“Well, good,” he says. “Then I guess we’re on the same page. Now,” he says, moving back a step, “where in Colorado are we heading?”
I take out my phone and pull up the investor’s information. “We’re going to Silverthorne,” I say.
“Oh,” he says. “I didn’t realize it was my town. What’s the address? If it’s close enough, let’s just take a taxi to my house and pick up my car. Quentin might even be there. I haven’t heard from him in a few days.”
“Good idea,” I say, hoping Annalise could be with him. I look down at my phone. “The address is 986 East Giles Road, Silverthorne,” I tell him.
“Can I see that?” Jackson asks. “Can I see your phone?” His voice has changed, and I pass him my phone quickly, alarmed.He stares at the screen a long time before handing it back to me without a word.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“We need a cab,” he says, starting to move again, but I reach out to take his elbow.
“That’s not it,” I tell him.
“I know that address,” he says, slowly lifting his eyes to mine. He has paled considerably.
“You do?” My heart jumps, and I look down at the name. “You know who Valdemar Casey is?”
“His friends called him Demmy,” Jackson says. “And yeah, I… I know him.” The anguish on his face terrifies me, and I step closer to him, searching his expression. He swallows hard.
“That’s my dad, Mena,” he whispers. “Valdemar Casey is my father.”
For a moment, the world seems to stop. Travelers are rushing past us, noises emanating from every direction. But Jackson and I stare at each other, motionless. Unable to accept what he just uttered.
Before our escape from the academy, the girls had discovered that Jackson’s father had invested in Innovations. But none us realized just how big of an investment it was.
I place my hand on my forehead, feeling like I’m spinning away. I had no idea that Jackson’s father was amaininvestor. Not only that, Jackson’s mother was one of the initial analysts, helping to develop our programming before she knew what we’d be used for. She tried to leave when she found out, but ended up dead. A suspected suicide that was clearly more.
Confused, I take a step back from Jackson. His eyes weaken and his arms fall limply at his sides.
“Did you know?” I ask.
“What? No, of course not. My God, Mena. How could you even ask me that?”
“You’ve lied to me before,” I say. His injured expression makes me regret my question. Jackson didn’t know about his father—his devastation is proof of that.
“When I first met you, I lied to you,” he admits. “But it was before I knew whether I could trust you. I’ve told you everything since. I’ve given you every bit of information I’ve ever found. The corporation killed my mother, and now… now I’m not so sure my dad wasn’t involved in that.” His voice is ticking up, attracting attention. He’s unsteady on his crutches. He looks at me again, tears dripping onto his cheeks when he blinks. “What ifhekilled her?” he whispers.
The betrayal, even the possibility of a betrayal this deep, is shocking. Could Jackson’s father really have killed his own wife?What sort of person…?I don’t finish the thought, because now that I know Demmy is an investor, all bets are off. He’s capable of limitless, terrible things.
I glance around the airport, realizing that we’re too out in the open. There are men searching for me. I have to be more discreet if I plan to sneak up on them.
“We have to go,” I tell Jackson, reaching out to put my palms on both his cheeks, trying to focus his attention. He’s a little lost, tears falling freely. But I watch as he slowly comesback to himself. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his T-shirt.
“Yeah,” he agrees, sounding clearer. “Yeah, let’s go.” He turns away from me, starting down the corridor.
I don’t think he’s okay, but I’m learning that sometimes we have to fight even when we’re injured. Even when we’re down, crawling across the ground—we have to get back up and fight. Because the monsters will never let us rest until we slay them.
Once we get outside, Jackson flags down a cab, ignoring the huff of a waiting man with a suitcase. He looks at Jackson’s crutches and waves us on. Jackson climbs into the backseat with me, but we ride in silence toward the rental house he shares with Quentin. He stares out the window, wringing his hands in his lap until the skin on his thumb is rubbed raw.
It’s a selfish realization, but I can’t help but wonder if this situation gives us an advantage. Who better to convince an investor to withdraw his money than his own son? I don’t offer that epiphany to Jackson, not yet. For now, I turn to look out my own window, watching the mountain grow larger as we get closer to the academy. My prison. I can’t believe I’m willingly coming back here.
I take out my phone and dial Annalise’s number. Jackson looks over dully to check what I’m doing, but then turns away again. He’s texted Quentin several times already, but his friend hasn’t answered. He hasn’t spoken to him in days, and it’s wearing on him. When Annalise’s number goes to a robotic message, I hang up and turn to Jackson. I can’t ignore his obvious pain any longer.
“We have to talk about this,” I whisper.
“Not now, Mena,” he replies, flicking a quick look at thedriver’s rearview mirror. He’s right—we can’t exactly talk about our business in the back of a cab, although I’m sure the driver would be riveted to hear about our plight. But I spare her the details and slide closer to Jackson. I take his hand in mine and press my fingers between his. He tenses and then relaxes against me, still quiet.
