“It hurt,” I said quietly. “What you said. It really hurt.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not a monster, Mindy.”
“I know you’re not. I’ve always known that.” We stood there, looking at each other across a distance that felt much wider than the few feet of carpet between us. I thought about all the years of friendship. All the secrets we’d shared. All the times she’d had my back, and I’d had hers. One fight didn’t erase all of that. Even a bad one.
“I shouldn’t have thrown Mr. Penguin at you,” I said finally.
She laughed—a wet, choked sound. “I deserved it.”
“Maybe. But he didn’t.”
That got a real laugh out of her, wobbly but genuine. I felt something loosen in my chest. Not forgiveness, exactly. But the beginning of it. The possibility. “Come here,” I said, and opened my arms. She practically fell into the hug, holding on tight, and I held on too. My best friend. My sister in everything but blood.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us were crying. The good kind of crying, though.
Jared was watching us with a soft expression. “Better?” he whispered.
“Getting there,” Mindy said, making me laugh.
Zane hadn’t moved from the window seat. He was looking out at the gray sky now, giving us privacy, or maybe just uncomfortable with the emotional display.
I couldn’t blame him. He’d confessed to being Samarek’s son. To marking Trevor. The fact that he was still in this house at allwas a testament to my mom’s willingness to take risks. Or her desperation. Hard to tell which.
“Zane,” I said.
He turned, wary. “Yeah?”
“You don’t have to sit over there like you’re in quarantine.”
He didn’t move. “I kind of feel like I should be.”
“My mom said you’re part of the team now.”
“Provisionally,” he said.
I shrugged. “That’s more than a lot of people get.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “I keep thinking about Trevor.” He stopped. Swallowed hard. “He trusted me. I was the closest thing he had to a friend here, and I used that. I used him.”
“Did you know?” Mindy asked. Her voice was careful, neutral. “Did you know what would happen?”
“No.” The word came out fierce, almost angry. “I swear I didn’t. I thought it was just...tracking. Or protection. Something harmless. I didn’t know it was a death sentence.”
“But you did it without asking questions.”
Zane flinched. “Yeah. I did. He was my dad. I trusted him. But I shouldn’t have.” The room went quiet. I could hear the old house creaking around us, settling into its bones. Somewhere downstairs, the portal was pulsing, hungry, waiting to be fed.
“I’ve done things without asking questions, too,” Jared said quietly. “When I was younger. When I was still figuring out what I was.” He looked at Zane steadily. “It doesn’t make it okay. But it makes it understandable.”
“Understandable isn’t the same as forgivable,” Zane said.
“No. It’s not.” Jared shifted on the couch. “But forgivable isn’t the same as impossible, either.”
Zane looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that. And I want to help. I know you don’t trust me. I know I haven’t earned it. But I want to help close that portal. I want to stop him.”
“Then help.” I pulled out my phone, checking the time. “Mom said we’re meeting in the library in an hour to go over what we know.”
