It was finished. A fully operational suit of Knight armor hung in the barn, just waiting for me to try it out. What would it mean for me to put it on?

  I leapt out of bed that morning, and threw on what my aunt called ‘workout clothes’ but I just called ‘clothes.’ Because my social life outside of school didn’t exist, it was pretty much my uniform on most days. Always leggings and t-shirt when at home. My sense of personal style had been annihilated by my studies.

  Next, I dragged myself down the stairs.

  Kalea and Paula gave some input on the armor over the last day or so, helping Emma understand where the cutting edge of armor design was. Kalea insisted I make a shield, but I didn’t have the time to fabricate it. It was light on weapons and protection for sure, but sophisticated.

  Paula was nice, dazzling honestly. I tried not to crowd her, but being around her was exhilarating. If my aunt was a legend, Paula was some kind of hero from antiquity made flesh.

  She was also a huge dork. She kept this tiny sketchbook where she would doodle and scribble song lyrics, and notes, and constantly sang old Spanish pop songs from before the war. I later learned that many of them had been ones she’d written herself.

  Kalea was something else, too. She was boisterous, loud, but down to earth. She felt easy to be around in a way that Paula did not. She wasn’t a hero yet. But man was she cool. She also was mad for calisthenics, like super into it. You’d think that Aliens were just naturally buff or not because of their alien physiology, but I guess even Aliens grew muscle like everyone else — just food and effort.

  I once counted her pull-ups until I got bored. She did like a hundred or something.

  These knights were at once larger than life, but also just people.

  Even Aliens could be boring.

  Now that my armor was done, I could be one of them. What did that even mean?

  I got the coffee ready for my parents, and put toast in for Matt. My sister greeted me first.

  “Does mom and dad know what you’re building in the barn?” she asked without preamble.

  She must not know I had finished it. I decided not to do anything to shatter that illusion.

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  Ruth rolled her eyes.

  “I know it’s armor for Emma. You’re going to get her in trouble again, you know. I just hope it doesn’t affect your shot at Julliard.”

  “What do they care what my aunt does?”

  “You just don’t want to give them a reason.”

  Ruth pulled the toast out of the toaster, seething in pain as she burned a finger on the hot rack.

  “Serves you right,” I said.

  Ruthie shot me a dirty look, and headed for the door. She probably had a shift at the convenience store down the road.

  I snapped a picture for the New England Intranet, light coming in from the window well before golden hour but good enough. This made the edge lighting a little dim, but it lit me up enough that it highlighted what cheekbones I did have. Had I known it would be the last social media post I’d make in a long time, I would have spent more time on my ‘just out of bed’ look. But I had actually just gotten out of bed.

  Oh, well. I should get a run in. Maybe I’ll grab granola or something on my way out. I zipped my hoodie on, tied my shoes, and headed for the door.

  After my quick run, Matt stopped me before I could head back to the living room to practice. He grabbed my hand then stepped in front of me. After a little twirl, he asked me a question:

  “So, how do I look? I want to look professional for MIT!”

  He had on a little purple polo shirt, and black slacks. He’d popped the collar on the polo, and meticulously styled his hair. I reached out, and folded down his collar.

  “Perfect!” I said.

  “Hey! Popped collars are back in!”

  “Sure, for jerks. Professionals keep it classy,” I gave him a finger-guns to drive the point home.

  He was on his way to Boston, and then on a school trip to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Still a prestigious school, but no longer the cutting edge of robotics, and engineering. For one, robotics research was heavily regulated now. For two, well, anywhere outside the Dreadnought had to be second best.

  “James Dean wasn’t a jerk!” Matt said.

  “James Dean died over a hundred years ago.”

  Matt stroked his chin dramatically as he thought it over.

  “Well, I reserve the right to put it back up later!”

  “Sure,” I said with a smile.

  It was a ridiculous conversation. I wish we had talked about something different, that we’d said we loved each other or something. But I guess a conversation about the personal fashion choices of a pre-teen was close enough.

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  He ran off to give his hair another once over before he left. I poured myself a glass of orange juice.

  Kalea walked in. We weren’t quite sure how to treat each other. She seemed keen on being friendly, but we didn’t have a whole lot in common. Even setting aside the whole, you know, alien thing.

  “Your brother left with who I assume is your mom. He had, just, so much goop in his hair.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure it can be helped.”

  Her eyes narrowed like she was trying to figure out some kind of puzzle.

  “You still haven’t told me what you plan on doing with the armor.”

  “I know I want to use it for good. Maybe I’m just waiting for something to happen?”

  I regretted saying that as soon as I said it. ‘If something happened’ that necessitated me getting in Morrigan, a lot of people would already be dead. Kalea frowned.

  I went to go practice my audition piece, and Kalea back to her calisthenics. Paula and Emma didn’t seem to be around.

  Some hours later, after practice and catching up on podcasts, I got a second glass of orange juice, and checked my notifications. I had quite a few. Maybe I didn’t look as bad as I thought? Your girl finally getting some recognition?

