Rodrigo had never much enjoyed his birthday. Raquel would usually strive to be a bit less obnoxious than she was on a daily basis. But without Edward, the man he grew up believing was his father, those were the days when his mother was at her absolute worst. Even with two young children at home, Miriam would go MIA until all hours of the night. And if Rodrigo was fortunate enough to be awake when she stepped through the door, reeking like a brewery, she gave him his gift. Using the most colorful language a drunk could muster to let him know how his birth had ruined her life and made her squander her potential.

  Like so much of Rodrigo’s existence, Carlito had been the one to make those days bearable. Somehow, whether by saving up his allowance, or running some kind of Ponzi scheme on his classmates, he always managed to get Rodrigo a present he knew he wanted. More importantly, it was the small ways he made the days feel special, letting him hog the TV, or playing the games he wanted to play, or even taking over some of his less demanding chores. Now, here he was, seventeen when Carlito hadn’t even made it to eleven.

  A bang reverberated through the gym, pulling Rodrigo from his thoughts. He had been in such a trance that for a moment, he thought they were under attack, and found himself welcoming the justification for bloodshed. But then, as he actually looked in front of him, he realized the heavy bag he had been punching had split in two. Sand was spilling from the still hanging half, as the chain that connected it to the metal bar overhead swung and rattled.

  “Dude, what!” Geo yelled from behind him. He had been pummeling a free-standing torso with his staff, and froze to stare past Rodrigo at the other half of the bag that had flown across the room.

  Rodrigo didn’t have to try too hard to look stunned. It wouldn’t have been a revelation if he had been hitting it with the nebulous arm, but to be able to unconsciously do that kind of damage with his flesh and bone left hand was as exhilarating as it was dangerous. Yet another way he’d be forced to limit himself in fights with humans. “Whoa. I guess Jett’s been putting this bag through its paces. He must have softened it up for me.”

  Geo snorted. “Yeah, okay, Pacquiao. You better come up with a better excuse before the landlady comes home, because that ain’t even fooling me.”

  Rodrigo shrugged, not having the energy to invent anything more believable. Adena would understand, even if she’d be annoyed with him for having to get a replacement delivered.

  After cleaning up the mess he had made, Rodrigo drifted from the gym to the rustic living room. The closer it got to the party, the more restless he became. Was there going to be another breach in the D.N.F’s defenses tonight like there had been yesterday? And if so, how many people were going to die because he was taking the night off?

  Jett was sitting on the couch, already wearing a maroon dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, with the bottom tucked into a pair of faded blue jeans. He had forgone his usual running sneakers for brown leather shoes. Seeing him made Rodrigo wonder whether he’d be underdressed in the casual clothes he planned to throw on after showering the sweat off himself. He could maybe borrow some of Resent’s clothing, if he hadn’t been being peculiarly silent all day. Rodrigo was starting to think the prince had such disdain for the concept of a birthday that he had forced himself into a deep sleep.

  Jett was watching a rerun of a popular novela his mother used to like on the flat screen television that was mounted on the wall. Because of all the deaths, most of the shows that had been airing pre-invasion ended up being canceled, suspended, or were in the process of recasting, so other than the news and The Wright Hour, none of them watched as much TV as they used to.

  Rodrigo took a seat in a nearby recliner. “You second-guessing how we’re spending our evening, too?”

  “Nah. I couldn’t risk getting hurt tonight, anyway.” With Emelina’s funeral tomorrow, Rodrigo wasn’t sure how Jett could be in the state of mind to party. But maybe that was why he was so desperate for a distraction. “I’m just thinking about what the colonel said last night. Even if he was lumping us in together, six figures isn’t half bad for two kids who haven’t graduated high school.”

  Rodrigo knew it was about more than the money for Jett. Whoever was in charge of the Negation Force must have considered how those in the generation with the biggest recruitment pool also harbored a record-breaking distrust of the government and law enforcement. Rather than issuing threats or ultimatums, they made joining seem enticing. A salary, proper training, all sorts of special privileges, and being part of a team. If Rodrigo didn’t have Resent or Adena, he might have been tempted.

  Jett had started out more suspicious of the Negation Force than Rodrigo, but if they were abducting people with abilities to experiment on, like Jett had first feared, they were being quiet about it. Maybe going after those with few enough connections that their disappearances wouldn’t make waves.

