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“This is a jet injector.” John held up a device that looked like a futuristic squirt gun. “Fires a high-pressure blast of fluid through the dermis into your bloodstream. Feels like a mosquito bite.”

“What about . . .”

“The flu is just the flu,” John said. “Sneezing, coughing, maybe a little nausea. But we modified it to be as minor as possible. That’s part of the point—if people feel awful, they’ll stay home, and we need them out spreading the virus. But the change, becoming brilliant, that’s a little different.”

“How?”

“Well, it’s altering the way your brain works. It’s going to be disorienting. Probably a little scary.”

Hawk realized he was biting his lip, made himself stop. “What will it feel like?”

“I don’t know exactly. You’re only the second person in history to go through it.”

“Dr. Couzen was the first.” He took a breath. “His face was all scratched up. Did he—he did that to himself?”

“Yes,” John said. “But remember, he’s too old, too rigid. You’re young and strong and malleable. It will be confusing. You’ll start to see things differently, to be able to do things that you weren’t able to before. My advice is to take it slow. Like going from a dirt bike to a ten-speed. You don’t want to go as fast as you can right away. Get used to it, learn how the gears interact, how the brakes work. As you get more comfortable, then you can stretch yourself.”

“Do you know what my gift will be?”

“That’s the best part. Those who are born gifted, our gifts are set. But because this is pure, you’re going to be able to do a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe everything.” John smiled. “Once you have it under control, you’re going to be more powerful than I am.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Hawk tried to imagine that, what it would feel like. To be able to think like John, to have that thing he had, that power that made people want to help him. Or to be able to move like Haruto—Sensei Yamato, he corrected himself—who could control his body with perfect precision, who could fight blindfolded using only sound to guide him. How amazing would that be?

“Are you ready?”

Aaron took a deep breath, then blew it out. Nodded.

The metal barrel of the injector was cool against his arm. Before he could tense up, his friend pulled the trigger. There was a pfff sound and a tiny pinch. “That’s it?”

“Yup.”

“I . . .” Emotion inflated his chest like a balloon. Hawk wanted to hug John, to cry. This was everything he’d ever wanted. To be like his mom, like John, or Tabitha. How would she look at him now? “Thank you.” His voice came out a little wobbly, and he wiped at his nose “Thank you.”

“No, Hawk.” John put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

There was a muffled boom, like someone dropping heavy free weights in the gym. John’s head jerked up, and he stared at the door. Hawk said, “What was—”

“Shh.”

For a second, nothing happened.

Then the shooting started.

From the outside, the building wasn’t particularly notable. A warehouse on the outskirts of Tesla, tucked in amidst the others. The Holdfast had to import the vast majority of products, and they all had to be stored somewhere.

The Wardens moved with easy precision, every commando knowing exactly where to move and what to cover. There was no shouting, no hardened sergeant yelling, Go go go! That was for the movies. Here, in the bright sunlight of a Wyoming winter afternoon, the only sounds were the hustle of footfalls, the hum of traffic from a nearby artery, and the rumble of the truck engine.

Alpha Team hit the warehouse like a black wave. The point man slapped charges against the front door, stepped back, made a quick hand symbol. Cooper checked the safety on the assault rifle he carried, a Holdfast design of curved carbon fiber. His armpits were sweaty and his heart was loud, but his hands had the in-mission steadiness he’d always been able to count on. How many times had he been in a raid for the DAR? Hundreds, counting the drills.

But never one where you knew John Smith was on the other side of the door.

He muted the thought. The time for second-guessing was past. It was do or die.

The charges took the door right off the hinges, hurling the heavy metal inside with a roar of sound, quickly followed by an explosion of light from a flashbang. Two-man teams flowed in, and Cooper followed.

A lobby of some sort. Tall ceilings with exposed girders. A bench, a security camera, a guard doubled over and clutching his eyes. The teams swept past him, Cooper surfing their wave, leaving the guard for the tail of the column. On the schematics this broad entrance connected directly to the storage space, with a side hall leading to a series of offices. But in reality, walls had been built that framed the space out differently. No surprise. Schematics only showed the initial design. Smith’s team would have customized the interior to their specifications, and they wouldn’t have filed permits. Cooper was glad of it. He was counting on it.