Max always thought he was in pretty good shape.

Part of that was because of where he was from. Most of Rebel County’s citizens ranged from pudgy to linebacker-sized, a reflection of Mississippi as a whole, a state with one of the country’s worst obesity problems. Compared to many of his fellow Rebel County residents, Max had the body of an Adonis.

But a part of it was also Max’s lifestyle. He had been a point guard on his high school basketball team, and stayed in shape since then through the necessity of walking everywhere since he didn’t have a car. Not to mention he hunted and fished a lot. Though he ate like crap—especially after his father’s death, with money being so tight—he burned it all off. The fact he was only seventeen helped with that, his teenage metabolism roaring like an ever-hungry furnace.

So yes, Max always thought he was in pretty good shape.

Until his first day of gym class at Prometheus Academy.

The sun was an unforgiving orb in the clear sky as Max’s feet churned through the soft, shifting white sands of the beach of Villains Island. His lungs heaved for air, each breath a labored gasp. He struggled to not fall even further behind most of his fellow first years, who were scattered around the beach ringing the island, running like they were chased by monsters. Max wanted to slow down, but peer pressure compelled him to maintain his exhausting pace. At the end of the allotted time for the run, the distance traveled by each student would be tallied, with credits and demerits awarded accordingly to the students’ respective Divisions.

Few students were struggling the way Max was, just as few had struggled the way Max had in the weight room earlier. The inaugural gym class had taken a turn he hadn’t expected, transforming from a grueling session in the Prometheus Academy weight room—where he’d lifted, pushed, and pulled until his muscles screamed for mercy—into this seemingly endless run on the beach.

Max had naively thought the ordeal in the school’s state-of-the-art weight room would be the extent of the day’s torture. The equipment had been unlike anything he’d seen back home, designed to challenge not only people with normal strength and endurance like him, but also Unreals like Maureen, the Titan who had been on Damian’s Capture the Flag team who could bench press a sedan. Max had lifted heavier weights for more repetitions than he ever had dreamed of, to the point where he had been tempted to fake an injury before overexertion made him suffer an actual one. Since he had skipped eating with the others to go to the school library, lifting all that weight on an empty stomach had made him feel as weak as a sick kitten. But he had pushed through the pain and hunger, driven by a mix of stubborn pride and the determination to not show weakness in front of his classmates.

When Dr. Asclepius had finally called an end to the weight training, Max could’ve cried tears of joy. He had assumed the worst was over.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

The salty sea air burned like acid in Max’s heaving lungs as he forced himself to continue running. “I ought to be in my room, trying to figure out how to open that book about Shadowholme the Librarian gave me,” he panted, griping aloud somehow taking his mind off the painful lead weights his legs had become. No student was nearby to overhear. The closest was Gene, struggling through the sand far ahead.

To Max’s right, the azure sea gently lapped at the island’s sugar-white shoreline, seeming to invite Max to take a refreshing dip and soak his aching muscles. Come on in, the water’s fine. With Max’s luck lately, the invitation was likely from a telepathic shark, salivating at the thought of a Mississippi-flavored snack.

To his left stretched the island’s verdant jungle, with the mountain the academy was perched atop of rising magnificently from the jungle’s epicenter.

Villains Island truly was a tropical paradise.

But being tortured in paradise didn’t magically transform pain to pleasure.

Max blinked sweat out of his eyes, the sand tugging at his feet with every plodding step. “Instead of working on the book, I’m out here, doing a bad Baywatch impersonation. With Pamela Anderson nowhere to be found, darn my luck.”

Max more sensed than heard something behind him. He glanced backward, hoping for Pamela Anderson in her prime. Instead, he saw a rapidly approaching spray of sand, like the bow wave at the fore of a speeding ship.

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Max stumbled, nearly falling, making him refocus on his run before he face-planted. It would really be something if he fell and broke his neck before Malik could get around to doing it for him. Embarrassing.

Moments later, a spray of sand showered his back, and Edgar drew level with him, decelerating to run nearly in place to match Max’s pace, which was slow as a snail’s by comparison. An unreasoning surge of anger pulsed through Max. Though Max’s rational brain knew Edgar was a speedster, on a visceral level it was mortifying to have someone who was running backward literally run laps around you.

Proud stubbornness made Max increase his pace. Still jogging backward, Edgar kept up easily. He was tall, lanky, and all too flat-chested. The only thing he had in common with Pam Anderson was blonde hair.

