Gideon had finally stopped talking. The old man stumbled along at Sam’s side, holding with tight fingers to his armored elbow. Ahead of them, Jinsoku marched through the shadows with his glowing hand lifted over his head.

Unyielding, relentless, the warlord didn’t seem to grow weary.

Maybe he wasn’t human after all.

The tunnels never seemed to end. Just when Sam thought they’d identified one that might lead them up to the surface, they’d discover part of it had collapsed. Or it would end in a big cement wall covered in graffiti.

They’d been walking for days, it felt like. Of course, that couldn’t be the case, but knowing it didn’t make it feel any less like it.

They were never going to get out.

Gideon tripped over something, and Sam steadied him.

“All right, Gideon?” Sam asked.

Gideon didn’t respond, his breathing ragged.

Sam cursed under his breath. “Hey,” he shouted up at the warlord. “We need to take a break.”

Ahead, Jinsoku paused and looked back at him. He didn’t speak. Just stared.

Sam glared back at him. “Or you can go on. We’re stopping.”

Sam tucked an arm around Gideon’s back and pulled him to the side of the tunnel where Jinsoku’s light showed a collapsed part of the wall. Sam lowered the old man to the slab, and Gideon heaved a sigh of relief.

“I’m all right, boy,” he said quietly. “Just need a minute. A minute to catch my breath.”

Sam glanced at where the warlord stood, still staring at them.

Patting Gideon on the shoulder, Sam stepped back. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

Gideon didn’t argue. It was a testament to how tired he was. Or maybe he was hurt worse than it looked like. The scrape on his head was still seeping blood, but there was always the chance that he was bleeding internally. And that’s not something Sam would be able to tell until it was too late.

Schooling his face into a cold mask, Sam approached the warlord.

Jinsoku towered over him.

It wasn’t something Sam was used to. Normally, he was the tallest person in a room, so having to stand his ground against someone tall enough to see the top of his head wasn’t something he’d done often. Jinsoku had him by six inches.

It was enough to make him want to don his armor just to gain the extra few inches Hinode provided.

Sam threw his shoulders back and faced the warlord without flinching. “We’re stopping.”

“So you said.”

“Go on, if you want.”

Jinsoku turned slowly, almost lethargically, to face him. “What?” He drawled. “And leave you in the dark?”

Sam clenched his teeth.

“Do tell me, Hinode.” Jinsoku tutted. “And be honest. Who is this useless old man?”

A muscle twitched at the back of his jaw. “Just someone off the street.”

Jinsoku slid forward, close enough that Sam could almost see his eyes behind the face mask. “Not a lie. But not the whole truth.”

Sam took a steadying breath and stood still, no matter how strongly his body wanted to retreat a step. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t ask me any more questions.”

Jinsoku didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But Sam could feel the smirk on the warlord’s concealed face.

And what are you going to do if I ignore you?

The question hung in the air between them. If it had been a sign, it would have been bright, flashing neon.

Sam lifted his chin. “You stay away from him.” He stepped back, his eyes never leaving the warlord’s faceplate. Slowly, Sam backed away until he’d reached Gideon, and he knelt next to the slab.

Jinsoku didn’t move.

Sam turned his attention back to Gideon. “All right, Gid. We’re going to stop and rest for a while.”

“Good.”

Sam reached up and cradled the old man’s head in his hands, tilting it so that he could see the scrape on Gideon’s head better.

“It’s not deep,” Sam muttered. “But it’s still bleeding.”

“Well, it hurts like it’s a mile wide.”

Sam released him. “What about anything else?”

“Anything else?”

“Any pains?” Sam set his hand on Gideon’s knobby old knee. “Anything that tells you you’re bleeding inside?”

Gideon shook his head. “Naw, just the canyon up there in my noggin.” The old man reached for Sam’s arm and wrapped his fingers around the armor. “Sam.”

“Yeah, Gid?”

“This guy.” He cleared his throat. “Can you trust him?”

Sam snorted. “Not even a little.”

Gideon nodded slowly. “Good. You remember that. He’s a tricky one.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I’m blind. Not deaf.”

Sam scowled. What did that mean?

“Look.” Sam stood up. “You’d better rest while you can. We may not get another chance. Do you think you can sleep?”

Gideon sighed. “Oh, there’s no question about that.”

Sam helped the old man slide into a more comfortable position against the wall, and in moments, Gideon’s breathing had evened out. Sam sat beside him in silence, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

They needed to get out, but unless they found a magic door somewhere in the tunnels, there didn’t seem to be an escape route that didn’t include collapsing the rest of Dupont Circle.

Sam eyed Jinsoku. The warlord stood a few yards off, holding up his glowing hand to illuminate the tunnel walls. His yellow armor sparkled in the light from his hand, the stunning crimson horns sprouting from his helmet shining like blood.

Slowly, Sam approached him. As he neared, the warlord’s voice drifted to him, murmuring and nearly inaudible.

“—could be useful. Do it.” Jinsoku paused and cast a look over his shoulder plate at Sam before he pointed forward. “It is this way.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at the darkness. “How can you tell?”

