“Not necessarily,” Adam replies. His fingers hover, poised over a red button on the control panel.

The two ships zoom closer. I put my hand on the back of Adam’s neck, ready to make us invisible at a moment’s notice. But just as the Skimmers are about to reach the docking bay, Adam hits the button. Two heavy blast doors snap closed like steel jaws right in front of the Skimmers, sealing off the landing zone. The Skimmers never have a chance to change course. There’s a jolt as both ships slam into the side of the much larger warship. Adam and I rock back and forth from the force. I can hear the ships explode on impact, and a thin tongue of fire manages to slip in between the thick blast doors.

“That should keep them out for a while,” Adam says. He throws a few more switches on the control panel to lock the blast doors in place.

“Nicely done,” I say. “Now we only have to worry about the couple thousand Mogs we’re trapped in here with.”

As if on cue, the ship-side door to the docking bay swings open. I immediately turn my blaster in that direction, finger half depressing the trigger.

“Easy, it’s just me,” John says.

John strides into the room, BK and Dust right on his heels looking monstrous. The two Chimærae stand guard at the door, teeth bared, ready in case any Mogs followed John through the ship. John’s breathing pretty heavily, and he’s literally smoking. His shirt has caught on fire in places, and there are blaster burns on his shoulders, arms, chest and legs. He doesn’t even seem to notice. Adam and I exchange a look.

“John, are you—?” I shake my head, feeling like it’s moronic to ask if he’s okay. “You’re hurt.”

John pauses in front of the rack of Mogadorian weaponry. He looks down at himself, like he hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh yeah,” he says. He starts running his hands over the wounds he can see on his arms, using his healing Legacy to mend them, then pauses. He squints for a moment, and the injuries across his body all simultaneously begin to close.

“Whoa, that’s new,” I say.

“Yeah,” John replies, looking a little surprised himself. There’s a distance in his eyes, like he’s still coming down from the adrenaline of the battle. “Everything seems . . . easier since I began really using my Ximic.”

Adam creeps over to the door to check the hallway. He makes a point of scratching behind Dust’s ears when he does, which makes a sandpaper noise thanks to Dust’s bestial form. Dust’s massive tail thumps on the metal floor.

“Easier,” Adam repeats, noting John’s condition. “Did you . . . did you already kill them all?”

John crouches down in front of the weapons rack. He shoves aside blasters and battery packs, searching for something.

“No. There are a lot of them,” he says simply. “I’m regrouping. So are they. They won’t survive another round.”

“What’re you looking for?” I ask.

“Grenades or anything explosive,” he says. “Something I can throw at them.”

“There’s some fuel cans there,” I point out.

John looks over at the tanks used to refill the Skimmers. He hoists one with his telekinesis. “That’s perfect. I think.” He glances at Adam. “The ship can sustain one of these exploding, right?”

Adam purses his lips. “Probably. I wouldn’t want to fly it into outer space afterwards, but it should handle Earth’s atmosphere fine.”

“Great,” John replies. He looks over at the box filled with cloaking devices. “You guys doing good?”

“Almost finished,” I say.

Just then Dust lets out a low growl, and Adam ducks out of the doorway. BK arches his back and gets low, ready to pounce. From where I’m standing, I can hear the airlock door just outside the docking bay open.

“Got some coming in,” Adam whispers.

“They think I’m hurt,” John says, and rolls his eyes. “Figured they’d send a few to get the drop on me.”

John strides right into the doorway and, a second later when it opens, unleashes a beam of rippling silver energy from his eyes. I run to his side in time to see a dozen or so Mogs with blasters, all of them now turned to stone, crowding the hallway outside the door. John raises his hand, and the air gets cold. A barrage of railroad-spike-sized icicles fly from his palm, disintegrating the stone Mogadorians.

“You learned that one too, huh?”

“Some Legacies are clicking into place easier than others.”