In this highly anticipated conclusion to  New York Times best-selling author Amy Tintera's All These Monsters duology, Clara and Team Seven's quest to expose the truth behind the scrab menace has them facing their biggest threat yet: their own demons. Perfect for fans of  Warcross  and  Renegades .  When the world was crumbling, seventeen-year-old Clara fought back. She escaped her abusive home and joined Team Seven, a monster fighting squad of runaways and misfits formed to combat the scrabs terrorizing the planet. And after nearly dying in Paris, Clara and Team Seven discovered the sinister truth behind the scrab invasion. Scrabs aren't just mindless monsters set on destruction. They're being trained and weaponized by MDG, a private security firm hired by the government.  Now Clara and the rest of Team Seven have made it their mission to expose MDG. But no one said fighting for the truth would be easy. And as Clara and Team Seven find themselves at the center of a global conspiracy, they must face their biggest threat yet: their own demons. "The sequel to  All These Monsters  (2020) picks up seamlessly where the last one finished....a satisfactory duology closer." - Kirkus Reviews “A solid sequel.” - School Library Journal Amy Tintera is the New York Times bestselling author of the Reboot and Ruined series. She earned degrees in journalism and film and worked in Hollywood before becoming an author. She lives in Los Angeles, California, where she can usually be found staring into space, dreaming up ways to make her characters run for their lives. Visit her online at amytintera.com. Twitter: @amytintera Instagram: @amytintera 1 A heavy body slammed into my side, nearly knocking me off balance. I spun around, quickly regained my footing, and slashed my machete through the air.       The blade bounced off the scrab’s thick, gray, nearly impenetrable hide. I tried again, aiming for the softer skin under its chin. It roared as I succeeded, snapping at me with its sharp teeth. I withdrew my blade and stepped back. The scrab crumpled to the ground and went still. I jumped over its body, dodging the spreading pool of blood, and jogged out of the alley.       It was dark, the roads still damp from the light rain that had fallen earlier. The street was deserted except for the bodies of several dead scrabs. This section of north London had seen a lot of scrab attacks in recent weeks, and all the stores were deserted. One shop had a caved-in roof, the result of a scrab damaging something important structurally when it shot up from the earth. That whole side of the block was roped off with police tape, signs posted to warn people of the danger of going inside.       Grunts and a thump came from my left. I broke into a run and rounded the corner.       Maddie had two bloody blades in either hand, long blond ponytail swinging as she fought off a scrab. It was a huge one, well over six feet tall, with claws so long that two of them had broken off. An older scrab. You could often tell by the length of their claws.       She sliced her blade across its stomach and moved back as it fell. She never needed help with just one scrab, no matter how big or old. It made a thump sound as it hit the ground, followed by a gurgle from deep in its throat. She kicked it to make sure it was dead. No response.       She turned, spotted me, and motioned for me to follow her. We took off down the street.       “Noah?” she yelled.        “Yeah!” His voice came from somewhere nearby, but I couldn’t see him. “ We’re nearly clear here.”       “Laila?” Maddie yelled.       “On Weston Street!” Laila called, also out of sight. “We could use some help!”        “I’ve got it!” Patrick yelled. I spotted him when we turned, his tall, thin frame racing around the corner onto Weston Street. Maddie and I followed. Laila was fighting off a scrab at the end of the block, and Dorsey was a few feet away, taking on two at once. Patrick jumped in to help him.       Laila’s scrab staggered back suddenly, a blade sticking out of its neck. She leapt forward, grabbing the handle of the machete and plunging it deeper.       Maddie glanced over at Patrick and Dorsey, who were also finishing off their scrabs. She sheathed her machete and walked back to me.       “Should I make spaghetti or roast chicken for dinner?” she asked. “It’s my turn.”       “Oh god, neither,” I said. “I thought we decided to take you out of the cooking rotation.”       “What? Why?”       “Because your cooking is awful, Maddie.”       “It is not.”       “Yes, it is,” Priya said, and I turned to see her walking toward us, pulling off the leather body armor we all wore to protect our arms. She brushed some dirt off her light brown skin and adjusted her pink knit hat.       “Your chicken isn’t so much roasted as blackened!” Patrick called. He was wiping blood off his ax.       Maddie flipped him off. He chuckled.       “You have other talents, but cookin