Only when Ares touched down in the High Hall did Gregor realize he didn't actually know where to go from here. Solovet had said something about training, but . . . He glanced around, seeing a few soldiers haste by. Some bats on the far side seemed in brisk discussion, then they disassembled, taking off in different directions; no one even acknowledged him.

"We're back," said Gregor to Ares, halfheartedly.

"This return does not carry the feeling you wanted it to, does it?"

Gregor gingerly slid off his back. "I don't know." He adjusted his sword belt, then glanced around, feeling more lost than he had in a while. "Hey, do you maybe know what Solovet meant?" He turned to Ares. "Maybe I can—"

"Welcome back, Gregor," said a heavy voice behind him. "It is good to see you at last."

Gregor spun around. "Vikus!" He gave the old man, standing in one of the arched entryways, his brightest smile. "Yeah, it's good to be back. I didn't mean to make you all worry again. Just that—"

"I have heard what Luxa has done," Vikus cut him off. "This news has spread like mold. We are all talking about what she . . . what you have done for us. Have no worry; I am not here to punish you." Vikus took one step toward him, and Gregor breathed out in relief. "They say you rejoined us for the challenge by the wall? You are not injured, are you?"

Gregor shook his head.

"Good, good." Vikus' gaze was caught by the jeweled handle of Gregor's sword, and he made a face, then glimpsed over at Ares. "How are you both feeling?" he asked, placing a hand on Gregor's shoulder.

"We are relieved to be back," said Ares.

"Yeah. I'm fine," added Gregor, not knowing whether it was true. "Vikus, can I see my mom? And Boots? Are they okay? And where are Luxa and Howard? They're here, right?"

"So I have heard," replied Vikus. "Although I have not seen them either. Likely, they are in the hospital. And . . ." He hesitated. "Gregor, I know that Solovet sent you to training, but I believe there is something else you should know . . . about your family."

Gregor's heart skipped a beat. His mom and Boots . . . had something happened while he had been gone? "Are they alright?" asked Gregor, fiddling with the hilt of his sword.

"Yes, yes, they are doing well," Vikus assured him. "That is not it. But, Gregor, I believe you should follow me."

"Will you be fine?" asked Ares. "I will rest for a while until we are fetched."

Gregor nodded. "Take care," he said to his bond, and Ares brushed his hand with his claw. Then Gregor followed Vikus out of the High Hall. Despite the reassurance and the fact that he trusted Vikus to tell him if something bad really had happened, Gregor couldn't stop fumbling with the jeweled handle of his sword the entire trip through the palace. His anxiety became almost unbearable when he understood that Vikus was leading him into the hospital. "Are we seeing my mom?" he asked. "Has she relapsed?"

Vikus shook his head. "She is feeling much better. Not well enough to leave the hospital yet, but soon."

Vikus' words reinvigorated Gregor a little; that was good news. "What about Boots?" he asked. "And Hazard? How's everyone else doing?"

"Boots is well. She is staying in the nursery, although she has spent much time in the code room recently," said Vikus. "They think she is the princess from the prophecy, although . . ." He shook his head. "Well, things could be going better." Noticing Gregor's confused face, he continued, "You may go see her soon. Then you will see the room I mean. It is difficult to put into words. Just know that she is well. And Hazard . . ." He hesitated. "Recently, he has moved to the nursery as well, to care for the nibbler pups we rescued from the river."

"I'm glad Hazard's feeling better," mumbled Gregor. He shuddered, thinking about Hazard's cries and his inconsolable sobbing after his bond, Thalia, had died from toxic fumes. It had been so bad that Howard had to sedate him, and even so, Gregor thought he'd never forget the way Hazard had cried on that day.

"Hazard has not been the same for a while," said Vikus gravely. "Yet caring for someone helped him greatly."

I should go see him soon, thought Gregor. And Boots too. But then they turned the corner to his mom's room, and he immediately sprinted ahead. No doctor intervened when Gregor burst into the room. "Mom, I'm back!" he called, then halted abruptly, frozen in shock.

"Gregor, baby, there you finally are!" his mom exclaimed from her bed. She was sitting up, and next to her, he spotted a used plate and a folded-up board game. She really did look so much better, but . . .

"Gregor!"

