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“Would be better if we both were,” Davidson snaps. “Where the tarnation did that chasm come from? And why?”

“More importantly,” Reece prompts, “what about the voices? They the same you heard before?”

“No,” the chief counters. “I— I mean yes, but no. Same gibberish but clearly a different party. Or whatever the hell these bastards have going on now.”

Reece hauls in a heavy breath. “Well, something tells me it’s not the world’s most elaborate episode of Punk’d,” he states as the elevator—or whatever is still in that chute—really revs to life. So far, I’m still betting on an elevator car, with its gears grinding, pulleys squeaking, and ropes whooshing. That doesn’t stop my nerves from becoming metal spikes—and my composure the balloon that’s hovering over them.

A torment worsened by my husband’s next moves.

As he backs up by three wide steps, pacing off the space he’ll need for a clean attack at the approaching enemy.

As he drops into a battle-ready pose: legs spread, knees bent, arms reaching around an imaginary beach ball.

As I fight not to picture the colors of that ball as the shades of his blood, bruises, and sliced-open vitals. And severed limbs. And dying eyes…

And I was feeling triumphant about getting to do this…why?

“Shit,” I rasp. “Ohhhh shit-shit-shit-shit.”

Even as I crouch next to my husband—and assume the same battle position.

Have I gone insane?

It feels like the only explainable excuse, despite how the word feels like a battle flail in my gut.

Yeah. I’m insane.

Despite how I know we’ve trained for this. How I remember every second of every plan we’ve devised and perfected, exploiting the combination of our powers to their fullest. Despite how I’m pretty damn sure Reece and I will likely kick major ass and succeed, even if an army of bloodthirsty zombies spills out of that lift.

All of it still feels like insanity.

Even though we’re both completely primed. Balanced on our tiptoes. Fingers sizzling. Bloodstreams humming. Heads lifted. Stares set.

Bring it on, fate.

Show us your worst.

But while my brain and body resound with the challenge, all my soul can think about are two pieces of motivation. The safety of the city I love and the face of the world’s most perfect little boy, getting ready to fall asleep in it this very moment.

And just like that, I’m clear again.

I’m not insane.

I volunteered for this out of unbearable, immeasurable love. The commitment to protect my son’s hopes, dreams, heart, and future. And I already know it’s the same fire for Reece’s spirit. I’m drenched in a wave of the energy I usually only detect when he’s with Lux. He’s sending it on purpose, with one sole intent. To assure me that I’m right. To welcome me into a league bigger than both of us: the connection to every warrior who’s been in our position before. Embracing the reality of possibly losing my life while embracing the things that truly mean life.

As if by doing that, I can camouflage myself with life.

So death will have no choice but to pass me up.

Not that I’m believing it anymore—as the ropes and pulleys in the lift continue to roll and move.

As the painful whines of biological lifeforms now mix with the grinds and screeches—and drag the whole elevator car into view.

I hiss while baring my teeth.

I seethe golden fire into my gaze as I torch every cell of my bloodstream.

And I realize, inside a second, the man at my side is doing the same. We’re a pair of rebel alliance members, anticipating Vader himself in that lift car. Reece has the light sabers; I have the blaster cannons.