The kids kept walking, moving through the Henley's halls like a tide, but when Kat turned to leave, she walked in the opposite directions. She wasn't an ordinary kid, after all. Katarina Bishop followed no one.

Abby must have been the one who found the safe house, because Townsend didn't like it. "The building across the street is under construction," he snarled as soon as we'd carried our bags inside. "The elevator has key card access, and I've hacked into the surveillance cameras from every system on the block," Abby argued. "We have a three-hundred-sixty-degree visual." "Excellent." Townsend dropped his bag. "Now the circle can see us from every angle." "Don't mind Agent Townsend, girls," Abby told us. "He's a glass-half-empty kind of spy." "Also known as the good kind," he countered. Abby huffed.

It was epic. It was awkward. It was epically awkward.

You really saw some?" Liz said an hour later. Sure, we had the stereo blaring and the shower running, but Liz still whispered, "They really...exist?" "Liz," I whispered back, "they're not unicorns." "No," Bex said flatly, "they're boys. And they're...good.

Gabrielle was insulted and didn't even bother to hide it. 'Oh, and I suppose you think your dad was alone when he free-climbed the Kyoto Banking Tower on a windy day last September.

I don’t understand hate. I’ve seen its power. I’ve known its wrath. I’ve even felt it coursing through my veins, pushing me on. But I don’t know where it comes from or why it lasts, how it can take hold in some people and grow.

If we hadn't hated him a lot, we might have liked him a little at that moment. But we did. So we didn't.