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“I can't understand it.”

“Well, what about the assaults? Trenton and the agent, not to mention Jon.”

“What about them?” Erin asked. “They
had
the Mark. It doesn't fit.”

“It has to. They were friends, weren't they?”

“Yeah. Ever since Peck went Markless, they were his support—food, clothes, information . . . shelter, sometimes . . .”

“So he turns around to kill one and attack the other?”

“According to the report.”

“It doesn't add up,” Logan said.

“How are we going to warn Dane if we don't even have our story straight?”

“It's not
our
story, Erin. It's the
truth
.”

They'd arrived at Old District. Erin slowed and Logan jumped off the stick.

“I'd come with you—”

“It'd only complicate things. He and I are friends . . .
were
friends, at least. Anyway, we've the best shot of him believing all this if it comes from me.”

“He won't like missing his concert.” Erin smiled.

Logan shrugged. “Life's not fair.”

6

Fifty feet away, behind a noise-cancelling wall and several dozen posters, Dane stood at a microphone, shaking his wailing mitts to loosen up and talking to his band. “That sucked,” he said. His drummer shrugged. His bassist plucked an idle note. “We have thirty minutes before we need to head out, and then we get one chance to win this thing. Now let's take it from the top.” So the Boxing Gloves made their way through Dane's newest song, “Comet,” and imagined the glory of winning Spokie's annual battle of the bands. None of them heard the chimes when the doorbell rang.

“Master Dane?” George asked over the intercom into the den. “Master Dane, a guest is here to see you.”

“Dude, George, we're practicing in here!” Dane tried to keep his frustration as polite as possible, but it was hard.

“He says it's urgent.”

“Who is it?”

“Your friend. Logan Langly.”

“Tell him to go away,” Dane said. And he counted his band back into the song.

“Master Dane, he's on his way to the den right now,” George said on the intercom, over the music.

Dane stopped the song again. Even the drummer was beginning to look irritated now. Dane stormed out of the den without another word.

“You've got a lot of nerve coming here,” Dane said, meeting Logan in the lavishness of the living room. “I should punch you with one of these.” He held his wailing mitts up like cyborg fists.

“Like real boxing gloves, right?” Logan joked. Dane didn't laugh. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“No. For a dozen reasons, no.”

“Dane, you need to get over this grudge—”

“Oh really?” Dane said caustically. “I need to?” He sneered at Logan.

“There's nothing between me and Hailey,” Logan said, as calmly as possible. “There's nothing between me and Erin either.” Though on some level . . . he knew that might have been a lie. Logan wasn't quite sure what there was or wasn't between him and anyone anymore. “I'm not even here to talk about that,” Logan added, with increasing frustration.

“You're not here to talk about anything. You're leaving. I'm practicing with my band. The battle starts in under an hour. What is this, sabotage?”

“Oh please. I don't care about your battle of the bands and you know it,” Logan said. He paused. “But I
am
here to tell you that you can't go on.”

“Get out,” Dane said.

“It's too dangerous.”

Now Dane laughed. “Is that a threat?”

“Yes. But not from me. Dane, have you heard of a guy named Peck?”

Dane gave him a look so frustrated and distracted, it proved he had not.

“There's a group of Markless,” Logan continued. “They call themselves the Dust. They're led by a boy named Peck. He's wanted for murder, two counts of assault, and the kidnapping of a girl named Meg. And there's reason to think her kidnapping was just one of many.”

“So what?”

“So, Dane . . . you and I . . . we're next on Peck's list.”

“That's ridiculous,” Dane said, though something dawned on him distantly.

“I know you're mad at me,” Logan said. “I know I've been ignoring you this last month, and I know I've been a jerk to everyone, and I know this stupid Hailey thing is
really
bad timing. But you and I have to work together now.”

“Forget it, tightwad,” Dane said, and he moved to retreat into his den.

“They're kidnapping you tonight,” Logan said desperately. “At the battle of the bands.”