  But since they had debated the pros and cons of joining ad nauseam, Rodrigo focused on the paycheck. “There’s a world of difference between $50,000 and $100,000. With the increased risk and military spending skyrocketing, the average soldier almost makes $50,000, and you can bet they’ll work us ten times harder than any of them.”

  Jett gave him a wry smile. “You wouldn’t go for it even if they paid you a million, would you? I can barely keep up with my monthly car payments, and meanwhile, Pa’s paying thousands for tomorrow’s funeral, cuz he didn’t have the sense to drop her in one of the mass graves from the early days. See, Ruy, not all of us are lucky enough to find a sugar mama to pamper us with her blood money.”

  While sympathy and anger warred for control of Rodrigo’s tongue, the double doors of the warehouse parted, and the girls came in, bringing tension-breaking laughter and conversation with them. They were carrying far, far, too many bags, and while Raquel and Leila were beaming, Adena looked ready to fall into a coma.

  “Seems like at least two of you had fun,” Jett said.

  “Nein!” Raquel barked.

  “Uh, what? Are you having a stroke?”

  “It’s German for No,” Rodrigo explained. “Why it’s coming out Raquel’s mouth, when I’ve never heard her utter a word of Spanish, beats me.”

  Raquel was cackling so hard that she was tearing up. “Oh, man, we got catcalled by grown men and it was awesome.”

  Rodrigo understood the opposite sex about as well as he did quantum physics, so he turned to Jett and asked, “I thought girls hated that?”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Maybe they looked like GQ models. World of difference between some creep hollering at you from his van, and a suave ken doll with something better to say than, ‘Smile, baby.’”

  “No, they looked like they were strung out on something,” Leila said. “The funny part was when Adena spun around and shouted them down in flawless German, making them trip over themselves to get away. Re–Rede waiter—”

  “Rede weiter und ich werde dich lebendig verbrennen!” Adena snapped, causing Rodrigo and Jett to shrink back in their seats. He knew she was fluent in German, but he’d never heard her speak it, and wasn’t prepared for how it’d transform her quiet voice into a vocal weapon. “Roughly, it means, ‘Keep talking and I’ll burn you alive.’”

  “Yep. That’s one way to scare off pervs,” Jett said, then in a whisper added, “Or anyone.”

  Though Rodrigo could see the humor in the situation, he didn’t like that it only existed because Adena was there. If the guys were more persistent, she could have hospitalized them with her bare hands, or in an extreme case, even delivered on her threat. While he knew Raquel and Leila could take care of themselves, too, they’d have to work a lot harder to spurn any unwanted advances. And though Rodrigo was aware that part of the reason the government left him to his own devices was because he didn’t meddle in human affairs, if some predator touched his sister…

  Rodrigo let the thought drop. If he allowed himself to get worked up over all the potential dangers to his sister, he’d be frothing at the mouth. He left the others in the living room and went upstairs to his room to start getting ready. Each of the rooms had a private bathroom, so he hopped into the shower, careful not to repeat the mortal sin of using one of Resent’s prized loofahs and invoking his wrath.

  After ten minutes, he got out and wrapped a towel around his narrow waist. In a rare moment of vanity, Rodrigo stopped to check himself out in the fogged-up mirror, and gave the barest smile at his reflection. While wet, his bangs fell to his eyebrows and took on something of V-shape. He had been forced to shave the sides and back of his hair short so that he didn’t look like an anime character when Resent took over in a rush. The novelty of having the physique of a Greek statue still hadn’t worn off. But as his eyes fell on the nebulous arm, he frowned.

  He had considered a prosthetic replacement early on, yet even one at the pinnacle of technology wouldn’t respond to his input or move as naturally as the nebulae did. Not to mention, as there wasn’t a prosthetic made of nethntine yet, none existed that would be durable enough for his nighttime activities. The trade-off for never lacking a weapon was he couldn’t go to the beach, or even wear short sleeves outside of the warehouse.

  Back in his bedroom, Rodrigo looked at the purple long-sleeved Henley, black vest, and light gray jeans he had set out on the bottom bunk of his bed. Then he dared a glance at the extravagant black-and-gold 4-door wardrobe in the corner of the room. If Resent was awake, opening that wardrobe with the intention of borrowing clothes was sure to break his silence. If he was awake.