Two small arms wrapped around his legs, and Gregor disbelievingly stared down at the messy curls of . . . "Lizzie?!"

"Goodness, Gregor, you can't just keep disappearing like that."

Gregor jumped around toward the other voice, barely believing his ears. "Dad?!"

He stood from the chair he had pulled to his mom's bedside. "Hi, Gregor," he said with a wistful smile. "Have you any idea how much convincing it took to ensure your mother did not make herself sicker by worrying about you day and night?"

Gregor stared at him, mouth agape. He hadn't seen his dad so vital in ages . . . Maybe this was because he hadn't actually seen him in a long time. Not since he had last been up. And he hadn't been up since—

"Lizzie and I came, expecting to see you, only to be told that you had run off again. Oh, what are we going to do with you?" Before Gregor knew what hit him, his dad had already hugged him and Lizzie tightly.

Only then, when Gregor buried his face in his dad's silken Underland shirt, which felt far more exquisite than anything he had ever seen him wear but smelled like him anyway, did the full truth hit Gregor—he was here. They were all here.

"Guys . . ." Gregor pulled back a little, looking back and forth between his parents, trying to process that they were no longer separated. Then he stared at Lizzie, and his worry rose again. Even the thought of coming to the Underland had always been enough to give Lizzie a panic attack. What must have happened to compel her to actually do it?

When he finally disconnected from his dad, Gregor spotted Vikus at the entrance. "I told you Mareth's promise that he would be back safely was reliable," said Vikus with another wistful smile.

Gregor's dad gave a grateful nod. "Thank you."

"Gregor! Will you let me greet you too?" called his mom suddenly, and his dad laughed, ushering him to her bedside so that she could hug him just as tightly. Gregor managed to breathe out in relief, although he tensed up again the moment she exclaimed in horror, "Oh my god! Gregor, is that a sword?"

He released her and stepped back, attempting to conceal it, but it was too late. "I need it," he mumbled without looking up. His mom didn't even allow him a pocket knife, and now he wandered in here with a real sword . . .

"But Gregor!"

"I really do. And I promise I'm not being careless with it, or hurting myself on it, or anything." Gregor cleared his throat, suddenly irritated by how she still held him to the same standards she had before the Underland. He gripped the hilt defiantly. "But there's a war going on, and if I don't carry it, I might get hurt. That's why. Okay?"

His parents stared at him, taken aback. Then his dad said unexpectedly, "It's okay."

"But—"

"Grace, it's okay." He stepped to her bedside, taking her hand. "He's got a point. Didn't you mention to me that you see them carrying the wounded past your room sometimes? That even the doctors here are all armed now? When have you last seen someone without a weapon?"

"I see you," said Gregor's mom.

His dad paused. "I might arm myself too if things continue in this manner."

"Blake!" she cried. "You can't just—"

"If even the doctors are all armed, they must anticipate an attack," his dad interrupted her. "Wouldn't you prefer it if we had something to defend ourselves if the situation worsened? Or would you like for us to be caught off guard in here?"

His mom stared at his dad incredulously, then she averted her gaze. "Do what you must," she mumbled. "But Gregor, I have to—"

"Mom?" This time, Gregor cut her off, eliciting a sour look, but he just had to know. "Dad? Guys, what's going on? Why are you all here?"

Lizzie climbed onto their mom's lap, staring at him with an anxious frown. "We had to come," she said. "Because of grandma."

"What?" Gregor took a step closer until he felt his dad's hand on his shoulder.

"She . . . is very sick," said his dad. "She's in the hospital . . . Mrs. Cormaci is looking out for her." He sighed. "We owe that woman so much."

The thought of Mrs. Cormaci made Gregor's mind jump to her letter in his pocket. "Tell her I'm well when you see her again," he said absentmindedly. "And that she's the best," he added quickly.

"That, she is," said his dad. "And, of course, I couldn't leave Lizzie alone. Would you believe that she asked if she could come here by herself?" His dad messed up Lizzie's curls. "So we came together."

His mom raised an eyebrow. "Wait, Gregor, what are you talking about—"tell her when you see her again"? You can tell her yourself soon. They came," she pointed at his dad, "to take us home." When she cupped his cheek, Gregor tensed. "We were waiting only for you. I am almost cured. The doctors say a week at most, then I'll be out of here."

