“Callum belongs to the Barclay Network; they’re a trafficking network that discreetly hunts recidivists for deadbeat politiciansand rich assholes who want the powers for themselves. The death and capture rate are proportionally higher than that of any legal penalty or hate crime targeted at a recidivist.”
We learned about this in school. Recidivists slated for prison often face a cruel, brutal death at the hands of other prison mates—even that of other recidivists. A plethora of hate crimes broke out—so much so that most aren’t even worth any news station’s consideration anymore. I flick Ezra a look, feeling guilty for using the term even if it was only in my head. That’s not what Ezra is. A criminal isn’t what most super-powered individuals are. But if our world profits from recidivist labor or widespread fear, then it doesn’t matter what becomes of the innocent. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“Callum’s a mercenary for the network. How he knows your brother is a mystery to me. But if he’s after Ezra . . . let’s just say Ezra’s in big fucking danger. I will need to get in contact with the Angelics—tell Atlas to arrange a meeting with them,” Tommy says. He has a flip phone in hand. I hear the clacks of his typing.
And I have so many questions.
First things first.
“Why would a trafficking network hire individuals with powers? And why the hell would one work for them?” I ask. I’m not sure where in town we are now. I’ve wandered so far, but I don’t stop driving. I cast the occasional peek through the rearview mirror.
Tommy looks up from the phone.
“The Angelics call them jingoists. Essentially, our own people turned against us. I can’t testify for other trafficking networks, but the Barclays hire jingoists for more high-profile cases. It makes them more imposing. And the powered individual will work for the Barclays because it grants immunity. Protection. They pay handsomely, too . . . or so I heard.”
Ezra’s a high-profile case? He says nothing, nor does he question Tommy’s words. Ezra is a blank slate, stone-faced and dead to the world.
“Who are the Angelics?”
“Shit. Hold on, Conin. Sorry. I got a reply,” Tommy says, and the vehicle falls silent.
I have no idea what to do. I don’t have the slightest clue what position this puts me in. Ezra is in danger. He can’t return home; Thax also lives with the Grays, and this Barclay Network will know where to find Ezra if he returns. The only viable option I can come up with is to get Ezra far, far away from here. Somewhere out of the state, potentially even out of the country, though I’m not positive how doable that will be without illegally crossing the border.
He can’t leave by himself. Who will take care of him? I don’t know Tommy well enough to trust Ezra with him—I’m not aware of their history or how far back it dates. What I do know is that I can’t abandon Ezra. I don’t want to abandon him. When I thought about my life and future, Ezra was always a key factor in it. He was always a part of it, no matter where I was or what I was doing. He’s a staple—an irrevocable, static part of every imagined scenario. I can’t live my life without him in it. Not to be dramatic, but I’d rather fucking die.
My future flashes before my eyes. Every created scenario. Every goal I made for myself. I will be tearing down what I worked hard to accomplish. All those hours clocked for coursework, the constant state of studying. Leaving football, a scholarship, to work tirelessly to create a new life from the ground up. All of it will be gone if I decide to stick with Ezra.
I was working to become a writer for my sake, but it was he who stayed in the forefront of my mind. Could I really go on without him? Could I live with myself if I stayed behind?
The truth of the matter simply boils down to this: Ezra can’t stay. He’s dead otherwise. I’m not foolish enough to trick myself into believing they’ll let him live after he’s been siphoned of his abilities. Besides, the process might just kill him. If I leave the world I knew behind, I can take on a new one with the boy I love. If I stay, any shot at normalcy is tainted by the image of Ezra dead and forgotten. I won’t let that happen.
Oh my god.Mom.
Leaving her will tear me to shreds.
Leaving will kill her.
But I don’t see any other option. And Mom can’t join us for whatever perilous obstacles stand in our way. The existential guilt holds me at gunpoint. Fear says hello and tells me it’s going to stay for a little while. It’s choosing family over a boy, but Ezra is family. He needs my help. I can’t in good conscience let him go.
“No, Conin. You won’t,” says Ezra.
He took my silence and determined it for what it was. My decision.
“It’s my choice, Ezra,” I whisper.
I feel utterly defeated.
“Find a motel at a good distance from here. We’ll ditch the car a couple blocks away,” Tommy says.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” I question.
“We don’t have much of a choice. I’m going to need to make a call and solidify our plan.”
I don’t like this.
Tommy pockets the burner. For now.
Chapter 13
