I rub the back of my neck. “I’ve never heard a thing about him having a son.”
“You wouldn’t have. These are AmWest tales. People go to all sorts of extremes to set their minds at ease, even if it means inventing stories.”
“Do you think it’s just a story?”
“Vik says the whole thing is laughable, and I agree.”
We slow outside the hotel. I spot the Expat emblem carved at the base of the establishment’s doorframe, ragged enough that most wouldn’t give it a second glance. Adam exchanges a few words with the owner, three fingers splayed across his chest in greeting, and secures us rooms for the night. He takes a single for himself, and pairs the rest of us off.
I follow Sammy into the room we’ll be sharing.
It is small, with a lone window looking onto a dingy alley, but the bed is spacious. A thinning quilt of Expat colors is spread across it. There’s a faint scent of inactivity—dust and old air—suggesting the place doesn’t get many visitors.
“I feel like I’m in a cave,” Sammy says.
“With a bed?”
“I feel like I’m in a cozy but dimly lit cave.”
I drop my bag near the window, too exhausted to give him a courtesy laugh.
“Hey, about Blaine . . .”
“If you’re going to say you’re sorry or it’s awful or you can’t imagine, please don’t.”
“I was going to offer to say a few words. And if you wanted, we could have a fire later. Sort of like we did after Burg.”
I find myself pulling him into a hug before I consciously decide to do it. He’s slightly taller than Blaine and thinner in build, and the moment I notice these subtle differences, my eyes begin to burn.
I break away, mumble my thanks.
“We’ll make them pay,” Sammy promises. “For this. For everything.”
NINETEEN
IN THE MORNING, NOTHING HAS changed. We’re still in a dreary hotel room. The sun has still risen. Blaine is still dead.
I hear the sound of a running shower first—Sammy—followed by the bustle of people moving through the alley outside the window. I pull on some fresh clothes and, though I desperately need to wash the salt and sorrow off my body, I make for the hall.
Harvey and Clipper don’t answer my knocks, so I try Adam.
“He’s talking to the owner,” Bree says. She’s standing in the doorway of her room, dressed in a clean tank that tucks into her belted and salt water–encrusted pants. Emma is behind her, a sweater pulled tightly around her torso. They wear identical scowls. It makes me wonder if Emma was always good at scowling and I’m only just realizing it.
“We’re supposed to do chores or something this morning,” Bree adds. “To pay for our rooms.”
“You’re kidding.” If Adam thinks I’ll be content to do chores—again, after everything—he’s crazy.
“Did it sound like she was?” Emma snaps. “Do you think people say things without reason, Gray? Do things without motive?”
I pause, mouth open.
“I think I’ll go check in with Adam,” Bree says. She glances over her shoulder as she retreats down the hall, looking both apologetic and amused at once.
“You’re a selfish bastard, you know that?” Emma continues.
“Excuse me?”
“What happened with Craw was none of your business. You showed up when it was convenient for you and then had the nerve to act like you were the only one wronged, like I was horrible for moving on with my life. I thought you were dead, Gray. You left me alone. For months. And even still, I was ready to put it all behind me once I knew you were alive. I told Craw it was over that very day you showed up at my door, and then I was left behind again. Somehow, I deserve to die for all that? For being human? You picked Blaine because he never betrayed you?”
“I picked Blaine because he was my brother.”
“You picked him because you’re too selfish to forgive me and too afraid to face the world without him! I won’t ever forgive you for that.”
“Good! I’ll never forgive myself either. You think I wanted this, Emma? To have to choose? To lose someone?”
Her eyes have this quality to them I’ve never seen before: narrowed, vicious.
“It was easy, admit it. How could it be hard to toss aside the girl who didn’t wait for you?”
“Stop it,” I snarl. “I forgave you ages ago. You had a second chance with the first guy you ever felt things for in Claysoot and as far as you knew, I was dead. Like you said, the only thing you are guilty of is being human. It took me a while to understand that, but I meant every word when I apologized to you back in December.”
“December?” Emma squints at me.
“She looked just like you, Emma. Everything was identical. Her voice and memories and the way she only smiled halfway. She was good with people, especially Aiden. That kid loved you. Sammy, too.”
“Sammy?” She takes a step away from me. “He loved . . . Is that why he’s been . . . ?”
“The point is I’m over it, Emma. I told your Forgery the same thing, and I’m sorry you’re only just hearing it now.”
“You told her, and then she handed you to the Order? No wonder you picked Blaine.”
“Don’t do that,” I say. “It was awful what happened on the Compound, but it had nothing to do with your Forgery, or Craw, or . . .” I sigh, defeated. “He was my brother, Emma. My twin.”
“And I didn’t outrank him. I get it,” she says with a frown. “Good thing it wasn’t Blaine and her in that room.” She tilts her head in the direction Bree walked off. “That would have been a fun choice, huh?”
“That’s not fair, Emma.”
“Do you love her?” she asks. Her brows raise expectantly, and the thought of lying is exhausting. Emma is smart. She already sees the truth, or at least suspects it.
“Yeah,” I say after a moment. “I do.”
“Well, you thought you loved me once, too, so be careful.”