“Is that even what I’m supposed to hope for?” I whisper. With my eyes closed, I can hear sounds still echoing in from outside, though the crowd has thinned out to almost nothing.
“Of course it is,” Flynn replies. “Look, I haven’t seen Merendsen in action, but I’ve seen Jubilee. She swears he taught her what she knows, and is even better than she is. And while I find that difficult to believe, it does suggest that he knows what he’s doing. Gideon’s as safe with him as he’d be here.”
I shake my head, as much to dismiss the concern as to try to shrug off the burning in my eyes. “Gideon made his choice.”
“As you made yours, up on the Daedalus.” I open my eyes to find Flynn gazing down at Jubilee as she sleeps. “Funny thing, how we let our choices define us.”
As much as I love Flynn, a philosophical discussion is the last thing I want right now. I grind the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to clear them and marshal my thoughts, and remain silent.
He doesn’t seem to notice. “Back on Avon, it seemed like every choice I made turned me into more and more of a traitor. Sometimes I thought I was doing what was best for the Fianna—sometimes it felt like I was lying to myself, and it was all for her.”
“And now?” I eye him sidelong, watching his profile as his head dips.
“I was trusting my heart.” Flynn meets that sidelong look for a moment, then exhales in a sigh. “Doesn’t mean your heart can’t be conflicted. But at least for me, and for Jubilee, and for Avon—it turned out I was right to trust it.”
I echo that sigh of his, mine sounding more like a huff of laughter. “Follow your heart? Seriously? That’s your advice? I’m pretty sure I read that in a fortune cookie once.”
Flynn grins at me. “Where do you think I got it?” But then his grin softens and he gives his head a little shake. “It’s simple advice. But probably the hardest to follow. It’s always easier to do the expected thing than the right thing.”
“If you’re trying to thank me for attempting an assassination, you’re doing it in a roundabout way.”
“You think shooting at LaRoux was the right thing?” Flynn raises an eyebrow. “The thing your heart was telling you to do?”
I want Gideon to know that the only reason I didn’t tell him about my plan was because I knew he would try to talk me out of it. And I knew he’d succeed.
My jaw tightens. It doesn’t matter. Gideon’s gone. I let my gaze skitter away from Flynn’s, seeking out something, anything, that isn’t his look of empathy, of concern, of caring. The floor is strewn with garbage and broken bits of glass, and cards with the restaurant logo printed on them. My heart gives a sudden lurch as I reach out to pick one up—MRS. PHAN’S, it reads, next to the scan code to pull up the menu.
We’ve holed up in the restaurant where Gideon went to grab us dinner the night we spent in the arcade. The night before I found out he was the Knave. The night we—My breath chokes itself in my throat, sparking tears in my eyes as I try to keep from coughing.
“Sof?” Flynn’s voice is alarmed. Jubilee stirs, mumbling something that sounds like a question—half-asleep, she reaches for her hip, where her gun is.
“No—I’m fine.” I shove the card into my pocket.
“I wasn’t trying to upset you, Sof.” He fixes me with a searching look for a moment, and then Jubilee shifts in his lap, and he’s distracted.
“I’m fine. I…I’d really like to get some air, if that’s okay. It sounds quiet out there.”
Flynn rubs his hand up and down Jubilee’s arm, and she settles back again. “Are you sure? It’s not exactly safe out there.”
“Come on. It’s me.” I flash him my old smile, still easy to locate, despite everything. “I can take care of myself.”
Flynn’s still hesitant, craning his head back as though he’d be able to see whether the streets are clear.
“If the world’s ending tomorrow,” I add, voice dry, “I’d like to get to stretch my legs one last time.”
“Give her your gun,” mumbles Jubilee, without opening her eyes. “’S quiet out there now.”
Flynn’s mouth twitches, and he looks back up at me as he reaches for the pistol he set aside. “You heard her.”