“How would you even
know
that, Logan? Even if it weren't the stupidest thing I've ever heard, how could you possibly know that?”

“I've been trailing them,” Logan said. “Me and Erin.
That's
why I've been so weird this month. We think they've been spying on us . . . and we think they've been spying on you too.”

“So the man with two girlfriends is
also
a superhero, huh? Secret Agent, Man of Mystery!” Dane laughed at the thought of it.

“Hardly,” Logan said. “I'm just in over my head. And I'm sorry, but for whatever reason . . . you are too.”

“Get out of my house or I'm calling the cops.”

“Please, Dane. Don't go to the concert. They're after you. They're bagging you tonight!”

“Right,” Dane said. “Bagging. What does that even mean?”

“It means throwing a black bag over your thick head and dragging you away like they did Meg!”

“Okay.” Dane laughed. “Let's all see how gullible Dane is. It isn't enough to take Hailey—”

“
This has nothing to do with Hailey!
” Logan yelled. George appeared now in the hallway, watching. “I'm trying to help you.”

“Well, thanks,” Dane said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Think about it, Dane. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary recently? Anything unusual? Anything at all? For me, it was noises in the nighttime, strange signs that someone was there . . . I tried to ignore it for the longest time, Dane, but it's real.”

Dane thought about the flowers from a few weeks before. He thought about the phone call, and the DOME number he'd been given.

“You know what this sounds like to me?” Dane said. “This sounds like the most pathetic prank I've ever heard of. George, bring the phone! I'm calling the cops. Logan here is trespassing with criminal intent.”

“You know what, Dane? It's your funeral,” Logan said. And he pushed past George and into the night.

7

“Call DOME,” Logan said. “He wouldn't listen to me. The Dust is gonna get him.”

“Don't you think we can stop it first?” Erin asked.

“No, I don't think we can stop it,” Logan said.

“Well, I'm not calling DOME.”

“We don't have a choice. We need help.”

“Logan—everything we've been up to, everything we've done . . . you honestly want to
invite
DOME's scrutiny upon us, at this stage of the game? You want to
ask
them to take a good, hard look at what we've been doing? 'Cause to me, that seems like an awfully good way to get us both arrested—”

“Oh, stop it! Forget worrying about yourself for two seconds! We were never supposed to be the heroes. We were never supposed to be taking on the Dust all alone. We were
supposed
to get a
tiny
amount of evidence and turn it over to DOME. We should have done this right from the start, and you know it! I think you just like playing spy—and it's going to get Dane kidnapped or us killed. Now make the call.”

Erin gave him a cold, hard stare. “You make it,” she said. “If you're so sure.”

“Fine.” Logan placed the call.

8

“Mr. Arbitor, sir?”

“Yes, Johnson.”

“A moment?”

“Yes, Johnson.”

Agent Johnson walked forward, a tablet in hand. He unfolded it and began tapping its surface to shuffle the documents on its display. “We just received an anonymous tip. Seems Peck is planning another abduction—tonight.”

Mr. Arbitor made no attempt to hide his alarm. “Of whom?”

“Boy named Dane Harold. He's playing a concert at the Spokie Community Center within the hour.”

“Gather all agents on duty. I want this casual, though. Until Peck shows himself, we're just faces in the crowd, you got that?”

“Loud and clear, sir.”

“Get to it, then.”

“Will you be coming with us, sir?”

“I'll be stationed here, ready to act if this turns out to be a false alarm . . . or a diversion.”

“Sir, there's reason to believe it's neither of those things.” He glanced anxiously at Mr. Arbitor. “In fact . . . there's reason to believe this caller is in some way associated with the vigilante we've been hunting.”

“All the same,” Mr. Arbitor said.

But Johnson carried on. “There's even reason to believe, sir, that this caller was travelling to the event
with
our vigilante, and that our vigilante might be headed to the community center to fend off this attack . . . herself.”

“So what!”

“So, sir . . . by all reasonable estimations, that would put her in a fair amount of danger.”

