Too bad I see Griff in the dark. The last time I saw him was supposed to be the end. Why does this feel like a beginning?
Why does this feel like the start of something worse? And because my brain’s already on overdrive it kicks into all the things worse could look like: What if he returns to the house? What if Hart’s people catch him?
What was he doing there?
I clench my teeth together. He won’t get caught. He won’t. Griff would never be that stupid. He knows the house is compromised now.
Right?
“You don’t look okay.” Milo again.
I open my eyes. “Headache.”
Now they’re both watching me. I look away—look at the elevator buttons, the floor, the wall. The wall. That’ll work. There’s a glossy steel handrail and Hart’s palm is wrapped around one corner. But as I watch, his fingers begin to drum.
Is he irritated? Or thinking hard?
I don’t wait to find out. The elevator stops, the doors drag open, and I bolt, heading for my bedroom. I swipe my key card, and inside, it’s blissfully quiet and totally empty. Alex must still be upstairs. Technically, I should be upstairs too. After today’s field trip, I’m behind in schoolwork and in computer work. I should try to get on top of things before dinner and group therapy, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it. Too many nights of insomnia plus seeing Griff and not finding Michael equals . . . yeah, it’s all a bit much.
I kick off one sneaker, reach for the other, and stop. Listen. What was that? I turn and—there. There it is again. Whispering? Or is it hissing? Whatever it is, it’s so soft I take a step toward our window, stare into the air vent. Nothing.
Except there’s another hiss. This time, it’s louder, closer to a murmur. It is someone whispering, and for the first time, I notice our bathroom door is closed and there’s a shadow behind the frosted glass.
Alex is in there and it sounds like she’s talking to someone. One of our teachers? I stand on the other side of the bathroom door and study her outline. Maybe she’s doing some sort of Skype session. But why would she do it in the bathroom? And why would she be so quiet?
Alex’s shadow moves, twists, and we both freeze. Damn. If I can see her shadow, she can see mine.
“Wick?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I just got back. Are you okay?”
Alex’s arm arcs toward the handle and there’s a click as she opens the door. “Course.” She braces one shoulder against the frame, looking like this is any other day: same hoodie, same bored expression. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Just being nice.”
Her eyes narrow like I am anything but and I ignore her, drag off my other shoe, and collapse onto my bed. She’s still watching me and I’m still thinking about who she was talking to. Herself? God?
Or someone else?
“Where were you?” Alex asks and I hesitate. Alex was already upstairs when we left. She probably waited for me all morning and I feel bad. Thing is, Norcut wanted this kept private—but how private can you keep anything when we all live practically on top of each other?
“My dad escaped.”
There is the slightest, almost imperceptible beat of hesitation before Alex says, “No shit?”
My mouth goes dry. Slight hesitation. Almost imperceptible, but still there. I push myself up, bracing on my elbow. “You already knew.”
18
“How would I know?”
“You can’t lie to a liar, Alex.”
“So tell her the truth.” The voice is tinny, far away, and definitely not one of us. Alex and I stare at each other and seconds pass before she tugs an iPhone from her hoodie pocket, tilts it so I can see the dark-haired woman on the screen.
“This was going to happen sooner or later,” she says, and I shoot to my feet. The words are slow, deliberate, like she’s talking to an animal she’s spooked or an addict on the edge. “Alex has told me all about you, Wick, and I really like what I’ve heard. We want to make you an offer.”
“Who the hell are you?” I back up and my legs hit the bed. My brain’s stuck on ridiculous loops about how Norcut said we’re not allowed to have contact with the outside world, how we’re not allowed to have cell phones.
How this is bad. This is really, really bad. Has to be.
And yet . . . I could call Lily with that phone. I could call my best friend, Lauren. I could check my bank and email accounts without Looking Glass tracing my keystrokes.
“She’s one of my contacts,” Alex says softly. “I’m not here because I got myself in a bind—well, I mean, I did get caught, but it was on purpose. I needed a way into Looking Glass.”
“You were hired for a job,” I say softly, watching for Alex’s flinch. She doesn’t. “And here I thought you were Looking Glass’s biggest fan. You told me I was being ridiculous.”
“I had a job to do. You know what that’s like. What would you have done?”