Too late to run.

Too late to hide.

But never too late to spew inanities.

"How soon? Will you kill me fast or slow? I think medium-fast is usually best, don't you agree?"

Her head cocked and eyes clouded. "What?"

My voice broke and crackled. "Like, could you leave enough time for final regrets, but not enough time for really overthinking?"

Once-Zhina froze, face contorting into various expressions too rapidly, like a computer in overdrive after keyboard-mashing.

Time to push one more button.

"By the way, who's the Head Chef?"

She hunched her shoulders and zeroed in on me like a cat ready to pounce.

Fuck, wrong button.

Then she jerked... and crumpled.

Mazamu posed over the corpse, clutching a sharpened butter knife. Blood dripped from the blade, rippling the scarlet puddle below.

"You know," I mumbled without thinking, "I always thought of you like a grandma, Mazamu. Never doubted you for a second."

She squawked a disparaging laugh. "Get your ass off the floor." But as I scrambled to my feet, she frowned at me. "Where's your boyfriend?"

"He ran to the Northerner corridor to warn the rest."

She kissed her teeth — mostly gums, really. "Instead of keeping you safe? Don't believe it. It gives me gut rot just seeing how he looks at you."

Unease slipped under my skin. Could Mazamu be right? Was Rekkan planning something he hadn't told me?

I shrugged, hard, as if I could physically dispel the doubt. "He cares about other people now, too."

"I see," said Mazamu, sounding entirely unconvinced. Then she flipped the handle of her knife toward me. "Well, take this. You might need it."

"But what if you need it?"

A cackle and head-shake. "Child, you really think I would give you my only knife?"

"Oh."

I accepted the blade, and we took off toward the cafeteria.

When we burst through the door, everyone huddled in the middle. Green and brown eyes fixed on the two opposite entrances, and ochre and fawn skin intermingled. Fear of what lay beyond overshadowed fear of their neighbors.

Mekkar stumbled through the Northerner entrance and scurried toward the group. Moments later, Uzmed followed us through the Southie entrance and leaned back beside the door, one shoe pressed flat to the wall. Both prime suspects were present and accounted for... yet I could only focus on one jarring absence.

"Where's Rekkan?"

The words rang louder than I intended, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. A silence ensued, filled with visual reactions: shrugs, furrowed brows, swiveling heads, grim faces.

"Well? Where is he?" I demanded, rotating to blast each huddled refugee with a glare. Somehow the conviction I lacked while sorta-fighting sorta-Zhina now streamed through my veins in almost excessive quantities. A power surge.

When my eyes met Mekkar's for a split second, I hoped my message was clear: Even if you are not Head Chef, if you hurt Rekkan again, I will kill you.

His Adam's Apple bobbed, and his gaze averted.

My eyes caught on Uzmed next — and on his sharpened butter knife. With his shoulders against the wall and bony hips jutting forward, he looked a little like Ivogg.

Or Ivogg's Southie brother.

My confidence petered a little. Ether, please don't make me fight Uzmed for real.

Fennikk broke the silence.

"I saw Mister Rekkan." She ripped her arm from her mother's grasp and stepped toward me. Nikkla watched on, body wound tight as a spring. "He told me to take Fluffy to the cafeteria." Fennikk tucked her chin, eyeing the jar cradled against her chest.

As a good roach-dad, I probably should have felt some relief for Fluffy's safety. But I wasn't that good of a roach-dad. Admittedly, I had grown fond of the little critter, but mostly because Rekkan loved it. If Rekkan had prioritized that bug's life over his own...

My throat tightened, pitching my voice. "He asked you to take Fluffy? Why?"

She furrowed her brow. "He didn't say. He just said he needed to check something."

"Check something," I repeated, weakly.

Bright-blonde hair poked up from the crowd, and Pakket toddled toward us. No one held him back, and no one watched him. Figgel just rocked and cooed to her stuffed squirrel. Almost as gone as the Implanted.

"You found a dragon?" Pakket flashed a gap-toothed grin. "Nice!"

Fennikk pulled the jar in closer and half-turned away from the smaller boy. "This is a cockroach, Pakket, not a dragon. And her name is Fluffy."

He shook his head, blond hair swaying over brown eyes. "No, not Fluffy. That!" He jabbed a finger toward my hand.

My breath caught in my chest. I presented the fly to him on my palm. "Pakket... the dragons you saw looked like this?"

"Yup! Lots of them!"