Home . . . The word resonated in his chest, and Gregor looked back and forth between his parents, taking in their hopeful smiles. Home . . . ?

"I can't go home." Both his parents flinched when he blurted out the words. Gregor swallowed, attempting not to let their appalled faces faze him. His thoughts reeled to his friends, still somewhere out there. To Luxa and Henry and their vow. Then to the Prophecy of Time . . . When the warrior has been killed.

"Gregor, what are you talking about?" asked his dad, frowning.

Gregor looked over at Vikus again, who hadn't moved from the entrance, watching the scene. For a second, he wondered—even if he wanted, would they let him leave now? Before this war was over? Probably not, he thought. Probably, they would try to keep him here at all costs—at least Solovet and the council. Then his thoughts flew to Luxa and what she had said about not blaming him if he left.

Momentarily, he wanted to ask Vikus what he would do—if he'd help him sneak away with his family, let Ares take them up so that they could leave and never return. That was what his parents wanted. But . . . then Gregor reconsidered. Because then it hit him that Vikus' reply, whatever it might be, didn't matter.

It didn't matter what everyone else wanted. All that mattered was what Gregor wanted. What he chose to do . . . and he had already chosen. So he repeated, "I can't leave," even more determinedly. His hand flew to the handle of the sword again. "I can't abandon everyone here! They need me. My friends are all here, and they need me to stay and help! And that . . ." He flashed back to what he had seen in the Firelands—the corpses at the bottom of the pit. The mice suffocating in the volcano. Luxa's grim face when she had sworn her vow. "That is what I want, too."

***

"I am awaited in the council room. They have turned it into a war room for commanding operations now," said Vikus disgruntledly, but then he smiled. "I am to negotiate new alliance contracts with those you recruited on your way. That pincher, Iro . . . he is a fascinating conversation partner. So I'm afraid, here is where we part ways." Vikus stopped when they reached the former council room. "And you—Mareth awaits you in the arena. Ares will meet you in the High Hall shortly."

"Right, the training." Gregor nodded.

"Before you go . . ." Vikus placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for saying what you did to your parents. We are all so grateful to have you, despite the prophecy's dire words. I know it must be difficult, but please do not let it frighten you too much. Everyone here believes in you. Even Solovet." Vikus' smile became somber. "She would die before admitting it, but she does."

"Thanks." Gregor returned his smile, feeling a wave of sympathy for him. Vikus looked like he hadn't slept properly in days, and even though he didn't really care about whether Solovet believed in him, it felt nice to hear that everyone else did.

They believed in him—Gregor let the thought sink in. All of these people . . . Well, maybe he shouldn't think about it too hard. The mental image of so many people counting on him was already stirring more anxiety than comfort.

"And it's okay," Gregor continued. "I'm staying because I want to stay, and that's the truth." A truth that had actually silenced his parents. They had exchanged glances, and when he had turned to look back at them before leaving, they had not looked at him with anger, like at a defiant child, but . . . with serene reluctance, almost melancholy. Like parents who had realized their child was growing up. And maybe Gregor was. The thought was liberating and scary at the same time.

Vikus squeezed his shoulder, then released him. "See you, Vikus!" Gregor called after him and swiftly made his way to the High Hall. There, he met Ares, who had Solovet's bond Ajax with him.

"He will escort us to the arena and supervise our training," explained Ares.

Gregor gave the enormous, rust-red bat a nod. "Hi. I don't think we've properly met."

Ajax returned the nod. "It is good to make your acquaintance, warrior. Now follow me." He lifted off instantly, and Gregor vaulted onto Ares' back so that they could follow.

"Not the most talkative, is he?" remarked Gregor when they were in the air.

"I never cared much for him . . . yet," replied Ares. "Almost no one does. Of course, very few care for me, either." He didn't say it, but Gregor immediately thought about Henry as well, and he told himself he'd keep an open mind about Ajax.

In the arena, they were greeted by Mareth and a female soldier in the same kind of uniform, whom Gregor didn't immediately recognize. "Gregor, welcome—oh, have they still not given you proper armor?" Mareth gave him an encouraging smile, then pointed at the woman. "You recall Perdita?"

Perdita! The name seemed familiar, and then it dawned on Gregor that he had met her during his very first visit to Regalia. "Hi Mareth, Perdita, it's nice to see you again!"

