STEPPING AWAY FROM the console, the Leader turns to face me. His face is darkened, not by shadow, but by something far more sinister. “You think you’re doing something great? You think purpose, or some benevolent god, has led you to this point? Is that what you think?”

I steady myself, the knife gripped in my right hand. Maybe if I can get close enough ...

“Tell me,” the Leader continues, “do you really think you can stop the evolution of mankind?” He touches at the plastic cup covering his mouth.

Why is he always touching that thing? “This isn’t evolution. It’s extinction. And yes, I will stop it.”

He laughs. “You’re too late.” He jabs his finger on a large red key. I hold my breath. A moment passes, then another. The Leader turns back to me, a terrible look in his face. “What have you done?”

By the hands of Yeos, Demitri did it. “I told you. We’re stopping this.”

The Leader steps forward, towering over me, a terrible fury pouring from his features. “You are all below me. I will no longer entertain a conversation with a creature that spends its life scrambling around in the filth.” The rebreather under his nose shakes with the words. “You want to taste death? I shall offer it to you.”

Moving faster than humanly possible, the Leader slams into me—jarring my organs against my ribs. I fly from the ground, flipping end over end, crash into the far console, and slump to the floor. There’s a void in my chest where my breath used to be. My head spins. One blow. That’s what he can do with one blow. He’ll kill you if you let him, Mila. Get up.

I search the floor, but the knife is nowhere to be seen. As I climb to my feet, Mos’s Hyper auto-injector shifts in my cargo pocket. Just in case you get in a bad spot. I grunt and pull it out. Damnation. I’m pretty sure this qualifies. Flipping the safety cap off, I jam the auto-injector against my thigh and feel the rush of the serum as it enters my system.

“Is that all? That’s the best the resistance has to offer?” he says, stomping forward.

“No. This is.”

Springing from my crouched position, I drive upward, slamming my fist under his chin, then back down again with a crushing brachial stun, followed by a spinning back kick that catches him square in the chest. Dance like a sparrow hawk. Capitalizing on the element of surprise, I press the advantage, striking multiple times while working my way to the outside of his guard.

The Hyper is working. For an instant, I’m unstoppable. The Leader, with all his sophisticated bioengineering, appears wholly unable to defend himself against my overwhelming offensive. He swings his arm in from the outside of my guard, but I intercept and counter. My fist slams right across the nose and mouth, sending his nasal breather and cup flying. His face is a picture of shock and disgust.

“How does it feel to be exposed?” I shout, spit flying at him.

He flinches, the crack in his discipline widening. I launch in and kick low to strip his front leg, but I may as well have kicked a stone pillar. Pain arcs through my leg and up into my back. Not wanting to lose my advantage, I deliver a series of hand strikes. But the Leader parries them as though he has trained in chum lawk his whole life. Frustrated, I drive harder, varying my attacks, but it’s useless. He finds a gap in my defense and exploits it, slamming me across the neck with a hammer fist.

Everything fades. I lay on the floor, breathless. It’s not possible. There’s no way he could be this good. Ghofaun isn’t this good.

The Leader leans over me, a few strands of silver hair falling across his furious face. “You’re in trouble, now, little one.”