Sprawled on the ground, I stare at the truck, my elbows stinging where they scraped along the pavement. A quick inventory tells me I’m not seriously hurt. My gaze jerks to Luka. He’s on the ground, limbs splayed. The sight makes me think of Richelle, lying so still just before we got pulled.

Luka pushes to his feet. His arms are whole and smooth—no blood, no shattered bone, no torn skin. Other than a fresh scrape on his knee and another on his hand, he’s all in one piece. And I’m in one piece, not broken and bloody. There’s no gash on my thigh. Even my jeans are in one piece—no rip in the fabric, no bloodstain.

Luka and I are both fine. Just like Richelle said, we respawned: rematerialized miraculously healed. That must mean that wherever she got pulled to, Richelle is okay, too. And Tyrone. And Jackson. I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I stare at Luka. “The others—”

He slices the air with the edge of his hand and stalks toward me. “Not a word,” he insists, low and intense, as he hunkers down beside me. “We don’t talk to each other about it outside the game. And we don’t talk to anyone else about it. Not ever. Not if we want to live.”

The game. He’s going to keep calling it that? The Drau, the fight—they felt real to me. If it’s a game, it’s one I don’t want to play again. But Jackson was pretty adamant when he said it wasn’t a game, and even if I wasn’t willing to take his word for it, what I’ve seen today was pretty convincing.

I rub my forehead. I’m so confused.

“They’ll know if we talk about it,” Luka continues. “And they’ll terminate us.”

Our eyes lock. I can see that he believes everything he’s saying, and he’s afraid. I shiver. “Who are they?”

“Not a word,” he snarls.

I nod. I know how to pick my battles. Defer. Distract. Wait it out. Right now, Luka won’t spill. But some other time, when he’s more relaxed, when his guard’s down . . .

His lips compress in a tight line. His eyes are dark and fathomless.

Wait. What? His eyes are dark? They’re not blue; they’re the rich black-coffee brown I always thought they were until that moment when we were both lying broken on the ground after the truck hit us.

Except it never did hit us.

I glance at the truck, and then squint up at the late-afternoon sky. We’re in exactly the same place—and time—as we were before everything happened. Before the lobby and the weapons and the aliens and the battle. Richelle said the hours were banked. I guess we just made a withdrawal.

“What do we do now?” I ask.

“We live our lives.” There’s an edge to Luka’s answer, a tinge of bitterness.

We live our lives. That’s what Richelle said in the lobby . . . something about getting to go back to our regularly scheduled lives. Until next time.

Carly screams my name again, the syllables dragged out, ridiculously slow. I turn my head and see her running toward me, but her movements are almost comical, like she’s part of a film moving in slow motion. It takes me a second to realize that everything is in slow motion, except Luka and me.

I have so many questions, and none of them get answers because Luka clearly isn’t willing to offer any and because I never get the chance to ask. The pain in my head grows until it pushes against the backs of my eyes and makes the joints in my jaw ache. My ears pop, and the pain is gone.

“Bam. We’re back,” Luka murmurs a millisecond before something changes and the world speeds up. Carly’s no longer in slo-mo. She’s running at me full tilt.

“Miki! Oh my gawd, Miki! Are you okay?” Carly skids to a stop and drops to a squat by my side. She runs her hands along my legs, then my arms. I glance down, expecting to see the con on my wrist. It’s gone, just like the pain in my head and the pain in my ribs and the blood that should have been all over the ground.

Kelley and Dee are right behind her. I’m enveloped by my friends, who ask over and over if I’m okay. I tell them I am. I’m lying. I’m so far from okay, it’s laughable.

I mutter reassurances and glance around for Luka. He’s on his feet, backing away.

Janice Harper’s standing on the curb, signing back and forth with her little sister. She lifts her head and looks at me. Her eyes are wide, her face pale. She squats down and pulls her sister into a tight hug, her gaze locked on mine. “Thank you.” I can’t hear her over the chatter of my friends, but I see her lips shape the words.

I did it. I saved her. Chaos under control. My brain pats me on the back, tells me to feel good, job well done. But I can’t quite get there.

The metallic clang of a door slamming snags my attention. The driver of the truck leans against the hood, phone in hand. He talks, his fingers running repeatedly through his thinning hair, his face furrowed in concern. A moment later, sirens wail in the distance.

He takes one look at me surrounded by my friends and heads toward Luka. He stops and says something I can’t hear. Luka nods and answers.

“Miki!” Carly snaps her fingers. “Talk to me. You seem kind of spacey.”

That’s one way of putting it. “I’m fine. Really.”

Hands grasp my upper arms, helping me to my feet. I’m surprisingly steady, no dizziness, no pain other than the twinge of my scraped elbows. I hold on to Carly’s hand while Dee rubs my back and Kelley stares at me and presses her palms together and holds her fingers to her lips.