Not wasting any time, Atticus begins meticulously going through the apartment. He's brought a screwdriver and grabs a butter knife from the kitchen, removing little devices from outlets, ceiling lights, loose bits of paneling, and sofa cushions.
When he goes into the bedroom and exits with a fresh fistful of bugs, my jaw clenches. "Sure you got them all?" I can't help but ask, breaking my own rule. "If I find one in there, I'm going to stab you the next time I see you."
Atticus pauses, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. Is he concerned? He should be. EvenI'mnot sure how serious that threat is. But we both know he can take a little nonlethal stab.
He sucks his teeth, spins on his heel, and reenters my bedroom. I hear the sound of a shuffling drawer inside and he returns a moment later, presumably with the one device he was hoping to sneak past me.
Fucker.
"Are thereanyother devices I need to know about?"
He hesitates, then shakes his head.
"Do you swear?"
Another terse nod.
"Atticus, I know we're outside of Switzerland, but I want to hear you fucking say it."
His stare bores into mine. "I removed them all and there are no other devices you don't know about."
I search his steady gaze, and choose to believe him against my better judgement.
"I swear," he adds.
"Okay."
His stare lingers another moment before he heads for the door, but he stops with his hand on the handle. For a second, I think he might say something more, and my chest squeezes, but then he twists the handle instead.
Atticus walks out silently, leaving me alone with Ellie and at least fifty unanswered questions.
It takes almost the whole week, but I manage to answer most of those questions myself.
How do I find my classes? There's a guidance counselor for that.
Do I need some kind of school supplies? Already packed in a black leather backpack by the door.
Groceries and dog food? Fridge and pantry are already stocked.
How do I log in to the thing for my faux English tutoring? The link is already saved to favorites and 'Alfie' is there, though with his video screen turned off, for two hours twice per week, right on schedule.
By day three, it starts to feel normal.Routine. Which is the point, I guess.
At first, I didn't think I'd bother with any of the classwork, but I've been fully absorbed in the lessons. Scribbling notes in my notebooks and highlighting the ones I took on my laptop and printed in the library for an upcoming essay.
And there's a girl I sit next to in class who's growing on me, even if her incessant invites to join her for drinks or hit up a campus party never seem to cease, no matter how many excuses I come up with. I get the sense she doesn't have a ton of friendsyet, since she also moved here at the start of September, all the way from California.
For a few days, I allow myself to pretend that this is my life and not a lie.
I'm a scholarship student—don't know how the fuck Atty pulled that one off—at a good university, studying the music industry. Trying to make friends. Hoping for a career with an edgy label, discovering and coaching new talent someday.
It's a pretty picture. Almost perfect, save for the fact thattheyaren't in it.
The evenings have been hell without Elijah and Seven, and I spend them texting or on the phone with at least one of them before bed. It's not strictly the purpose of the secret phone, but Atticus can try to stop me.
I go to grab the basket filled with my laundry that's been ready to go since yesterday and am about to call for Ellie when I see something I hadn't noticed earlier.
There's a little corner of paper sticking out from the little drawer on the nightstand.
