I shrug. “Checked out a couple of sites in case they might help me understand the layout of the game. Not that I’ve had much time to work on that yet. But I will, when we get back.” I say that last sentence like it’s a done deal.

“Task left unfinished,” Lien says, then elaborates when I glance at her. “You left a task unfinished so you’ll make it back to finish it.” I notice that Kendra’s hovering close beside her, saying nothing, staring at the ground.

“I thought that’s why ghosts come back . . .” Luka says.

Lien shoots him a cool glare. “I modified the superstition. It’s like we’re ghosts here. So we go back to finish the unfinished.”

“Oooookay,” Tyrone says.

“Did you leave a task unfinished?” I ask Lien.

She runs her fingers through her still-damp hair. “Blow-dryer’s still plugged in.”

Kendra slams the side of her thigh with her fist. “How can you be so calm?” she explodes. “Talking about bullshit? Even joking around?” She glares at us, tears shimmering in her eyes, then she rounds on Lien. “How can you chat with them about superstitions and stupid gaming terms as if they matter?” Her words tumble out in a rush. “As if we aren’t going to—”

“Get started on our mission,” I cut her off before she can finish the thought. None of us needs a reminder of our mortality. We know. Each and every one of us knows.

“You’re right, Kendra,” Tyrone says, conciliatory, holding up his hands, palms out. “We should save the chatty-chat.”

I nod. “Break time’s over. Let’s move.” I’m channeling Jackson. I understand so much more about him now, about the way he acted and the things he did. I only hope I get the chance to tell him that, to feel his strong arms close around me once more, to breathe the scent of his skin and rest my ear against his heart just to listen to the steady, solid beat.

“Move how?” Lien asks. “You got an idea to get us out of here? Or any idea of where here is?”

“We’re in an elevator,” I say as I examine the keypad by the door. I don’t have an ID card and I don’t know the code.

“Yeah, I guessed that much.” Lien plants her fists on her hips. “Got any idea as to the code?”

I key in a few sequences: 1-2-3-4. 4-3-2-1. 1-3-2-4. 4-2-3-1. We could be here for a week at this rate. I glance at the LED number overhead, and try: 7-7-7-7.

Nothing happens.

“You mind?” Tyrone asks, stepping up beside me.

“Knock yourself out.”

He enters 3-2-7-2. Luka snorts.

“Three-A-R-C,” Lien says. “Add UNLOCK and it’s a cheat code for Call of Duty.”

When the door stays shut, I say, “Why COD? Why not Halo, or . . . I don’t know . . . Donkey Kong? There are probably hundreds of cheat codes for every game. How do we pick just one?”

“Try Resident Evil,” Lien says.

Tyrone tries some codes. The door stays firmly shut.

Kendra’s pacing circles. I have a feeling that if we don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to lose her to whatever black hole her inner dialogue is dragging her to. I study the keypad.

“We could try—”

“No more codes,” I say, cutting Luka off as I signal Tyrone to make room for me. I trade places with him and trace my fingertips along the numbers, hoping the Committee will just feed me the knowledge in that freaky, crazy way of theirs. No such luck. I’m on my own.

“If I can’t do this with finesse, I’ll try force.” Reaching back, I grasp the handle of my sword. I slip the tip of the black blade into the card reader, plant the heel of my palm against the end, layer my other hand on top, and ram it in with all my might. A shower of sparks erupts from the casing, followed by a crackling noise. But the massive metal door stays shut.

“That was effective,” Lien says. There’s an edge to her tone, and while it grates, I do understand. She’s been at this longer than me, she’s a transfer from a team that was wiped out, and despite the fact that we made it through the last mission, she has no real reason to have tons of faith in me.

Luka bristles and looks like he’s about to lace into her. I give a tiny shake of my head. He frowns, but keeps quiet. Yay for small miracles.

“Patience, grasshopper,” I say to Lien.

She narrows her eyes. “Condescending, much?”

And here I was thinking the whole hand-holding thing had rallied the old team spirit. Not so much.

“No. My grandfather used to say that to me as a joke. It was from some old TV show. No condescension intended.”

She looks like she’s going to say something more, but in the end she keeps quiet.

I play with the settings on the side of my weapon cylinder, the way Jackson did to break into the cold room in the caves. When I fire, the black surge isn’t greasy and oily; it’s a thin, powerful stream that hits the control pad where it hurts.

A second geyser of sparks erupts, bigger and brighter than the first. The front of the keypad falls free, hanging on by a single, melted screw, and the wires within spark and flare. A horrible chemical smell rises from the mass of heated metal and melting plastic.

Lien smirks. “And that was equally—”

“Effective,” Luka cuts her off as the door cracks open in the middle, letting in a narrow stripe of bright, white light.

CHAPTER SEVEN