The scream tore out of my throat, raw and jagged, as the floor vanished.

  Gravity became my only reality. We were plummeting through a vertical shaft of absolute darkness. I glanced sideways, my eyes wide and stinging, only to see the man falling beside me with a terrifying, statue-like stillness. He wasn't flailing. He wasn't afraid. He looked like a man taking a casual stroll through the air, his cape-like coat fluttering behind him.

  My scream echoed off the unseen walls of the tunnel, a rhythmic, haunting sound that seemed to chase us down.

  The man lifted his wrist, his voice cutting through the rush of wind. It sounded metallic and cold through the confined space. "Arrival. Code Green."

  Suddenly, the darkness shattered.

  A circle of blinding white light rushed up to meet us. I braced for the end, certain that my bones were about to be turned into powder against a concrete floor. I squeezed my eyes shut, a final prayer dying in my mind.

  Whump-hiss.

  I didn't die. Instead, I hit something thick and yielding. I bounced with a soft, synthetic grunt, the air rushing out of my lungs. I was sprawled flat on a massive blue rubber surface—a high-tech crash pad that smelled of new tires and static.

  I groaned, my head spinning, and tried to push myself up. Before I could get my bearings, a hand fisted into my collar and hauled me to my feet with a violent jerk.

  "Easy there, precious cargo," a new voice said.

  I blinked the spots from my eyes and looked at the person holding me. It wasn't the giant in the skull mask; he was already walking away, his boots clicking rhythmically against the metal floor. This was someone else.

  He looked to be about my age, maybe a year or two older. He was striking—the kind of guy who would have been the lead in a movie if half his face hadn't been hidden behind a sleek, metallic mask. The right side of his face was revealed: a sharp, tanned jawline, dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and an eye that looked like polished obsidian.

  He noticed me staring and coughed awkwardly, a smirk playing on the visible side of his mouth. "Sorry, pal, but I’m straight. If you don't mind, please get your feet under you. Mr. Khan already left, and I’m the one who gets his head chewed off if we’re late."

  "Mr. Khan?" I stammered, my brain struggling to keep up. "Where am I? Where are my friends? That man—the one who brought me here—where is he going?"

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  The boy sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then grabbed my wrist. His grip was an iron shackle, rough with the kind of callouses you only get from years of brutal training.

  "Too many questions, not enough time," he muttered, dragging me off the rubber pad.

  I tried to dig my heels in, but it was like trying to stop a freight train. Despite being my age, his strength was unnatural. He led me through a series of corridors that felt less like a secret bunker and more like a high-end corporate office. Men and women in crisp uniforms or lab coats hurried past us, clutching tablets and folders. Nobody looked twice at me. Nobody cared that a kidnapped, dusty civilian was being dragged through their hallways.

  We reached a massive metallic door, flanked by two guards who stood like statues.

  "Open the gate. Now," the boy commanded.

  The guard on the left didn't blink. He tapped a rapid sequence into a glowing keypad. With a heavy, pressurized hiss, the doors parted.

  A blast of furnace-like heat hit me square in the face, ruffling my hair and stinging my eyes. I squinted. In front of us was nothing but the vast, shimmering expanse of the Thar Desert, stretching out toward an infinite horizon.

  The boy gave me a sudden, sharp shove toward the open sand. My knees buckled, and I barely caught myself.

  "Go," he said, his voice dropping the playful tone. "If you think you’re a hero, then go. Walk out there and save your friends. We won't stop you."

  I looked at the shimmering heat waves dancing off the dunes. I looked at my trembling hands. I knew the truth. I wouldn't last an hour out there.

  I swallowed hard and turned back toward the shadows of the base. "I... I should have listened. I’m staying."

  The boy’s face lit up. He actually jumped and clapped his hands like a kid at a circus. "See! I knew you weren't a total idiot. Smart move, kiddo. Now, close the doors! We’ve got a schedule to keep."

  The guards rolled their eyes as the heavy metal slabs hissed shut, sealing us back into the air-conditioned chill.

  What followed was a blur. The boy led me on a whirlwind tour, speaking like a hyperactive travel guide. He showed me the armory, where racks of black rifles gleamed under the lights; the chemical labs, where scientists peered into microscopes; and the training grounds, where soldiers fought with a ferocity that made my stomach turn. He even pointed out the toilets with a wink.

  But through all his chatter, he said nothing. He didn't tell me who they were. He didn't tell me why they had me.

  "Stop!" I finally shouted, leaning against a cold white wall. "The tour is great, but tell me what this place is! Who are you people?"

  The boy waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, that boring stuff? Mr. Khan handles the exposition. Oh, damn! I forgot!" He slapped his forehead. "I was supposed to get you cleaned up before the meeting. If he sees you covered in desert filth, I’m a dead man!"

  He reminded me so much of Gaurav it hurt. I just prayed the universe was kind enough to never let the two of them meet; the combined chaos would probably level a city.

  "Come on! Sprint or I’m doomed!"

  He took off. I had no choice but to follow, my lungs burning as we sprinted through the labyrinth of white halls. After a few minutes, he skidded to a halt in front of a heavy white door. Embossed in the center was a stylized symbol of a tiger’s head, its eyes made of emerald glass.

  I leaned over, hands on my knees, gasping for air.

  "You’re pretty weak, dude," the boy said, slapping me on the shoulder hard enough to nearly send me to the floor. "Come on, don't be a slowpoke. He’s waiting."

  He pushed the door open.

  Inside, sitting behind a desk of dark, polished wood, was the man who had carried me through the dark—Mr. Khan.