Jinsoku nodded to the patch of graffiti on the cement wall. “I do not recognize this particular piece of artwork. We have not been this way.”

Sam sighed. “Fine.”

Jinsoku lowered his hand and turned his body to face Sam, the light from his armored fingers shining upward now, casting strange shadows across the yellow chestplate.

“Shall we depart?” The warlord’s tone burned like acid.

“We can wait a few minutes,” Sam snapped.

Not being able to see the warlord’s face made reading his moods almost impossible, but there was no misinterpreting the meaning behind the dark chuckle Jinsoku uttered.

“What?”

“Who is this old man to you?”

Sam clenched his jaw.

“He is obviously not merely a civilian from the street. He is someone important to you.”

Looking away, Sam blew out a long, slow breath. Telling Jinsoku the truth about Gideon was definitely out. The warlord would use any leverage he could get to manipulate the situation, and the last thing Sam needed was Jinsoku having the upper hand.

“Be careful, Hinode. Kazan’s weakness may have infected you.”

Sam froze, his head jerking up. “It hasn’t,” he growled.

Jinsoku laughed again. “Why else would you prioritize this damaged creature?”

Scowling, Sam looked back to Gideon and swallowed.

“Be honest with yourself, Hinode,” Jinsoku said quietly. “The more you lie to yourself, the weaker you will be. That is Kazan’s trouble.”

Sam scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

With three clanking steps, Jinsoku closed the distance between them, looming over Sam’s head with the ominous presence of a thunderhead.

“Sentiment.” Jinsoku spat the word as though it were a curse. “It has no place in the mind of a true leader. You would do well to cast it aside. Purge yourself of emotion, Hinode. It can only distract you.”

Sam threw his shoulders back and leaned into the warlord’s presence. “Now you’re giving me advice? What game are you playing?”

Jinsoku seemed to shrink. Or maybe it was the angle of his shoulders. Or the single backward step he took. Whatever he did, he no longer felt like an oncoming hurricane. He felt—smaller.

“You do not respect Kazan.”

Even his tone had changed. Soft, quiet, almost—pitying. Rage burned up the back of Sam’s throat.

“Ryan doesn’t deserve respect.”

“You are correct.” Jinsoku nodded. “I have seen him fight. I have heard your disagreements on the battlefield. Kazan is weak. Easily swayed. He has no place leading one such as you.”

The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stood up. What was this?

“One such as me?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I am no fool, Hinode.” Jinsoku brushed past him to draw his armored fingers across the cold cement wall. “You are far superior to Kazan. Your abilities and intelligence would have made you the ideal choice for leadership, had the Sarraqum not been such a fool.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s one thing we can agree on.”

Jinsoku chuckled again. “Imagine that.”

Sam scowled. “Imagine what?”

“You and I, agreeing.” Jinsoku turned back to him. “Perhaps we can agree on more than just Kazan’s ineptitude.”

Warning bells sounded at the back of Sam’s mind, and he wrinkled his lip. “Not likely.”

“Why not?” Jinsoku spread his hands, the light from his glowing fingers bouncing around the tunnel. “You are a proponent of logic. I am a proponent of logic. It would only make sense we would agree on many topics.”

Sam clutched his hands until his fists shook. “You’ve tried to kill us.”

“Hinode. Please.” Jinsoku made a motion like he was rolling his eyes. “If I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead. If Emperor Thallia had wanted you dead, I would have done the deed the day I met you and your pathetic little band of misfits. But that is not what he wants. You are the victims in this situation. I am merely attempting to right a wrong.”

“What wrong?” Sam lifted his chin.

“Your armors belong to my master. It is only right that you and your fellow warriors join us.”

Sam barked a laugh. “Join you?”

“Yes.”

“Why would we do that? You’re invading. Trying to take over everything.”

Jinsoku shrugged. “Of course.”

“What?” Sam blinked.

“Of course, we are invading, seeking to conquer your world. Why would we not?”

Sam advanced toward him. “Because it’s wrong.”

“How so?” Jinsoku tilted his helmet to the side. “Emperor Thallia is the greatest warrior in entire continuum. Every world that stands against him falls. Every weapon fashioned against him fails. He is the strongest, thus it naturally follows that he alone deserves the right to rule.”

Sam gaped at the warlord. “We’re not talking about natural selection here.”

“No?” Jinsoku straightened and took a step forward. “Is it not the survival of the fittest? The strong live, and the weak die? Is that not your own logic?”

“The armors and their powers change everything. Thallia isn’t interested in what’s right for our world. He only wants it for what he can get from it.”

“I fail to see your objection, Hinode.”

“He’s trying to conquer us!”

“He is worthy to rule.” Jinsoku took one more step, his presence growing overwhelming again. “By your own reasoning, Hinode, his power, his intellect, his experience—it all makes him a worthy ruler for every world in the continuum. And anyone who stands against him will ultimately fail. They all have.”

Sam dropped his hands to his side. “We won’t.”