“You . . . look . . . a lot different in person, Ms. Anderson,” Max managed to pant.

Ed frowned. “What?”

“Never mind.”

Edgar wiped a wet blonde lock out of his eye. “This class sucks.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Max panted. Though Edgar wasn’t panting, the speedster was sweating nearly as much as Max. He had never seen the speedster sweat before. It was an indication of the tremendous amount of energy Edgar was expending. In addition to ordering Edgar to run the beach backward, Dr. Asclepius had outfitted the speedster with what the doctor had termed an “inertia augmenter.” The device gleamed around Ed’s waist like a belt George Jetson might wear. Running while wearing it, Ed had said earlier, was like running in molasses with a resistance parachute attached to your waist. If it weren’t for it, running on the sand would pose no exercise challenge at all to the speedster. To level the playing field, all of the students with enhanced speed, strength, or endurance were outfitted with similar devices, the high-tech equivalent of weight vests. None were as potent as the speedster’s, though. His device slowed his super speed, but even it didn’t entirely negate it.

Ed said, “Any ideas yet on how we’re going to get out of this hellhole? I’m sick of this place, and want to go home.”

“No,” Max gasped back. As much as Max also wanted to escape, he didn’t want to have this conversation now. It was hard to think long-term or hatch elaborate escape plans when entirely focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Well, I’ve been thinking.”

“Congratulations.”

“Three or more is greater than two, right?”

“Can’t argue with your math.”

“With a class this size,” Ed continued, not even winded as Max panted alongside, “we can’t be the only two people brought here against our will. We should focus on finding the other abductees. If we all put our heads and powers together, surely we can find a way to escape.”

Max spit out sand that had flown into his mouth.

“Assuming there are others, how do we find them?”

Ed grinned. “Easy—we’ll ask them. Right now.”

Startle made Max stumble again. “What?”

“Look around. The entire class is spread out over the beach, with everyone running at their own pace. Everyone is as alone as they’ll ever be. When we’re in the castle, there’s always a professor, servitor, or other students underfoot. Now’s the best time to strike up a private conversation without being overheard.”

Max glanced at his suit’s chronometer. To Max’s aching legs, the time remaining for the run felt like an eternity. But his brain knew better. “Even with your super speed, there’s not enough time to talk to everyone.”

Ed grinned again.

“That’s the beauty of my plan. I don’t have to talk to everyone. Just the people who are struggling.”

“Huh?” Max was always at his most articulate when his heart was about to explode.

“I’ve been keeping my eyes and ears open. From what I’ve seen and heard, Prometheus Academy is very hard to get into. It only accepts the best of the best.” Ed paused, frowning. “Or the worst of the worst. Guess it depends on how you look at it. Anyway, people who applied to come here have been training to make themselves the best possible candidates, some for years. It’s why most of these crooks are in such good shape. If there are other abductees, chances are they’re the ones who aren’t in such great shape. I’ll just target the people who are struggling. People like you.”

“I’m not struggling.” Max wheezing like an overheated locomotive belied his words.

“Uh-huh. That’s why you totally don’t look like you’re about to keel over and drown in your own sweat.” Ed rolled his eyes. “Anyway, what do you think of my plan? How you handled yourself and your team during the Capture the Flag tournament proves you’ve got a good head for this stuff. Thought I’d check in with you before I just bulled ahead.”

With a heroic effort, Max redirected a trickle of his dwindling mental energy from his brain’s Don’t Face-Plant department to considering Edgar’s plan. He and Ed were closing in on Gene. The plus-sized woman—by far the largest female student—had given up on trying to run, and looked like she was struggling to even walk. “What if the faculty finds out about us searching for fellow abductees?”

“Who cares if they find out?” Ed demanded. “There’s no rule against it. Besides, what’s the worst they could do for comparing notes with other abductees? Kidnap us, hospitalize us, shoot at us, and boss us like we’re slaves? Oh, wait—they’re already doing that.”

“Good point.” Max cudgeled his brain. He didn’t see a flaw in Edgar’s plan. The senator’s son was spoiled and entitled, but maybe he wasn’t quite the dullard Max had originally pegged him as. “Do it. But leave Gene out of your ‘target the stragglers’ strategy. If she were here involuntarily, I’d already know.”

“The world would know. You’re not special. Everyone here is on a first-name basis with that blabbermouth’s inner monologue.”

Ed zoomed ahead, leaving Max to wonder if they were about to open a can of worms best left alone.