Perdita smiled. "It is an honor, Overlander. Mareth and I will oversee your training today."

And so, the following hours flew by; the two soldiers were excellent teachers, and by the time they allowed him his first break, any remaining anger at Solovet for putting him through this had left Gregor. He came out of it, having a far better understanding of how to handle both his sword and the dagger Solovet had given him earlier—although he might have forgotten to even bring it if he hadn't left it in his pocket since receiving it.

He was finally not swinging his weapons randomly anymore, hoping for the rager thing to somehow take care of the rest. Even when it wasn't kicking in, he now had actual stances and strategies to fall back on. And he'd also found that it was much better to fight with two weapons in general. Like having the torch in his left hand in the jungle during his spin attack had probably made the difference between life and death.

After the break, he reunited with Ares, who had trained with Ajax on minimizing his wingspan on different moves, while Gregor had been with Mareth and Perdita. He must have done well, too, because Ajax grudgingly told Perdita, "At least he is able to take instruction."

Then they practiced different airborne moves, and Gregor could feel the difference in Ares' flight maneuvers. They were sharper, more abrupt. Mareth, Perdita, and Ajax ran them through a series of drills, and in the end, the time flew by so fast that he was surprised when someone offered him dinner. Only when he saw the food did he realize he was famished.

He and Ares sat down to eat with Mareth and Perdita, right there in the arena, but Ajax declined when Gregor offered him to join them. He took off, and although Gregor felt oddly sad watching him leave like that, he tried to not let himself be disheartened.

It was his first proper break since he'd arrived back—with no urgency to go somewhere or do something. And so, for the first time, Gregor attempted to properly digest all that had happened since his return. He was back, and . . . and his entire family was down here now. For a moment, he wondered whether that was a good or bad thing. Then he selfishly thought that it was good because, like that, he at least got to see them all again before he might die.

As soon as the thought had settled in, Gregor shoved it aside. No, of course it was good—not because of him, but because they were all back together now. No one was alone . . . other than his grandma, but Gregor imagined Mrs. Cormaci was keeping her company.

They were together, Gregor thought. And they were all . . . doing well. His mom was almost cured, and his dad . . . Gregor still thought he couldn't remember the last time he had seen him this vital. Even Lizzie had seemed alright.

He thought of his mom's rule—that things were best when they were all together, no matter where—and figured it was true. Not because less bad things happened or being together increased their luck somehow, but because when they were together, bad things fazed them less.

Then it occurred to him that while his biological family was all together again, everyone else he had started considering family down here was split now. At least . . . most of them didn't hate each other anymore.

After they had more or less finished eating, Mareth and Perdita disrupted Gregor's thoughts by asking him questions about his travels with the Death Rider. Gregor willingly talked, although he, of course, didn't disclose Henry's identity.

"I am deeply disappointed that I was not there to meet him today," said Perdita. "The soldiers whisper that he and his flier fight unlike any other pair. That they are a stunning sight to behold. Is it true that his sword lights on fire?"

Gregor nodded, and Perdita threw her arms in the air. "Oh, it is not fair!" she lamented. "Either of you, might you not arrange for me to make his acquaintance? I have heard so many tales and words of hearsay, yet I am the only one here who has never seen him in person."

"I think he'd love to meet you," said Gregor, thinking that Henry must already know Perdita; they seemed like they would hit it off. "And yeah, he's really powerful now. In the Firelands, he challenged Ripred to a duel, and I think he's serious about being his match."

Both Mareth and Perdita stared at Gregor with widened eyes. "He challenged who?" asked Perdita.

"You . . . think he might win? Against Ripred?" added Mareth.

Gregor shrugged. He hadn't actually seen Henry in solo combat yet, but then he said, "I think so, yeah." Part because he found himself having confidence in Henry's ability, and part because he wanted him to win. Just to spite Ripred a little. Teach him that he wasn't as invincible as he liked to act.

Briefly, he thought about Ripred being stuck in that pit after losing to the Bane, but . . . that defeat hadn't actually made him humbler. Someone just had to do it. And no one had ever gotten closer to bullying Ripred in the way that he liked to bully the rest of them than Henry.

"Either way, I think you'd get along," said Gregor to Perdita with a smile.

"Luxa does speak highly of him," Mareth added, and Gregor froze . . . Luxa.