  The first one was from Reiley George. Reiley hadn’t talked to me in person since middle school, when she threw milk at me, and called me gay. I wasn’t gay. Probably. I didn’t even know what that was at the time. Even if I was— I didn’t deserve milk thrown at me.

  So why was she commenting on my post?

  The notification said —

  ‘I’m so sorry. You must be out of your mind right now.’

  That was weird.

  I could hear my aunt arguing with Paula now. That wasn’t too strange. They were always arguing. Or about to argue. Or mad at each other because they had argued. This sounded different. A sense of urgency threaded through voices that sounded husky with concern. Anything that could concern a Knight, one of the Twelve even, was something I didn’t want to hear.

  But I had to. I set my orange juice down, and walked out of the kitchen, stopping at the landing to listen.

  She’s telling her that her injuries would kill her. Emma said she had to go. Go where? I felt a rope of fear twist in my gut. Something was wrong, something beyond the normal ‘wrong.’

  I rounded the corner, and they stopped talking. Kalea was there too. She stared at me for a moment, a mask of concern on her face, before walking to me, and placing a warm hand on my shoulder.

  “What’s up?” I asked with a nervous laugh. I didn’t like that they knew something I didn’t. That rope around my gut wrapped tighter.

  “There’s been an attack in Boston,” Kalea said. “We don’t know a lot yet, but it could be a full scale invasion.”

  For the first time in my life, my greatest fear, the worst thing that could ever happen to me, had just happened. MIT was just north of Boston. Not only were the robots back, but they were close, close to someone I loved.

  They were close to me. I felt afraid.

  I’d seen them on TV—metal and superplastic exoskeletons with cobbled together weapons, dead shining eyes like a shark—but we had always lived so far from the rifts. I’d never seen one in person. The thought that they could be here, so close, chilled me.

  I felt sweat wet my brow, and my head went all light and dizzy. I fell back against the wall.

  My mother was with the Rhode Island governor. My father was likely at the office at the University, well away from all this too. But Matt. Matt was right where all this was going down.

  Pulled my phone out to call him. It went straight to voicemail.

  “Don’t worry,” Kalea said, “they aren't anywhere near here.”

  “They could be,” Auntie Em said.

  “Right,” Paula said, as if just considering that, “Kalea, do a sweep. Keep on comms.”

  Paula put an earpiece in, and Kalea ran to the barn.

  “There’s no way they could make it here, right?” I asked.

  “It’s not even fifty miles away, Kat,” Emma replied. “Anything’s possible.”

  “But not likely,” Paula said with kind eyes.

  I suddenly needed more orange juice. I leaned against the kitchen island, and stared at the granite — my juice so close to my hand — but finding myself unable to reach it.

  I just tried to hold myself together.

  Auntie Em and Paula continued talking in the hall, but I could barely hear them. Then I heard the door slam. My breathing sounded loud in my ears.

  Suddenly, I could feel Auntie Em next to me. I startled, and looked at her.

  “You okay, kid?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, barely above a whisper.

  She wrapped me in a hug. I fought back tears.

  “Hey,” she said softly, “we’re going to be fine. Paula and Kalea have already left. Kalea is a tough bitch, and Paula is the best we have. They’ll get this incursion quashed in no time.”

  They’d left already? How much time had passed?

  I pulled back. She kept her hands on my shoulders. I looked into her blue eyes, as if looking at them could keep me from bursting into tears. If she wasn’t crying, I could keep it together, right?

  “But I’m supposed to be the hero.”

  “Right now,” she said, “you don’t have to be.”

  And then several things happened in rapid succession.

  My glass of orange juice exploded, sending a sticky wave of liquid across the counter. I felt a sting on my arm. Then I heard the gunshot. Then I heard the rest of them.

  A cacophony of gunfire roiled from the woods to the west of us, and chewed up the walls of our house. A frame of cross stitch leapt off the wall in two pieces.

  Emma grabbed my hand, and led me around to the back of the island as debris leapt at us from all around. I didn’t have time to glance out the window, and see who was shooting at us. They were using old gunpowder weapons. That could mean only one thing. The robots were here.

  I kept my head down, as pieces of granite rained down upon us.

  My hand went to the wound on my arm. I was cut, deep.

  The ringing in my ears wouldn’t stop.

  It was chaos.

  What do I do?

  What could I do?

  I couldn’t do anything.

  I was going to die.

  I was going to die!

  Auntie Em’s thumb dug into the nerve in my shoulder. A jolt of pain shot through my arm.

  “Ah, shit, Aunt—”

  “Listen to me!”

  She had been trying to say something over the gunfire.

  “We’re going to the barn!”

  “What? Why?”

  I knew why, but it didn’t make sense. I had never used the armor before. She couldn’t possibly expect me to, expect me to what? Fight? In this? This madness?

  The cabinet door next to me flew off its hinges, and slid across the floor.

  We were going to die.

  “We aren’t dying today!” Auntie Em yelled through the din.

  “Okay!”

  “Stay low!”

  She grabbed my hand. She squeezed hard, keeping hold even against the blood that made my hand slick. We stayed crouched, and crawled from the island to the hall.