“We know. We were there.”
“I’m just saying, if we’re ranking who made it weird—”
“You’re winning,” Locke says. “Congratulations.”
Rane drops his head back against the couch. “She probably thinks we’re insane.”
“We are insane,” Vaelor says from the kitchen doorway. He hasn’t moved either. None of us have, really—just our mouths. “Did anyone else notice she didn’t want to eat? Or drink? I offered her water and she looked at me like I was handing her a grenade.”
“She’s been in processing for days,” Kyron says. “She doesn’t trust anything with a label on it.”
“It was a glass of water.”
“From a stranger. In a house she didn’t choose. After being transported here against her will.” Kyron’s voice is flat. “She’s not wrong to be careful.”
No one says anything.
I should say something. Contribute. I’ve been too quiet and they’re going to notice, and then they’re going to ask, and then I’m going to have to explain something I don’t understand myself.
“Beckett.”
Too late.
I look up. Rane is watching me, head tilted, something careful in his expression.
“You good?”
“Fine.”
“You sure? You’ve got a look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re somewhere else entirely.” He pauses. “Where’d you go?”
My face feels warm. I don’t know why my face feels warm.
“It’s stupid,” I say.
“It’s not,” Rane says immediately. No hesitation.
He doesn’t even know what I’m going to say. But that’s Rane—he decides things before he has all the information.
“She moved toward me,” I say, and my voice comes out too quiet. “Before she stopped herself.”
Silence. I wait for someone to laugh, or shrug, or change the subject.
No one does.
“What do you mean?” Vaelor asks.
I look up. They’re all actually listening.
“When you were introducing everyone. She looked at me and she—” I sit up a little straighter. “She took a step toward me. Then caught herself.”
Rane sits up slowly. “I didn’t see that.”
“You were talking.”