"Where is Luxa, actually?" he asked. "And Howard? Solovet said they were here!" Only then did he make himself aware that he hadn't made an attempt to see any of them yet, and felt a delayed surge of anxiety combined with a heavy dose of guilt.

Mareth and Perdita exchanged glances. "Then they must be, although no one has mentioned to us that the queen has returned."

"Well, maybe you should go and ask dear Solovet herself then," snarled a familiar voice, and Gregor jumped around.

"Ripred!"

"In the flesh." Ripred pushed into their circle and shamelessly began helping himself to the leftover food. "What's that I hear about you gossiping behind my back about that lad and his ability to win over me? That Death Rider," he remarked in the direction of the soldiers. "He's only a lad, no older than your Howard, so that's what I call him."

"I'm not gossiping," said Gregor, realizing that he was. "But it was you who said that he's the deadliest fighter the humans have ever had. And if he's going to fight you, I'm rooting for him."

"Boy, oh, boy! Now you betray me, too. All because the lad's a bit more inspirational and whatnot." Ripred groaned. "And say this stuff not so loudly, lest I lose my fright."

"Honestly, you have lost your fright whenever he is around," said Ares pensively. "Perhaps because his and your energies level each other out now." He paused, and Gregor thought he looked as surprised about his words and that they rang true—that Henry did match Ripred's energy now—as Gregor himself would have been a while ago.

"Oh no!" lamented Ripred. "Oh, the lad will pay for this. I have put time and effort into this reputation, you know?"

"Now I am anticipating this confrontation," said Mareth. "Although, with how things are going, there may not be many opportunities for games such as this in the near future."

Everyone grew serious again at those words. Gregor looked around and thought that sitting here, with his friends, he had actually been able to forget the war and suffering that waited for him outside. Gregor clung to the moment, trying to stash it away in his heart, together with all the precious memories he carried from that disastrous quest to save the mice. It had been disastrous, and yet it had also given him so many moments like this. He had a feeling he'd soon be grateful for every bit of time he collected in this manner.

"Either way, boy, I think we should talk about Luxa," said Ripred.

"Right." Gregor got to his feet. "Like you said, I'll ask Solovet where she is." He wasn't particularly eager to go see Solovet, but . . . His throat tightened. What if Solovet had deemed it safest to throw Luxa in the dungeon or something? What if, while Gregor collected happy memories, she was alone somewhere, suffering? He took his first step away, then turned back. "We're done, right?"

Mareth and Perdita exchanged glances. "I don't mind calling it a day here," said Mareth.

"You're free to go, Overlander," added Perdita.

"Awesome. Thanks for everything, guys," replied Gregor, then he turned to Ares. He had no idea where Solovet was, but she couldn't be too hard to find. "Let's go!"

"Let us," concurred Ares, fluttering into position for him to mount up.

Yet before he could so much as lift his foot, someone cleared their throat behind him. "Overlander?"

Gregor turned, only to be faced with an Underlander he had never met before. "Yeah?"

The man cleared his throat again. "Overlander, you are being called to the code room. They said there is some emergency with your sister."

***

Gregor sprinted almost faster than Ripred could lead. Underlanders did not use the word "emergency" lightly. Then he suddenly wondered—what sister? He thought primarily of Boots since they had said she'd spent a lot of time in that room. But what if it was Lizzie?

"What even is this code room?" asked Gregor on the way.

"An ancient place built for the greatest code breakers of every species to decipher various codes," said Ripred. "I've only been there once since we returned, but from what I could tell, your sister was having a grand ol' time driving the code team to near insanity."

"Hey, Boots is only three. What did you expect?" hissed Gregor. "She's not going to be of much use with that code. She can't even read."

"I know," said Ripred. "And personally, I do think that they are misinterpreting that part, but I'm just telling you how things are. That prophecy says we have to break this new code that the Bane's rats began to use the day the Ice System flooded—the Code of Claw—to win this war. So I suppose the Regalians are desperate."

Gregor recalled Henry's explanations. "There's a new code for every war, right?"

"Whoever told you that?"

"During our last night out there, I asked Henry to tell me about wars down here," said Gregor. "He mentioned codes too."

"Oh, right, the lad was supposed to become a commander," said Ripred in a mocking voice. "Almost slipped my mind."