  “Wakey-wakey,” Rodrigo whispered, taking a few exploratory steps toward the wardrobe. Resent’s lack of a response must have meant he really was out of commission. He grabbed the gilded handles of the wardrobe, then paused, remembering the old saying of looking like a boy in your father’s clothes. It wasn’t true physically in his case, and to an outsider he’d appear well-dressed, but his friends would all know who the clothes belonged to. Besides, if he stained, or Hell forbid, ripped anything of the prince’s, he’d never hear the end of it.

  He settled for the outfit he had planned, completing it with his ever-present leather gloves, anchor pendant, and the black shoes he had bought for tomorrow’s funeral.

  Rodrigo left his room, the door locking automatically behind him. As he started down the hall, he stopped and gasped as he saw Leila, standing beside Adena’s doorway. Her chestnut brown curls were pinned back from her lovely face by a spandex headband. She was wearing a sleeveless black halter top that swooped low in front, showing a fair bit more of her skin than he was used to seeing, and a high waist burgundy skater skirt that reached the middle of her thighs. Because he was so used to her presence, he sometimes forgot how stunning she was.

  To his surprise, Leila was eyeing him just as openly. “Well, don’t you clean up nicely, when you’re not covered in blood and sweat.”

  “You look amazing,” Rodrigo said before he could filter himself. Idiot! Resent pipes down for a day, and he forgets his status as prisoner in his own body. Besides, when Leila had lived in the warehouse, they had plenty of opportunities to pick up from their near-kiss during the snowstorm. She tried to console him after Carlito’s death, having experienced plenty of her own losses, but he had kept her at arm’s length, his grief and rage chipping away at everything except a desire for greater strength.

  However, Rodrigo’s honesty was rewarded, as Leila’s olive cheeks flushed scarlet at the compliment. For once, the shoe was on the other foot. She hurriedly turned away and reached into Adena’s room, pulling the taller girl out by her hand. “And what about Adena? Doesn’t she look great, too?”

  Adena was wearing a black-and-white horizontal striped shirt, ripped black jeans, and boots. Her nails were painted black, and she was wearing dark purple lipstick that matched the smokey eyeshadow he rarely saw her without. “From the way you’re gaping at me like I have a third head, I guess I don’t rate ‘uh-mazing.’”

  Rodrigo shook his head as if to wipe away whatever befuddled expression he had on his face. “N-no, it’s not that. I’m just not used to you dressing like you’re not trying to blend into a dark spot on the wall. You look good. You always—”

  Adena held up a hand that wisps of smoke were rising from. “Stop. Talking.”

  Leila was stifling laughter.

  “Yo, three’s company!” Jett called from the bottom of the steps, where he had a clear view of this train wreck. “You’re all pretty. Now, can we get going? I know I said being late is the norm, but at this rate, it’s gonna be over before we get there.”

  “I don’t know,” Adena said, leading Rodrigo and Leila downstairs. “I’m starting to rethink leaving the kids alone.” They had considered dropping them off with Uncle Antonio for the night, but it would raise the question of what Rodrigo and Jett were so busy doing that they couldn’t take care of their siblings.

  Jett waved a dismissive hand at her. “They’ll be fine. We’ll only be gone a few hours, and they’re not psycho enough to go outside at this time of night. Right, guys?”

  Raquel and Geo were lounging in the living room, watching TV, and the two thirteen-year-olds exchanged a look that spoke volumes.

  “Course,” Geo said, giving Jett a thumbs up. “We’ll be on our best behavior.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t like this at all. They’ve got mischief in their eyes,” Rodrigo said, stretching a hand out to his sister. “Raquel, give me your card.”

  “What?” she cried. “How am I supposed to get in my room? What if there’s an emergency, and we need to leave?”

  “I can keep your door unlocked until we get back,” Adena said. “And in the unlikely event there’s a break in, give me a call, and I can unlock the front doors on my phone. I’ll probably be glad for an excuse to get some air.”

  Raquel was puffing her cheeks out, but eventually flicked the card at Rodrigo. “Even on your birthday, you’re the worst.”

  Rodrigo glanced at Geo, who looked equally thwarted. Good. They definitely had something stupid in mind, but with the key card being the only way in or out the warehouse, their options just became a lot more limited.

  Satisfied that they wouldn’t be getting up to any trouble tonight, Rodrigo smiled down at Raquel, “I love you, too, you little nightmare.”