“You won’t?”

“Fail.”

Jinsoku fell silent for a long moment. “You do not believe that. Not really.”

The warlord’s eyes burned like fire. Even though his gaze was hidden, the ferocity of his stare was as weighty as a load of artifact crates. Sam had to look away, heart pounding.

He’s right. His mind churned. You don’t believe you can win.

Jinsoku lowered his chin, his voice turning softer than before. “As you are, Hinode, you cannot have it both ways.”

Sam regarded him with an upraised eyebrow.

“You can cling to your sentimental weakness, or you can embrace the power of master and become who you were meant to be.”

Another dark chuckle.

“However,” Jinsoku said, “joining with Thallia comes with many benefits. Perhaps he would grant you the governorship of this world. You would be higher than any authority here, enabled to rule as you see fit, as your intellect guides you.”

Sam frowned. “Governor?”

“Yes.” Jinsoku puffed out his chest. “Surely you do not think the other worlds my master possesses are free to do as they choose? No, my master elects governors. I personally oversee several of my master’s protectorates.”

Jinsoku threw a glare in Gideon’s direction.

“For example,” the warlord said, “if you were made ruler of Terran, you could make the decisions on who is elevated and who is—not elevated.”

Sam snapped his teeth together. The subway tunnels spun around him, slow panic beginning to crawl across his skin. No matter how he looked at it, Jinsoku was right.

It had been ten years.

Ten years.

They were no closer to defeating Thallia’s invasion than they had been when Korin first gave them their armors. Even if they could master the armors, it didn’t stand to reason they could defeat Thallia, not after all the worlds he’d already conquered.

Maybe Jinosku had a point.

Maybe Thallia had a point.

If he could win, why shouldn’t he rule? If he had the power and the ability to conquer everyone, maybe his solutions would actually be effective. Maybe it would take an iron fist to bring peace to the world.

If Thallia was going to win anyway, where was the harm in grasping for a few straws along the way? If Sam could protect the people who actually mattered to him, who cared if Thallia was in control or not?

“All of this,” Jinsoku gestured around the tunnel, “is not your doing. For all these years, you have been under the tutelage of an inferior master. Kazan lacks the skill and the intelligence to lead properly. The Sarraqum is a defeated enemy, desperately clutching at some vestige of control. If they had trained you properly, your sword would not be out of reach. Neither of them can teach you how to control your mighty armor.”

“And you can?”

“Of course.” Jinsoku threw his shoulders back again. “It is a simple process once you understand it.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

Jinsoku lifted his hand. “This armor can grant you abilities you cannot even imagine, Hinode.”

Sam groaned. “You too? Talking about your armor like it’s alive?”

Jinsoku laughed. “It is not alive. But it is beyond any of us.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sam set his hands on his hips. “Just ask the stupid armor to give my my sword?”

Jinsoku chuckled again. “It is this simple.”

“I can’t just ask it to do something when I don’t believe it’s possible.”

“Why not?”

Sam froze, staring at the warlord. “What?”

Jinsoku leaned closer to him, whispering. “Perhaps your armor is capable of more than you know. Perhaps you should not assume you know its abilities simply because you have not witnessed them.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What? So I should take it on faith?” He sneered.

Jinsoku stepped back. “Your words, Hinode. Not mine.” The warlord turned and started down the tunnel.

Sam stared at his retreating back.

“Do you have a name?” Sam called after him.

In the darkness, Jinsoku went rigid.

“My armor is Hinode.” Sam set his hand on his chest. “My name is Sam. Do you have a name?”

Jinsoku half-turned, his helmet at an angle, the tone of his voice wistful and pondering. “Perhaps I did. At one time. Long ago.”

Sam frowned at the warlord’s voice. He’d never heard Jinsoku sound like that.

The warlord shook himself. “But it no longer matters.”

Sam scowled. “It’s who you are.”

The warlord faced him fully. “I am Jinsoku. That is who I am.” His voice snapped like a whip. “And I am on the side of victory. That is what matters.”

He nodded to Gideon’s sleeping form.

“Wake your useless old man. It is time to move forward.” Jinsoku lifted his chin again. “And you, Hinode, should choose a side.”

As Jinsoku stepped into the shadows, lighting them up with the glow from his hand, Sam hurried to where Gideon was sleeping. He touched the old man’s arm, and Gideon raised his head with a sad smile.

Sam pulled him to his feet. “Come on, Gid.”

“That time already?”

“Yeah.”

The old man’s hand on the back of Sam’s neck tightened, fingers pressing into the exposed skin above the line of his armored collar.

Sam’s stomach clenched uncomfortably as the warlord’s words circled in his mind. Jinsoku wasn’t wrong, but he couldn’t be right. Thallia couldn’t be the answer.

Gideon plodded along beside him through the tunnel as they caught up with Jinsoku.

Silent. But the strength in the hand on Sam’s neck didn’t waver. A knot twisted in Sam’s chest, dread and guilt, cold and hard, and his mind whirled with the certainty that the old man hadn’t been sleeping at all.