Gregor opened his mouth to defend Henry, but then an awful thought suddenly crossed his mind. "You don't think they're . . . attacking Boots, do you?" He quickened his pace even more. "If she's been annoying to them, what if they—"

Just then, as he sprinted down the narrow hallway, his foot slid in something . . . blood. Someone had bled, leaving a trail all the way to the door. "Boots!" he screamed. If they had hurt her, if they had harmed one hair on her head—

Then Boots flew into the hall. "Gre-go! Gre-go!" she called in distress. He picked her up, running his hand through her curls, looking for injuries.

"What's the matter? Are you okay? Did somebody hurt you?"

"No, I am okay. In here! In here!" Boots tugged on his shirt to make him enter the room.

Gregor stood frozen for a heartbeat before it dawned on him: "Is it Lizzie?!"

Boots nodded, and a swell of panic overwhelmed Gregor. He vaulted through the entrance, and there—crouched in the center of the stone floor of an unusual, octagonal room—was his other sister.

"Oh, no . . ." Gregor quickly scanned her with his eyes, but she did not seem to be bleeding. She was still hurting, though, because then he realized that Lizzie was having a panic attack. She panted for air, trembling like a leaf, and he could see the shine of sweat on her palms.

"Lizzie!" he yelled, nearly colliding with Nerissa as he sprinted toward her.

"Oh, welcome back, Gregor." She rose to her feet from where she had kneeled beside Lizzie and managed to give him a smile. "Your sister wanted me to show her the palace, but when we came here, our arrival coincided with that of Hermes. It is his blood—he came here with new scrolls of code after being ambushed by gnawers, then collapsed." Nerissa inhaled deeply, trying to recompose herself. "Oh, Gregor! Your sister . . . she is not injured, but since Hermes' arrival, we cannot quiet her!"

"Yeah, I know. She gets like this sometimes." He gave Nerissa a grateful nod. Honestly, he'd expected Lizzie to have an attack the moment she'd set foot in the Underland. He didn't have time to dwell on why she hadn't yet—whether it was his dad's company or just that she had gotten lucky in terms of what she'd witnessed since coming here. But now . . .

Seeing someone injured like that was more than enough to set off an attack in her. Sometimes she had attacks for no apparent reason at all. She would be in a state of extreme terror, but there would be no one to fight and nothing to run from. Today must have felt more real than anything ever had before.

Gregor quickly swung Boots down, kneeled beside Lizzie, and pulled her back into his arms, holding her. "Hey, Liz. It's okay. It's okay. Nobody here is going to hurt you."

"Oh! Gregor! It was—there was—I can't!" Lizzie barely got the words out.

"It's okay," mumbled Gregor over and over. "They're not attacking here. No one else will be hurt. No one is hurt anymore."

"They are—dying!" She heaved. "He said—they are all—dying! So many—are—"

His next words lodged in Gregor's throat. "No one here is dying," he forced himself to say, turning her—and himself too—away from the puddles of blood pooling on the floor. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a spider and a cockroach crouching at the back of the room, attentively watching him.

"Gregor! Why did you never tell me—that they are all—dying down here?" Lizzie heaved. "And that no one is helping them?" With that, she threw up all over the floor.

Gregor held her while she heaved, and when she finally stopped retching, he picked her up and carried her over to the side of the room. He sat there with her on his lap, feeling her shake, and his mind involuntarily flew back to his own panic attack on the quest to save Stellovet. He recalled Dalia's narrow hand on his back and placed his on Lizzie's. "Okay. You have to breathe. Nice and slow now."

"I brought—a bag. In my—backpack," Lizzie managed to say.

Her backpack was sitting next to the pool of vomit. "Hey, Boots! Can you bring me Lizzie's backpack?" Gregor called to her.

"I can do it," said Boots, running over to fetch him the backpack. "I can get the bag, too!" Her chubby little fingers struggled with the zipper, but she got the pack open and pulled out a folded paper lunch bag.

Gregor opened the bag up and put it to Lizzie's face. "Now with me, okay? One, two . . ." He breathed in and out, and then Lizzie finally began to breathe haphazardly.

"It's okay, Lizzie. You're okay," said Boots, patting her sister's hand. Lizzie's attacks were one of the few things that upset Boots. "I am here."

