His hands come off me, his mouth releases mine, his body pulls away, air pours into the breach, oceans of it filling one, two, three feet of space. A chasm. I’m untethered, flying backwards, spinning away into the merciless void. Jamie turns his back and braces his hands on the doorframe. Head hanging, his back expands and contracts, the thick muscles across his shoulders, his ribs, strung taut. I’m panting too, fireworks not yet fading in my skin. My lips feel swollen and tender; all of me feels swollen and tender.

“You think he bought it?”

Jamie turns his head, not his body. “No.”

“Not convincing?” My chuckle falls flat and I cringe.

Jamie doesn’t chuckle, doesn’t answer. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and swears. Repeatedly and heatedly, a muffling whispered rumble of expletives. When he’s done, he straightens up. Keeping his back to me, he presses his fingers into his scalp and turns to the dresser for more leaning and head hanging and swearing. “If he knows and isn’t saying anything–” he cuts off. “It means they’re going to kill Aiden.”

“Why does it mean that?” But it’s not a real question because he’s voicing my fears. It’s exactly what I thought the moment I landed on the possibility that Benjamin was aware of my brother and keeping it secret. What other possible reason for silence? “How can you be sure?”

“It’s what I’d do.”

“What?”

“I’d find a reason to move to a new location. Get everyone out of the house. Lessen the variables. Remove the obstacles so I could return and take care of it without fuss.”

My mouth dries. “You – that’s what you’d do?”

He straightens and this time clamps his hands to his hips, still shifting his weight, still not turning to face me. “Yes.”

“And the obstacles? They would be … me?”

“You. Ethan. Felicity. The girl.”

The pause becomes dangerous, unbearable. I clench my fists. “And?”

He grows still. “Me.”

I unclench, but only a fraction because I hear the condition in his voice. “Because you wouldn’t agree to anything that might endanger Kitty.”

He nods.

“Damn it, Jamie. Turn around.”

“No.”

I throw my hands up. “You’re doing my head in.”

“I’m – not …” His voice gets all constricted and his shoulders hitch up. “Just give me a bloody minute, all right?”

Understanding tumbles in on me. The heavy panting. The restless shifting. Even in the midst of terror about Aiden, a hot spike of what – embarrassment, pleasure? – makes my whole body blush. “I thought we were acting.”

“I was,” he says, quick and cutting. “Push the right buttons and you get the results either way. It doesn’t mean anything.”

I feel slapped, humiliated and worse. “Wow … that – that was really shitty.”

His shoulders slump and he groans, half-turning towards me.

I yank the door open and stalk out.

“Wait,” he calls after me.

ATTIC

I hesitate in the living room. The Proxy still sits knees up on the couch, covering her ears like the monkey who hears no evil. She bites her lips, eyes moving from her fix on the ceiling to me. Tears? Are they tears in her eyes? Whatever the case, it’s not thunder freaking her out. She knew the moment she stepped in the house. Beside her Felicity mutters, packing up the unfinished food. Does she know too?

Fear makes me jointless, my legs unsteady and loose. I turn to the kitchen. Benjamin stands by the table, leaning back against the wall. I register the baton on his hip, the gun in his shoulder holster, his relaxed posture, but there’s an aura of tension about him. Jamie was right. We didn’t fool him. He knows we know. Davis and Tesla look up from the table. Everyone frowning and watchful. Do they know? Or do they just sense the tension in the atmosphere? I force myself to meet Benjamin’s gaze and swipe my wrist across my face. “Your friend’s an asshole.”

Davis doesn’t laugh or make a snide comment about Jamie. I’m not sure that’s a good sign.

Benjamin looks past me, to Jamie coming through the living room. I go to the sink so I can have my back to them. Let Benjamin think I believe my own acting. I’m pissed with Jamie. That’s all. I run the faucet. Fill a glass. Bring it to my lips. My trembling hand could be emotion after our fight rather than terror for the fight I’m about to start. In the window I watch Jamie with his hands in his pockets, frowning at my back, shrugging at Benjamin, shaking his head, sharing a “Women, what can you do?” moment. He’s way better at this than I am.

I shouldn’t have stormed out. I should have stayed with Jamie. Planned something together. He knows these guys, what they’re capable of. Would we stand a chance in a fight? The bandwidth is useless with static. I can’t scan for intent. Will precognition work in this kind of interference? I guess if ours won’t work then neither will theirs.

What about Tesla? It’s hard to believe Benjamin and Davis would go against his orders. I saw the men in the mess hall. Saw their respect. Heard the murmurs and awe. How could they do this? I’m surprised to find myself offended on Tesla’s behalf, but what it really reinforces to me is just how much they must despise the idea of helping a Stray. That’s what’s at the core of it. I remember the intense hostility in the mess hall when Davis told all those Shields what I had done, the revulsion and disbelief.

I watch Davis in the window reflection. Elbows on the table, the handle of his gun exposed beneath his arm, the grip of the baton poking out from his hip. I lower my glass and turn around, making my face sulky.

Tesla wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Evangeline, you should eat before we go.”

“Go?” Understanding hardens inside me and I can’t help glancing at Jamie. This is what he said would happen. He keeps his expression impassive but holds my gaze. I wish I could reach past the static and read his intent. Fight? Go along with them? Plan to slip away and return before Benjamin does? There’s no way that would work. We act now or not at all.

“The forecast is bad,” Tesla says, turning in his chair. “Benjamin says it is clearing down the coast. Better than waiting here. We get past the storm and take a reading.”

Benjamin says.

The decision to act now is as simple as reaching for the last slice of pizza. Time fissures, adrenaline charges my vision, my skin. The air tastes electric with ozone and coming violence. Dust motes turn like galaxies beneath the plastic pendant light. I come to the table and lean between Tesla and Davis, their overlapping auras of musk and heat, trusting Jamie to see me and know me and for the love of God manage Benjamin down at his end. My left hand extends for the pizza, my right slips low for the handle of Davis’s gun. His head turns.

Davis is ready for me. His elbow erupts, winding and vicious. I see stars. The bandwidth screams with static and time becomes microseconds stretched on a loom, every whirling, raging limb distinctly woven. Tesla rising as I buckle. Davis’s chair flying back as he launches to his feet. In my peripheral vision, Jamie and Benjamin a fierce blur of arms and legs. I duck Davis’s backhand, land my fist in his throat, leave the ground with his knee in my stomach, taste my own blood. Up-end the table with the force of my turn, somehow miss losing my head to Tesla’s foot as it collects Davis in the chest. Davis flies. Falls. Destroys the pantry door.

Tesla follows, pinning Davis, ransacking his body for weapons. “Scheiße.” He calls over his shoulder, “You could have warned me, Evangeline.”

A calamitous clap of sound, a shot, two, three, four shots.

Jamie shouts, his pitch and desperation more frightening than the gunshots.

Benjamin writhes beneath him, his gun pointed at the ceiling. Jamie, straddling him, wrestles his hands. Dust and paint chips in the air. Cries from the living room. Cries from the attic. The crack of Jamie’s knuckles on the bones of Benjamin’s face. Again. Again. The gun clatters to the floor. Jamie keeps hitting.