“Then keep your eye out!” Mr. Arbitor yelled. “Do your job!”

“I think you'll want to be on hand for it, sir.”

Mr. Arbitor stopped cold. “What are you getting at, Johnson?”

Agent Johnson held his breath. “I believe . . . I believe I've traced the identity of the vigilante in question.”

“Fine, then—who is it? And does this conversation have to happen now?”

Agent Johnson looked more nervous still. “Well . . . sir . . . first . . . let me just say . . . since the missing equipment came from our own Umbrella, there are really only two reasonable explanations for who could possibly have been on Peck's trail to begin with.”

“I know that, you—”

“The first is that one of our agents was either doing it themselves, or else smuggling equipment to an unknown party in order to farm out the effort.”

“I said I
know
that, Johnson—”

“But since the vigilante in question appears to be working
with
us, I can't, for the life of me, see—if that scenario were, in fact, our explanation—why that hypothetical agent wouldn't have come forward with his or her actions and intents—”

“I agree, Johnson. You're wasting my time.”

“I'm not, sir. I'm making sure we agree on the basis of my investigations, so that we might increase our chances of agreeing on their conclusion.”

Mr. Arbitor narrowed his eyes.

Johnson cleared his throat. “So then it stands to reason that if a DOME agent wasn't responsible for the missing equipment and . . . playground tape . . . well, then, only a visitor could have been.”

“There've been no break-ins,” Mr. Arbitor said. “The security record is clean. And it hasn't been tampered with—I've already made sure of that.”

“You're right, sir, on both counts. No break-ins. All visitors have been green. Nevertheless . . .” He hesitated. “There
was
a visitor on the day our equipment went missing . . . She just happened to have clearance.”

“Go on.”

“And I believe this person is now directly in harm's way.”

“I said, out with it!”

Johnson flipped the tablet so Mr. Arbitor could see the entrance log. When he said it, he couldn't bring himself to look Mr. Arbitor in the eyes. “It's your daughter, sir.”

NINE
DANE HAROLD'S
QUIET ENCORE

1

L
OGAN AND ERIN ENTERED THE GYMNASIUM
just as the Boxing Gloves went on. They had followed Dane to the community center with no signs of trouble, but they'd spent the last few minutes keeping watch on the sidewalk for anything suspicious, just in case. The waiting was silent and awkward. Erin was still angry with Logan for calling DOME, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Remember, Logan, whatever they're planning for Dane tonight, they could just as easily do to you. Part of me thinks we're walking right into a trap,” she said curtly, and she reached into her pocket and handed Logan two flash pellets and a smoke bomb. “I'm keeping the pepper spray for myself.”

Logan knew she was right about what they were diving into, but that didn't make him feel any more comfortable about smuggling tactical espionage weaponry into a community center event. “I get it,” Logan said. “I'll be careful.”

Inside, Dane stood center stage with his wailing mitts and swung them in wide circles to get the sound he wanted, punctuating the low drones of one with the fast riffs of the other as he pulled the mitts' various rings with his fingers. Primo wailing. Logan was impressed.

The community center was dim inside except for the black lights that glowed from lamps hung haphazardly along the walls, illuminating the nanodust from all the Marks in the crowd and giving the room a crystalline sparkle. Some of the new Pledges even used the trail of dust coming from their wrists to form a kind of ribbon dance to Dane's music. Logan walked through the shimmering air and wondered what it was doing to him to breathe the stuff.

“Some crowd!” he shouted to Erin, though it was barely audible over the music.

“I know.” She frowned. “Easy to hide in.”

Logan knew Erin was right. Spotting anyone suspicious here would be next to impossible. Half the audience was made up of total strangers, and in the disorienting light and music, everyone looked sinister. Logan saw Hailey halfway across the room, and even she looked like she was up to something.

“Hailey!” Logan yelled, and she turned to him, smiling without looking directly at him. Logan slid through the crowd until he was at her side. “Cool show,” Logan said. Hailey nodded at the ground.