Narinder grabbed his arm. “Wait. Listen to me. I don’t want—”
“Some things are worth the risk,” Harvey snapped at him. He didn’t mean to lash out, but he could think of no reason for Narinder to bring up Bryce’s death except to cut him. “You’re not better than the rest of us for not fighting when it’s really just because you’re so terrified of getting hurt.”
Narinder recoiled and let him go. For once, it was the musician who was out of words. If he called out anything else while Harvey stalked out the door, Harvey didn’t hear.
When Harvey had left home, he’d never once returned. He’d contemplated it dozens of times. He missed his siblings—his sister, especially. He missed the way he used to see the world when he lived there, through his rosy stained glass lens, when the worst thing he’d ever dreamed of doing was telling a lie.
Harvey was very good at lying now.
Iamgoing to come back with a gun, he thought as he entered the ruined gate of the Orphan Guild’s prison. Because regardless of his intentions or their argument earlier, he did care what Narinder thought of him. It was just that he cared about Bryce, too—enough to ask him if he had an escape plan if all his dreams went up in smoke.
Returning here felt how Harvey imagined going home would feel. Though only months had passed—not years—he could already see these hallways through a new perspective. It was disgusting here. It reeked of must, like the sweat from the summer months still clung to the cinder block walls. The Mizer kings who’d built the prison had not commissioned windows, and it felt like roaming a cave, its tunnels damp, its fixtures dilapidated and ancient. Harvey could almost imagine the drafts to be ghosts of revolutionaries. More memories than his haunted this place.
His feet led him to Bryce’s office.
Bryce was not alone. A man Harvey didn’t recognize sat across from him at the desk, but judging from his spiffy suit and cherry red cravat, he was some kind of wealthy businessman from the South Side.
Harvey could wait in the hallway, but already, his heart leaped at seeing Bryce. For a brief, delirious moment, he forgot why he’d come here. He nearly turned around.
But then the door opened, and Bryce stood there, his crimson eyes wide. Harvey froze as Bryce took him in, his gaze sweeping over Harvey’s clothes and face as though he, too, was staring at a ghost.
“I...” Harvey started, but Bryce quieted him with a smile. It was also a dangerous smile, but it didn’t make him feel undone. It made him feel pieced together, fit neatly back into the person he once had been.
Bryce swung open the door as Harvey gaped. He grabbed Harvey by the wrist and led him in. “Sorry, Mr. Oliver. This is my partner, Harvey Gabbiano.”
Harvey felt dizzy as he shook Mr. Oliver’s hand.
“Fitz, please,” the man corrected.
“Fitz works in real estate,” Bryce explained. “We were just discussing a few...” He coughed awkwardly. “A few ventures.”
Harvey nodded numbly and perched by his usual seat at the window. He’d come prepared for anything—shouting, silence, or even heartfelt declarations of regret. Business as usual, however, might’ve been more than he could stand.
He watched Bryce for the rest of the meeting. For someone whose plan was falling apart, he looked better than Harvey had seen him in a while. His usual under-eye circles had lightened, and his pale skin had a bit of warmth. An intrusive thought chided Harvey that Bryce was better off without him, that Harvey had always been the jealous third wheel, a leech who refused to find a life of his own.
Harvey restrained himself from patting down his curls. Muck, he probably looked terrible.
When the meeting finished, Harvey mumbled a polite goodbye to Fitz Oliver. Bryce, who would ordinarily walk clients out of the prison, closed the door behind Fitz and turned to Harvey.
“I didn’t expect you to come back,” Bryce said carefully.
“I’m not back,” Harvey said quickly. “Well, I’m here now, but I’m not staying.”
“Where are you staying? Are you all right?” Bryce ran his hand through his dark hair and slumped against his desk. “I’ve been so worried. I knew you didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Part of Harvey wanted to lash back at that statement, but the other part of him—the winning part—simmered with guilt. Bryce had once taken him in when no one else would.
“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” Harvey mumbled.
“Of course I worried. You’re my best friend.”
Harvey felt his resolve withering, like a wilted flower. Because the rest of the world talked about Bryce like he was a monster, and when Harvey was there, with them, he could almost believe it. But he knew Bryce better than anyone, so heshouldknow better. Bryce was not without a conscience. Not without a heart.
He had done this all to save someone, after all.
“I came here to warn you,” Harvey managed, his voice high and hoarse. “The others are working together. They know how to break the game. And once they do...”
The red in Bryce’s eyes seemed to darken. “Once they do, what?”