"Should I send for your father?" asked Nerissa, who was waiting fearfully by his side.

"I think we've got it under control," replied Gregor. "No need to bother him. We're okay."

She nodded, then summoned a pair of servants, who quickly came in with a drink of water for Lizzie. Then, they cleaned up the vomit and the blood, and left. Throughout, Gregor observed that all of the creatures in the room—the code breakers Ripred had mentioned?—sat still, as if they knew any movement on their part would only increase Lizzie's anxiety, while they waited to see what would happen.

And this was when Ripred finally swept into the room; at that point, Gregor had almost forgotten he had waited outside. "What's going on in here?" His nose was twitching, clearly registering the lingering throw-up smell. Then his eyes landed on Lizzie, and he became still, except for the tip of his tail, which twitched from side to side.

An expression came over his face that Gregor had never seen before. If he had to put a name to it, Gregor would have called it . . . tenderness. "Oh, I bet I can guess who you are." Then the impossible happened: the rat's voice became positively gentle. "You're Lizzie, aren't you?"

Lizzie lifted her face from the bag to take in the giant, scarred rat. "You're Ripred," she whispered.

"That's right. I'm glad to finally get to meet you. I wanted to thank you for all of the lovely snacks you've sent me. They're always the high point of my day," snarled Ripred. Or . . . purred? It had almost sounded like it. Gregor stared at the scene in disbelief, unable to make sense of Ripred's behavior—why was he so nice to Lizzie? He had never been nice to Boots.

Ripred moved closer slowly. "Breathing is good, but sometimes it helps if you talk. Do something to distract yourself."

Gregor looked at Ripred in surprise. What did he know about panic attacks? Surely he had never had one himself. "My dad does math problems with her," he suggested gingerly.

And then he spent the next ten minutes watching an utterly surreal scene unfold before his eyes—because Ripred proceeded to do exactly that. It was like Lizzie's presence had entirely changed the rat. Gregor heard not a single drop of the usual spite and crankiness when he spoke to her. Instead, he soon lay beside her, distracting her with first math problems and then riddles.

Gregor was so absorbed in the absurd scene that he completely neglected to look around the room further. When a cockroach and a bat suddenly appeared on Ripred's left to participate in the conversation, he almost fell over.

"They are the code team," Nerissa whispered to him when she noticed his confusion. "A member of each species works in this room to break the code. One particular member you should recognize." She pointed at the second rodent, who now sat on Lizzie's right, vividly gesticulating and speaking.

"Oh! Hey, Teslas!" Gregor called out to the black mouse, taking a few steps toward him and feeling a pang of shame for never checking up on him after they had brought him to Regalia. "Are you doing okay?"

"Greetings, Gregor." Teslas gave him a nod. "It is good to see you too. I'm feeling much better, yes." The stump that had once been his tail was still tightly bandaged, and his eyes were misted with pain, yet Gregor thought he was feeling as good as he could, considering he had watched his family, his entire colony, die—and most of his species with them.

"Teslas?" asked Lizzie. "Like the inventor? Nicola Tesla?"

Ripred nodded. "Oh, that's right. You are indeed smart. Especially since, if I've been informed correctly, he here is an inventor too. Hmm . . ." Ripred's tail flicked so hard it made a snapping sound, but his voice remained casual. "Temp, suppose you take Boots down to the nursery and let her feed the baby mice. Would you like that, Boots?"

"Ye-es!" she exclaimed.

Temp—who Gregor hadn't even registered was in the room with them—pattered out from under a table, and she hopped upon his back. Ripred merely called after them, "And no need to come back until I send for you!"

Gregor just stood there, next to Nerissa, and watched incredulously as his anxious little sister sat between two giant rodents, not panicking in the slightest anymore.

As soon as Boots was gone, all the other creatures in the room began whispering, evidently more relaxed and even a little excited. Another cockroach poked its head out, and the bat's wings fluttered. Could it be they were just relieved to have Boots out of their hair? But no, Gregor couldn't shake the feeling that something more had happened. What exactly, he couldn't tell.

Just then, Ripred rose and gave Lizzie a smile. "So," he said. "So, so, so." He sat back down on his haunches, then tipped his head forward in an elaborate bow. "I suppose I should finally say: Welcome to the Underland, Princess."