She glowered at him.
He laughed. “You’re adorable.” If he had to make her angry to make this work, he was willing. Of course, since he wasn’t exactly sure this would work, perhaps he should tone it down a little. “No, seriously. I dropped the defense I worked out. I’ve been practicing getting it up fast, in response to an attack, but I need to see if it works. So, hit me. With the Dust.”
She arched a brow at him. “Why? I’m the only one who can attack like this, and unless you keep pissing me off, I’m not coming after you.”
He made a face. “Actually, Thomas once managed something similar years ago. And I’m becoming more and more convinced you may not be the only one now, either. Or at least, not for much longer.” He stood straight again and tapped his chest, grinning at her. “So, c’mon, you still mad at me? Even a little? Hit me.”
He barely finished his sentence. His lungs and muscles shut down. His body stiffened, inside and out, as the muscles froze. She withheld the pain this time, but she waited impassively as he struggled. He pulled in his focus and visualized what he wanted.
My body. My response.
The squeezing in his lungs cleared, and his contracted muscles eased. He tilted his head back and drew in a deep breath. His hands unclenched. His head swung around on his neck. After a moment, he grinned at her, pleased with her raised brows and impressed expression. “Told you. Now do it again, but switch it up. Do something I wouldn’t expect.”
Lena nodded at him.
Alex doubled over at the sudden stabbing, twisting, acid burn of pain in the muscles and cells of his gut. He grabbed his belly, eyes wide. After a moment, he dropped to a crouch and groaned. How was he supposed to focus through this pain? He could hear himself panting, and he focused on that instead. He counted, visualized turning the Dust away from its attack, and used his sawing breaths as a countdown. Thirty seconds later, he raised his head, dazed but recovering. Did his face reflect how sick he felt?
“That wasn’t nice,” he said. “Another few seconds, and I would have shit myself.” He couldn’t believe he’d admitted that. He couldn’t believe it had almost happened.
She tried not to laugh but failed. “Sorry,” she told him, unrepentant.
It was his turn to glower at her.
“You told me to do it,” she protested. “And besides, you did stop it. You’re pretty good at this.”
He gingerly stood, holding his stomach. “That was brutal.” He tilted his head back and forth and swallowed. “Remember that one if you’re ever in a tight spot.”
“Absolutely.” She paused. “Wanna go again?”
Obviously, she enjoyed this.
“Huh.” He took a couple of steps to the side and back, trying to help the muscles in his lower belly relax. “Why don’t I try to hit you? I’ve been working on it, too. I can actually make some sparks across a room now.”
Lena shrugged. She was obviously of the opinion that sparks did not an attack make, and he’d been thoroughly unsuccessful at learning how to attack thus far. Everyone she’d tried to teach had been. They couldn’t get it.
The failure frustrated him. They could heal. They could defend. They were getting better and better at doing regular things from a distance. Not a single one of them could learn her attacks.
Alex cleared his throat and prepared himself. He pushed the breath out of his lungs, reaching out with his mind to the Dust inside of her, on her skin, floating free in the air around her. He tried talking to the Dust within her, the way he’d recently learned to talk to his own.
It didn’t respond.
Frustrated, he raised his inner voice.
Still nothing.
He took a long breath, closed his eyes, and tried again, calmer.
He couldn’t sense even a hint of a response.
She cleared her throat, and the quiet noise echoed through their small clearing like a rock falling.
Alex opened his eyes.
“Not working?” Her soft question oozed disappointment. Clearly, she felt the failures, too.
He shook his head.
“Try again,” she suggested.
He did.
Alex tried over and over, until his head throbbed. Finally, he sank down onto the bench behind him. He rested his aching head in his hands and breathed. When he looked up again, she had taken a seat across the little clearing from him. From her face, she had something on her mind.
“You have questions.” He made a ‘give it to me’ gesture, flipping his fingers toward himself.
“I do have questions,” she answered. “About Sam.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“First…he said Peller was in the CIA. What’s the CIA?”
“From what he’s told us, it was a government organization of agents who watched and listened and kept order, but used questionable tactics.”
“So, basically, exactly like all of you?”