-drawn depictions of the Tunnels, the coliseum, Luc’s fire tower, and even the ghost town surrounding us. Then my gaze lands on the catacombs. They’re not that far, and they’re about half the size of the coliseum—quite large. I scan the edge of the map until I see the golden fields. There’s a single wheat stalk to mark them, but nothing else significant. No depiction of the light or warmth or the safety of it being the holding place for children who get infected.

Other places on the map pique my interest. Training Fields, Temples of Agon, Baths of Night, Ampitheatre, Circus Flaminus.

“What are all these other places?” I gesture to the map. “I’ve only seen people living in the coliseum, but there’s a whole city out there.”

“That was part of the original Tenebra,” Crixus informs me. “But the Spores have made them unsafe for citizens.”

I look back at the map, trying to imagine Stranna and the handful of other Spores causing so much havoc that an entire culture is trapped in the coliseum because of them. Not possible.

“There used to be more Spores,” Crixus continues. “We’re making progress.”

Progress meaning slaughter. Eradication.

“Come on.” He opens the door to where Galilei is. “Let’s get this over with.”

I tear my eyes from the map and the vision of a Draftsman designing the whole thing only to watch it fall into disrepair from disuse. Luc’s father.

I walk through the door into a sterile, white room with a single bed. An old man lies with his eyes closed, breathing labored. Weathered and wrinkled with veins and spots across his skin. His head is shaved, which makes him look rather fearsome. Most old men with a lot of money probably are. He looks more like Luc’s grandfather than his father. Must have married someone pretty young to have a twenty-year-old son.

“You’ve seen what you need to see,” Crixus says. “Let’s go.”

I don’t move. Luc was right—Galilei is in no state to hold conversation or even comprehend any words I might say to him. But I can’t bring myself to leave yet. The old man lying here is Luc’s motivation for everything. He cares about his father so much he’s willing to offer me a LifeSuPod, train me in nightmist, kill me if he has to. For a moment my thoughts travel somewhere darker.

I can use this. Somehow. Just like Luc has held the LifeSuPod over my head as a carrot, I could use his father to get anything else I want. Free the kids, let the Spores go. But, I remind myself, I’m already using it to get my LifeSuPod.

The biggest problem is that we both have the same piece of blackmail. If I don’t save his father, I don’t get the LifeSuPod or a cure. If he doesn’t give me the LifeSuPod, I don’t save his father.

It’s infuriating, but brilliant.

He must have a great amount of love for his father to go to such lengths to save an old man who looks ready to die anyway. Does Galilei even want to live? Luc is deteriorating as well, and I can’t help but wonder if this is his last good deed before his end. Maybe leukemia or a genetic disorder or something is causing him to decline in a way that his LifeSuPod can’t help him.

How will this old man feel to be handed back his life only to watch his son lose his?

Will anyone tell him the lengths Luc went to, to save him?

Nightmist curls around my feet. I think, for a moment, it’s from my emotions, but then I realize it’s because I’m on the verge of waking up.

Behind me, Crixus curses.

This is my last shot: my last opportunity to save Luc’s father and thus save myself. The Nightmare world fades around me. Everything will change after this final Sleep. I’m so close to securing my LifeSuPod.

The only question is: What life will I be living once I do?

I’m not in the landfill. I’m not in the Jeep. Above my head is standard, white-painted drywall with a ceiling fan that rotates slowly from a breeze coming in through an open window. It’s dark outside—4:00 a.m. to be exact—but not the pressing darkness in Tenebra.

Here, there’s a moon. And stars.

The very sight sends an ease through my muscles . . . until I sense the ache through my body. The fire and pain from my wounds.

I’m in the Real World, and I was right—Tenebra mutes the pain. Up here, my breathing is labored and agonizing. I need to adjust. I need more air. I barely manage to sit up, and my hands sink into something soft.

My body screams so loud against the movement I’d hold my head if it didn’t hurt to lift my arms that high. I take a breath. Another. The pain from my wounds is definitely more potent up here.

It takes me a minute or two to adjust to the new position. My head stops spinning, and I blink to clear my vision. I’m situated on a twin-bed mattress. The room has three other empty beds in it. Everything feels out of place—normal, like before the virus. Like the old life I miss so much.

I’m in a house. In a bed. Alive.

Someone found us in the landfill. The Spores—Adelphoi. Stranna must have done this. She must have gotten the message to her people up here somehow. Either that or we were coincidentally found by some good Samaritans, which only ever happens in movies.

The empty beds around me bring a sharp realization. Stranna’s not here. A bolt of panic shears through my chest. Did she die? Did Luc’s tirones kill her in the catacombs? Did her people leave her body behind in that scorching Jeep?

A glass of water sits on an end table beside me. I chug it while my memories catch up—both Real World and Tenebra.

I was followed to the catacombs like an ignorant idiot, and I got Stranna and the others—the kids—taken. Imprisoned, most likely soon to be slaughtered. Plenty of those catacomb kids were sparking while they played with the basketball. They’re Adelphoi.

And I’ve learned a lot more about what Luc does with Adelphoi kids.

I don’t want to be responsible for any Adelphoi’s death. They have had the only answers that seem solid. The explanations I’ve received from Luc have never seem quite right. That’s either because he’s lying or he’s not sure of the answers himself.

Or because I’m infected.

But being infected by the Adelphoi only really works in the Nightmare, right? Stranna didn’t stab me with a magic sword in real life. I am in control of my thoughts up here, and they’re telling me I’m more drawn to the Adelphoi and their words. I work with Luc solely for the LifeSuPod.

I stand up, and my bare feet cause a creak on the wood floor beneath them. The room spins for a moment, but I force myself forward. I glance around for some sort of weapon. The relief and hope I’d felt initially at being rescued is muted by the fact Stranna isn’t with me. Why would they rescue me and not her?

Something’s wrong.

A set of crutches is propped up in the corner behind the door. They’re the metal kind the hospital gives you—like when Nole shattered his knee attempting to longboard for the first time. I pull the bottom part of the crutch out and use it as a baton. It’s light, so it’ll take a firm swing to do any real damage, but I have a good grip with the little rubber stub on the end.

I ease my door open and peek into a carpeted hallway with a railing across from me. On the other side of the railing, down a level, is a living room with zigzagging stairs leading up to this balcony. What looks like 20 or 30 cushions and blankets are spread across the living room floor.

A dim light source out of my view illuminates the area with a warm glow. It flickers. Candle? Torch? My brain is still stuck in Tenebra. Do people use torches in the Real World? It’s sad I even have to run that question through my head. Of course they don’t. But there’s likely no electricity here, so maybe they do.

Low voices come from below. I ease onto the landing. My room is at the end of the landing against a wall, so I go the only way I can—left to the other closed doors.

The first one is a shelved closet packed with identical white T-shirts and jeans marked with yellow Post-it notes showing the sizes of each. Either a lot of people live here or a lot of people come and go . . . needing new clothes. The majority of them are child sizes.

The next door opens to a bathroom. It’s small and standard, but clean, with one of those fake-smelling candles from the mall on the counter. The wick isn’t burned yet, and the cabinet might have some sort of medical supplies or pain relievers.

A lot of homes were broken into for that sole reason when the Nightmare Virus first spread across the world. Whether from addiction or fear or a simple desire to use them for bartering or bribing, everyone went after Ibuprofen and simple pain-management meds that used to be so easy to snag at the store.