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CHAPTER 15

TYLER

Cindy’s voice is a whisper, but it cuts through the dark apartment like a knife. “Get in the pantry. Now.”

I don’t argue. My heart’s already thumping so hard I’m surprised Cindy can’t hear it. The pantry door creaks as I slip inside, the smell of canned soup and stale cereal enveloping me. I grip the hockey stick tight, my palms slick with sweat. The pantry’s tiny, and I’m hunched over, my knees brushing against boxes of rice and pasta.

“Lights off,” Cindy hisses from somewhere in the living room. The room plunges into darkness, and I hear her shuffling across the floor.

“You still there?” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Shut up, Tyler!” Cindy snaps. “If it’s Bob, we’re jumping him. No questions.”

I press my back against the shelves, the hockey stick held awkwardly in front of me. My breath comes in short, shallow bursts. The pantry’s too warm, too tight. My nightshirt clings to my skin. I keep thinking about Bob’s milky white eyes, how they seemed to pierce right through me. Was he really one of those Grolgath things Lanz mentioned? The thought sends a chill through me.

The sound of the car pulling up outside grows louder, then cuts off. My stomach twists. I strain to listen, but all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears.

“Do you hear that?” Cindy whispers.

“Hear what?” I mouth the words, barely audible.

“Footsteps.” Her voice is tight, panicked. “Someone’s coming up the stairs.”

My heart skips a beat. I grip the hockey stick tighter, the wood digging into my palms. The pantry door feels flimsy, like it won’t stop anything—let alone an alien.

I’m crouched in the pantry, my heart slamming against my ribs, when the knock comes. My mouth goes dry. Before I can even whisper, “Should we answer?” the door swings open with a creak that makes my skin crawl. A dark shape steps inside, silhouetted against the hallway light. I can’t make out who it is, just the broad shoulders and the way it moves, deliberate and smooth.

“Charge!” Cindy shouts, her voice sharp and wild.

I burst out of the pantry, swinging the hockey stick with everything I’ve got. It connects with a sickening crack, the impact reverberating up my arms and leaving them numb, tingling. The stick splinters in my hands, and I stumble back, clutching the jagged end. Cindy’s standing frozen, her golf club bent like a pretzel, her face pale.

“How rude!” Lanz’s voice cuts through the chaos, his tone light, almost amused.

I blink, my vision finally adjusting to the dim light. There he is, Alonzo Ramone in his cream suit, looking like he just walked off a yacht, not like someone who just took a hockey stick to the head. He’s smiling, but his golden eyes flicker to Cindy, and for a split second, I see it—the realization dawning on him. He’s just shown off his Vakutan durability in front of a human who shouldn’t know he’s anything but a wealthy playboy.

“I mean, ow,” he says suddenly, his voice shifting, his hand flying to his forehead like he’s in a bad soap opera. He winces dramatically, his face contorting in exaggerated pain. “That hurt. I may need medical attention.”

Cindy’s grip on the golf club tightens, her knuckles white. She’s staring at him like he’s grown a second head—which, considering what I know, isn’t far off. “What the hell?” she mutters, her voice shaky. “I hit you with everything I had, and you’re just… standing there.”

Lanz glances at me, his expression softening. “Tyler, darling,” he says, his voice smooth, but there’s a warning in his eyes. “Would you mind explaining to your friend here why I’m not currently unconscious?”

I swallow hard, my mind racing. “Uh… he’s got a really hard head?” I offer weakly, shrugging. “Like, freakishly hard. Maybe he’s part brick.”

Cindy narrows her eyes, her gaze darting between me and Lanz. “Yeah, no. That’s not it. What are you not telling me, Tyler?”

I exchange glances with Lanz. He gives me a slight nod, then turns back to Cindy, a strange glint in his golden eyes. “Are you the type of person who pulls band-aids off quickly, or slowly?” he asks, his voice calm, almost conversational.

Cindy cocks an eyebrow, her grip on the bent golf club loosening slightly. “Quickly,” she says. “Why prolong the agony? But I don’t see what this has to do with?—”

Her voice trails off as Lanz drops his holographic disguise. The air shimmers for a second, and then there he is, seven feet of red-scaled Vakutan, ridges prominent on his face, golden eyes glowing in the dim light. Cindy’s mouth opens and closes a few times, like a fish out of water. Then, she points a shaky finger at him.

“Oh, I get it,” she says, her voice a little higher pitched than usual. “You had one of those weird surgeries that only super-rich people can afford to make yourself capable of living on Mars. Listen, is there a discount program? Because I’d love to have impenetrable scales. I’d never need oven mitts again.”

“Cindy,” I say carefully, trying to keep my voice steady. “Alonzo… Lanz isn’tgoingto another planet. He’s, um, he’sfromanother planet.”

Cindy nods slowly, as if this is all perfectly casual, perfectly normal. “Oh, okay. Cool. Which planet?—”

Her eyes roll back in her head, and she crumples to the floor like a discarded marionette. Lanz catches her before she hits the ground, his movements surprisingly gentle for someone his size. He looks down at her unconscious form, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.