Aiko dug through the trunk, shoving aside boxes and duffels. Junk everywhere. She almost gave up—then saw it. Her small black bag with the yellow handles.

  Her chest flipped. Inside was her training outfit.

  She slammed the trunk and scrambled into the back seat. The orange jumpsuit came off fast.

  “What are you doing?” Dynamo hissed. “Someone could see!”

  “If we’re helping Uncle, I need to move. This is better.”

  “It’s smarter to blend in.”

  Aiko tied the belt. “Looks like practice clothes. Nobody cares.”

  Confidence buzzed through her veins. Chester squeaked like he agreed.

  “I can’t believe you kept that thing,” Aiko muttered.

  “Not letting Operator 47 use him anymore,” Dynamo said.

  The ferret climbed to her shoulder. Aiko rolled her eyes, then spotted something else in her bag. A mask. She slipped it on. Weird… how’d this get in here?

  She turned to Dynamo—

  Gunshots. From the store.

  Chester shrieked.

  “Uncle’s still in there!” Aiko yanked the door open.

  “Aiko, don’t—!”

  Too late. She sprinted, mask down, heart hammering.

  She dove behind a propane tank. More shots. She peeked—blood everywhere.

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  And then—Liam. Jack. The smile. The blood. Jack dragging his finger across Liam’s body, sucking it clean. You’re next.

  Aiko froze, trapped in the nightmare.

  Dynamo’s hands grabbed her, shook hard. “Wake up!” A slap across the cheek.

  “Stop hitting me!”

  “Then wake up!”

  “I’m fine!” Her voice cracked, but the nightmare broke.

  Glass shattered. More shots.

  “How’d they find us?” Aiko yelled.

  “Tracker,” Dynamo snapped.

  Aiko’s eyes caught a blink of light. Chester’s collar. “It’s him!”

  Dynamo ripped it off and smashed it in her hammer-hand. The crack echoed.

  Through the smoke, Aiko saw Uncle dive behind a donut rack. Pastries exploded, powdered sugar spraying like snow.

  “We have to help him!” she shouted.

  “I’ll draw fire. You get to him!” Dynamo’s arms morphed into hammers, muscles twisting like steel.

  Aiko swallowed hard. She’d seen what those hammers could do.

  Time to move.

  ***

  Aiko’s heart pounded as donuts exploded in a sugar storm. Bullets chewed the rack into dust.

  “We need Uncle!” she hissed.

  Dynamo whistled. Chester darted off. Gunfire paused just long enough. Aiko sprinted, sliding hard behind cover.

  “Uncle—are you okay?” Her voice cracked.

  “I’m fine,” Hiroto grunted, powdered sugar caked across his face. “But we’re in trouble.”

  Another burst of bullets sliced the air. One snapped past Aiko’s ear. She yelped, hand flying to her hair.

  Then the door blew open. Six guys in baggy clothes and headbands rushed in, eyes wild.

  “Aiko, stay back!” Hiroto barked.

  Too late. Two charged her. She dropped low, grabbed the first by the arm, flipped him hard. The second swung wild; she ducked and swept his legs. Her small frame darted and struck fast, panic making her sharper.

  Then the masked boy appeared. All in black. The way he moved twisted Aiko’s stomach. Wrong—but familiar.

  “Fight me if you dare,” he said.

  Hiroto and Dynamo stepped forward—BANG. A warning shot pinned them. Aiko’s blood iced.

  He was here for her.

  They clashed. His blocks came too easy, his strikes too smooth.

  “Not bad,” he taunted. “You’ve grown.”

  “Shut up!” she snapped, swinging harder.

  But she was slowing. Each breath scraped her chest raw. Each block rattled her bones. He pushed her back, laughing.

  Then—outside—a scream. His head snapped toward it. He bolted.

  “Wait!” Aiko stumbled forward. Her knees gave out. She collapsed, shaking, furious.

  Uncle grabbed her. “Aiko! Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” she rasped. “Who… who was that?”

  Chester scampered back, a rag in his teeth. Dynamo plucked it free. Letters embroidered in gold: Phantom Island.

  Aiko’s stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”

  Hiroto’s face drained of color. “It means we’re in more danger than I thought. We leave now.”