I don’t mention the guilt I’ve been feeling, or how hard it has been to keep going. I don’t want Sarah to know that about me. I want to be the heroic guy from her video.

Sarah doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. I can hear her breathing, slow and shaky, the way it gets when she’s trying to keep her emotions from bubbling out. When she finally speaks, her voice is a quiet and desperate whisper, coming from far away.

“It was so horrible, John. All those poor people. They’re dying, the world’s basically ending, and all—all I could think about was what might have happened to you, why you weren’t calling. I don’t—I don’t have a charm on my ankle to keep track of you. I didn’t know if . . .”

I realize that Sarah’s relief at hearing my voice is the angry kind, the kind that comes when you’ve spent sleepless nights worrying about a person. I remember how it felt when the Mogadorians had taken her, how it felt like a piece of me was missing. I also remember how much simpler things were then—avoid the Mogs, rescue Sarah, there weren’t millions of lives hanging in the balance. Crazy to think that used to seem like a crisis.

“My sat phone got destroyed or I would’ve called sooner. We made it to Brooklyn where the army has set up. I’m fine,” I reassure her, knowing that I’m partly trying to convince myself.

“I’ve felt like a ghost these last couple days,” Sarah says quietly. “Mark and me, we’ve been hitting the internet hard, working on projects to help, you know, win hearts and minds. And we finally met GUARD in person, which—oh my God, John, I have so much to tell you. But I need you to know first that during all this keeping busy, I’ve felt like I’m just going through the motions. Like I’m out of body. Because all I could think about was you getting blown up with those people in New York.”

I should ask Sarah about the identity of the mysterious hacker she and Mark have been working with. I should find out the details of what she and Mark have been doing. I know I should. Except in that moment, all I can think about is how much I miss her.

“I know part of the reason you went to find Mark was because you didn’t want to be a distraction,” I say, trying to sound more reasonable than desperate. “Not being able to talk to you, to see you, to touch you—that might be a bigger distraction than anything. You’ve been helping so much, but . . .”

“I miss you too,” Sarah replies, and I can tell when she speaks that she’s trying to find her resolve, to be tough like she was when I dropped her off at the bus station in Baltimore. “We made the right decision, though. It’s better this way.”

“It was a stupid decision,” I reply.

“John . . .”

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” I continue. “We should’ve never separated. After everything that happened in New York, everything I had to see—”

My breath catches for a moment as I remember the fires, the destruction, the wounded and the dead. I realize that I’m shaking again, and definitely not from exhaustion. I feel like I might have hit my limit, like there’s only so much brutality my brain can endure. I try to focus on Sarah and on getting my words out, on making sense and not sounding too desperate.

“I need you with me, Sarah,” I manage to finish. “I feel like these are the last battles we’re ever going to fight. After New York, I—I’ve seen how quickly it can all be taken away. I don’t want us to be apart if something happens, if this is the end.”

Sarah gathers a deep breath. When she speaks next, her voice is firm.

“This is not the end, John.”

I realize how I must sound to her. Weak and scared, not at all like the alien hero she portrayed in that video. I’m embarrassed by how I’m acting. Alone for the first time since the attack in New York, without constant skirmishes to distract me, with things finally slowed down enough for me to think—the result is me breaking down while on the phone with my girlfriend. We’ve been in bad situations before, fought some brutal battles and seen friends die. But, until now, I’ve never felt hopeless.

When I’m silent for a few moments, Sarah continues, her voice gentle. “I can’t imagine what it was like to be in New York during . . . that. I can’t imagine what you’re going through—”

“It was my fault it happened,” I tell her quietly, glancing to the tent flap in case someone outside might overhear. “I could’ve killed Setrákus Ra at the UN. I had time to prepare for this invasion. And I failed.”

“Oh, John. You cannot possibly blame yourself for New York,” Sarah replies, her tone understanding but insistent. “You are not responsible for the murderous rampage of an alien psycho, okay? You were trying to stop him.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Yeah, and neither did anyone else. So either all of us are equally to blame, or maybe it’s the evil Mogadorian’s fault and we can leave it at that. Your guilt isn’t going to bring anyone back, John. But you can avenge them. You can stop Setrákus Ra from doing it again.”

I laugh bitterly. “That’s just it. I don’t know how to stop him. It’s too much.”

“We’ll find a way,” Sarah replies, and her certainty almost convinces me. “We’ll do this together. All of us.”

I rub my hands over my face, trying to get myself together. Sarah’s telling me exactly what I need to hear. As usual, I know she’s right, at least on a logical level. But that doesn’t loosen the knot of guilt tying up my guts, or make the future seem any less overwhelming.