8
I stand beside Lincoln and Dad, tossing wooden practice swords into equipment bins. With each new item I find on the floor, my head shakes in amazement. Hard to believe how much mess five little boys can make in one afternoon.
For some time now, the three of us have been cleaning up while discussing the latest news about Maxon and Armageddon. As we turn over each bit of information, an electric sense of alarm charges higher up my spine.
Keep it together, Myla. Panicking won’t help.
Dad hauls the fighting dummy back into a closet. “So, we’ve got Armageddon, Aldred, Connor, and Hildy. What do you think’s happening, Myla?”
I lean against a nearby wall. Man, do I ever need some extra support to admit this out loud. “Armageddon wants to abduct Maxon.”
Dad’s face becomes a mask of calm.
