"I want a better gun," I said, checking and rechecking one of the handguns that I'd been carrying since our stop in Johannesburg. I was stuck between Legion and Rebel in the back of a giant van, with the rest of our band of merry men seated in front of us. Sergeant had claimed the position of driver this time, and Gray was — surprise, surprise — in the passenger's seat.

"You can get a better gun from Ottokar," Rebel said. He was leaning against the window, watching the city slide by. We'd only been on the ground for maybe fifteen minutes minutes, but with Sergeant's driving ... we were making good time.

"You're assuming we'll have time to track down Ottokar," I retorted, sighing heavily as I gave the handgun an irritable look.

"Ottokar a friend of yours?" Legion asked from my other side.

"Weapon's dealer," Rebel and I said simultaneously. I spoke up immediately after, before Rebel could. "He's got good stock — even found a way to get his hands on military-grade weaponry."

"And he's in Munich?" Ilga asked curiously, turning in her seat so she could see us and the rest of the van.

"He is," Rebel agreed as I nodded.

"You lot sound like you just know people everywhere," Elliot mused with a half-smile.

"It's annoying," Charlotte muttered, though even her own people ignored her that time.

"None of us ever stay in one place for long," Legion spoke up. His crystalline eyes sparkled as he looked between the rest of Gray's people with mild boredom. "Occupational hazard." Rebel shrugged.

"Sounds like there are a few of those, too," Ilga noted, smiling slightly at Legion.

Legion only mirrored Rebel's shrug, his attention bypassing them to focus on the back of his partner's head.

I looked between he and Sergeant carefully, flicking the safety of the gun in my hand on . . . and off. On . . . off . . .

We were nineteen minutes in now, and the atmosphere of the van was changing. Even from the back of the van I could see Sergeant's shoulders roll back as his back straightened, and a fraction of a second later, Legion seemed to brace himself.

Something was wrong.

My attention flashed from Team Bravo to Gray, who seemed unfazed, before I glanced over at Rebel.

Rebel's emerald eyes were already fixed on me. I could see him reaching for his own handgun, undoing the strap that held it into its holster ...

Silence had settled over the van by that point, everyone stiffening, all minor chatter coming to a halt. It was so quiet that I could hear Rebel flicking the safety of his own gun off.

That was when Sergeant spoke. "Ambush," he declared, loud and clear, and the single word seemed to set the rest of the people in the van into motion.

"See, this," I declared, twisting around in my seat and zeroing in on the black sedan on our tail, "is why I like driving."

"Like it's his fault they knew we were coming," Legion scoffed, prepping his own gun as he spoke.

"Didn't say it was," I pointed out.

"It might be a good idea for everyone to—" Gray began to shout before the chatter of a machine gun tore through the air.

It was accompanied by the squealing of tires, and glass shattering, along with a yelp that sounded like it came from Desmond. Everyone had done their best to drop as Gray had opened his mouth, and as a result, the bullets were harmless.

To we people, anyway. They definitely ate at the windows and upholstery of the van.

"—duck," Gray finished with a sigh that was barely audible over everyone else's movement. He twisted in his seat then, looking back toward us. At first I thought he was checking on the sedan, but then he looked between Rebel and I. "Team Alpha," he said loudly, "now might be a good time to improvise."

Rebel and I exchanged a fast look. I arched a brow, and he gave me a smile I knew well — one that was all teeth and mischief, with a sliver of excitement. "Shall I jump onto their car, or would you like to?"

"I hate improvising," was my only response. The gunfire started up again, and this time I didn't duck. A growl of frustration escaped my lips as I turned my left arm toward them, fist raised as though I was wielding a shield. The bullets stopped short of hitting the van before falling away. I turned a fiery gaze toward Rebel, before waving the same hand toward the sedan and flashing a falsely sweet smile at him. "I vote you jump on to the car."

"We're taking a vote now?" Gunner asked, leaning out of one of the shattered windows and beginning to fire at the sedan.

In the same second, Rebel began to climb out of the back of the car, his guns holstered. No sooner had he leapt from our van onto the hood of the sedan than did Sergeant shout, "Everybody hold on!"

His warning was followed by a sickening crunch, and with that sound everything was thrown into a dead stop. I felt the air leave my lungs as I hit the seat in front of me, and this time the chatter of multiple machine guns was roaring in my ears.

The stop had been brought on by our van hitting another car, and it quickly became apparent that it would be a permanent development when I saw Sergeant rolling out of his seat and onto the pavement, lifting his own weapon as he did so. Gunner was hot on his tail and moving with the same efficiency. When I looked behind us, I could see Rebel had brought the sedan to a similarly unexpected stop — the entire front end of it was crunched —and now he was yanking the driver out of his seat via the window.

And just behind him, yet another car was coming.

"Legion," I hissed loudly, yanking on his shirt before he could follow the rest of Gray's team out of the van. The mercenaries were all moving toward the SUV that had run into us with weapons raised.

"Listen, Risky, as much as I love a good chat—"

"Desmond," I cut him off, jerking my thumb to the seat in front of us where the redhead was currently hiding.

Legion's vibrant eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, good point," he muttered. He nodded once, before pushing me toward the door, "I've got him. Don't worry about it."

That was the last thing I heard him say, mostly because the moment my own shoes touched the pavement, another SUV began to roll up to the scene. "Rebel!" I shouted, sparing a brief glance at him to see he'd already dealt with the men from the sedan, and he'd taken out the car that had been coming up on him.

Rebel turned toward me, his brow creasing before he saw why I'd shouted. His response was as I'd expected — he rolled his eyes and jogged toward me.

I let out an irritable huff, turning away from him and rolling my eyes in return, even though he couldn't see it. "That's all right, just take your time!" I shouted over my shoulder. No sooner had I spoken than did yet another black sedan arrive. I let out a growl of pure annoyance.

"As if you couldn't handle them on your own!" Rebel shouted in retort.

"Nobody likes a show off!" Gunner called back from where he was punching out a guy who he'd yanked from an SUV.

"Nobody likes rocket launchers, either," Sergeant said, prompting me to following his line of sight. Men were climbing out of the newest SUV — and one was brandishing a rocket launcher.

At that point I figured if I rolled my eyes any more, they'd probably fall out of my head. So instead of making any retort, I strode as calmly as I could manage toward the SUV first. Two of the half-dozen of them were already aiming at me.

I did not like to operate on my powers alone. Not because I didn't like my powers or anything so sappy and insecure as that; we had all been trained as though we didn't have powers. Powers were a special advancement, and while they were not necessarily discouraged, it was drilled into our heads that use of them would heighten our chances of being noticed, of drawing attention to ourselves. And when your job is to slip in and out of situations without being noticed, you get pretty self-aware where power use is concerned. Sure, there were exceptions — sometimes you do what you've gotta do, and that's the end of it.

I felt better about the situation when I saw Rebel tear the back bumper off our van and launch it headlong into the approaching men.