ANG WONDERED if Max had seen his note yet. She was going to want to kill him. When — if — he saw her again. He couldn’t think about it. That butt Dylan had been right. Fang had to get as far away from the flock as possible. Where, he wasn’t sure. Montana? Canada? Papua New Guinea?

But first he had to get some answers at the doctor’s house.

And there it was. He’d seen the satellite pictures when Nudge found them. The terrace was wide and empty except for a few lounge chairs. No one was in the pool. Fang dropped lightly onto the terrace.

In the next second, he felt a stinging pinch in his upper arm. Looking down, he saw a small dart sticking out of his sleeve.

He started to swear, glancing around wildly for the shooter. Then his knees buckled, he swiped the dart away, and the world swirled around him. He saw Dr. Hans walking toward him with a smile, and four uniformed guards rushing over.

“Fang,” said Dr. G-H. “I knew it was just a matter of time before either you or Max got here. As you can see, we’ve been waiting for you.”

Fang fell over, whacking his head against the stone terrace but unable to cry out. He weighed a thousand pounds. His hand was too heavy to raise, his eyelids too heavy to keep open. He was drifting into unconsciousness. The last thing he saw was Angel’s face looking shocked, her mouth an O of surprise.

Then there was nothing.