Fuck. Of course, Rekkan had realized what Pakket meant sooner. I used to imagine my pet cockroach was a dragon. Was Rekkan trying to shut down the whole operation by himself while we remained pent up in the cafeteria?

Even if the two prime suspects were here, exploring on his own with Implanted on the loose was too dangerous. Especially with his rifle still locked away in the weapons storage.

Not that a rifle could do much against flies.

Shit, I'm fucked.

I didn't realize I had sworn out loud until Pakket hunched his shoulders and fiddled with the hem of his oversized, ratty T-shirt. "Did I do something wrong, Mister Zafaru?"

Despite my fear, my chest pinched. Pakket usually presented a sunny spirit, but he likely craved validation as much as Rekkan once had. As much as Rekkan still did.

I shook my head and attempted to even my voice. "No, buddy. You're great. I just... where was this room?"

Brown eyes peeked at me from beneath thick lashes. "Um... I'm not really sure. Maybe close to Mister Rekkan's room. Or..." His teeth pinched his lower lip. "Maybe not that close?"

I attempted to measure my response to draw out more without scaring him. But before I ask more, a door slammed. Serigg pressed both palms against the Northerner door and leaned her weight against it.

"No," she hissed at the crowd of onlookers. "They can't come in."

Mekkar ventured a few steps toward her, hand raised in platitude. "What are you doing? Rekkan says we are under attack. If you leave them out there..." 

Her scowl incinerated his voice. "The lab experts are dangerous. They work for whoever created this thing."

"If that's the case, you shouldn't be standing so close to the door. What if they break it down and grab you, Serigg?" He breathed her name like a midnight prayer.

She threw her head back with a humorless laugh. "Oh, because you care so much about my safety? Mekkar?" 

She wielded his name like a sledgehammer.

His hand flopped to his side.

I withdrew from Fennikk and Pakket to step toward the feuding pair. Though the Head Chef likely watched, I could no longer remain cautious.

If Rekkan was currently endangering himself, I would not sit back and wait.

"Actually, the lab experts don't just work for the Implant-creator," I said. "The lab experts are Implanted."

A murmur rippled through the listening crowd.

Serigg's eyes widened. "They are Implanted? But they're not bald or spotted."

"They've hidden the baldness and purple spots with wigs and..."

My voice trailed off as a thought occurred to me. A thought at once absurd and strangely logical. A thought that rose goosebumps on my arms.

Before I could think it through, I marched up to Mekkar and flipped out a palm. "Give me the platinum key card."

His bushy eyebrows shot high. "What? Why?"

"If you care about Rekkan at all, you'll give me that card."

His Adam's apple bobbed and lips parted as if to protest, but he slid the card out of his pocket. Before he could change his mind, I ripped it from his hand and started toward the door.

Serigg planted hands on her hips, blocking the exit. "Zafaru, what are you doing?"

"I have to find Rekkan," I said. "You keep everyone here safe."

Before she could respond, I pushed past her and shoved open the door.

The three lab experts sucked a unison breath as the door knocked them back a step. Puppeted gasps from perfectly-painted dolls. Before they could recover, I sprinted past them.

My lungs heaved, my shins splinted, and my shoulder smacked the wall as I rounded the corner into the Northerner corridor. I flipped the keycard over the red light outside his door, and the door opened.

No Rekkan.

I whirled around and charged to the next door. Red to green, empty. Red to green, empty again. But when my hand touched the next door handle, something made me pause. 

Perhaps I heard the whisper of breath. Perhaps body heat seeped through the door cracks. Whatever it was, my fingers trembled as I entered the room.

Rekkan.

Slumped in a chair. Head lolling, eyes shut.

Ropes dug into his brawny shoulders and chest, strapping him in place. I watched him long enough to see the slow but steady rise and fall of his chest before turning my focus to the man who hovered over him.

Brown bristles covered the man's head like spider fur. The purple spots on his face and arms had faded to faint smudges, and the greenest eyes I had ever seen pierced me.

The last pieces slotted together, confirming my bizarre idea — my fever dream come true. If purple spots and baldness could hide beneath make-up and wigs, they could just as easily be feigned with make-up and razors. And even the greenest eyes turned brown with the right contact lens.

There was no Southie brother and no eighth sentry. Half of seven was three and a half.

The Head Chef shook a vial an inch from Rekkan's ear, sending the fly inside ricocheting. His thumb skirted the vial's pop-top, and his lips stretched in a broad smile.

"Terrific! I was so hoping you would join us, Ru."