Five's Legacy by Pittacus Lore Page A

bow—to me in reverence when we approach. I try to keep my body from shaking, which takes a lot of effort. Everything is new and different and terrifying, and for a few passing moments all I want is to be sitting on the beach on my little island, even though by this point I probably couldn’t even find it if I tried.
    “Welcome, sir,” they both say.
    Inside, we’re escorted past a front desk and around security. I notice a placard on a wall as we pass: Federal Bureau of Investigation.
    “Is this, like, a government facility?” I whisper to Ethan.
    “I told you,” he says. “They’ve got eyes all over the place. They’ve got resources everywhere.”
    He winks at me, though this fact is both impressive and unsettling. I’m beginning to see just how useless all the hiding and moving was.
    We continue to silently wind through a few halls, down a set of stairs, and into what must be an underground level. Finally, we come to two doors next to each other.
    “You’re in here,” one of the men says, motioning from me to the first door. Then he turns to Ethan. “You’re in the other one.”
    “Wait,” I say, stepping forward. They can’t separate us. I don’t want to be alone in here. Panic starts to rise up in me. I can feel my skin start to change, taking on the properties of my duffel bag handles, all leathery and smooth. “Why can’t we—”
    “It’s fine,” Ethan says in the most soothing voice he can. It works, because I start to calm down. “They just want to talk to you. It’s probably classified info or something like that. It’s okay. You’re their VIP. Don’t worry.”
    I nod reluctantly. Ethan disappears into his appointed room. I stand in the hallway for a few seconds before one of the men clears his throat. I shoot him an annoyed look and then go inside.
    It’s the kind of room I recognize from watching too many crime shows on cable over the last year. It’s empty except for a swinging light, a few chairs, and a big metal desk in the center of the room that looks like it could double as an operating table. An interrogation room. I swallow hard.
    “Please, have a seat,” someone says.
    I turn to see the Mogadorian Ethan was videoconferencing with last night standing in the corner. His gleaming black hair reflects the swinging light, black eyes twinkling. His lips spread across his gray teeth. He has to be seven feet tall, at least.
    “We’ve been expecting you, Five,” he continues, his voice rich and low as he waves towards one of the chairs. I hesitate, and then take a seat. The Mog sits across from me.
    I’m sitting across from a Mogadorian.
    Suddenly, all I can remember are stories Rey told me growing up. About how the Mogs invaded, and about all the terrors they brought with them to our planet. You’d think that they were monsters—and though this guy is definitely creepy and intimidating, he doesn’t look all that different from me, all things considered.
    Still, it’s hard for me to keep my fingers from drumming on the table. I pull my hands back, crossing my arms. That’s when I feel the Loric glove and its hidden blade.
    Rey always told me that if I was caught I’d be tortured. If that’s what this is really about—all one setup to try to torture me—will I be fast enough to use the blade to escape? Either by destroying the Mogs or myself?
    “We’re very pleased with your decision to join us, young Lorien,” the Mog says.
    “I don’t have much of a choice if I want to live,” I say.
    “An intelligent boy. I always knew we were correct in placing our bets on you. If only more of your kind were able to see the true extent of our might and the inevitability of the Mogadorian rule, we might have saved many casualties.”
    “You’ve been in contact with the others?” I ask.
    “In some ways.”
    “What’s your plan? Are you going after Four next?”
    “Based on the charm that protects all of you, that would make sense,” the Mog says, grinning widely,