“Angela must be desperate for your power, Ezra. Faux are rare, very rare, and you’re one of the few who didn’t drop off the face of the earth. Her daughter isn’t expendable. If Angela sent Mara after you, we’re in trouble.”
This news makes me sick to my stomach.
“What do we do? Is Ezra safe here?” asks Conin.
Conin’s safety is just as important. If he held his life in higher regard than he did mine, then maybe he wouldn’t be here. Words cannot even begin to express how happy I am that heis. I wouldn’t have made it this far without him. I’ll need to do everything in my power to ensure nothing happens to him.
“Tommy said you might have a lot of questions. And I can answer them, just not here. Ezra will be safe if I take you to the bunker. It’s a safe house here for passing recid—I mean, Angelics. I can explain everything there.”
I want to believe him, I really do, but that instinctive urge to close myself off settles in the cavity of my chest. Turning to Conin, I find he’s caged off and unreadable. His smile is wry, perked at the edges, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Nothing displaying on his face is incriminating enough to distinguish how he feels about this. Does he see my body shaking? Does he see how this feeling . . . this tether that somehow binds my existence to Atlas is tearing me apart at the seams?
Is this what Tommy meant when he said he could feel the presence of other recidivists? Is it always this overstimulating? Whatever it is, this isn’t normal. I thought I was inept at sensing recidivists’ presence, but maybe I wasn’t. Maybe Atlas is the exception. It’s thewhythat jostles me from the inside.
Conin reveals the Glock he stole from Callum. Atlas gapes at it—there’s a momentary flash of surprise in his eyes, but he tries to mask his shock with indifference.
“I want to trust you, Atlas,” he says, “but I need to be on the safe side here. In case . . . in case you’re lying about the bunker.” He’s determined, his face plastered with the same expression he’s worn in football games. I remember it well—have it ingrained in my memory.
“I understand,” mutters Atlas. “I’ll let you two get situated and then we can go.”
Conin nods and moves to collect what we’ve brought. Minutes later, we’re stashing what we can in the mercenary’s vehicle. Atlas hops in the back to give us directions. The night is upon us and there’s very limited lighting throughout the town. It’squiet and eerie. The solace the dark would often bring me is enshrouded by preying eyes watching our every movement, the ghosts of mercenaries haunting our hope for safety.
I ignite the car’s engine, let it roar, and Atlas tells me where to go.
Chapter 25
Atlas
I’m scared shitless.
I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.
Why hadn’t I listened to abuelo more when he was alive? And as much as I hate to admit that I kinda forgot all about Tommy Donahue since he joined the Angelics (because I DID forget all about him), seeing his name flash on my phone startled me so badly that I had to hide in the back of the motel office until my heart slowed to a healthy rate. Because he would only call for one reason, and one reason only (which was the agreement we had): call if you’re in trouble or if you’ve found a recidivist—correction—apowered individualin need.
Tommy was sending two high schoolers my way. A powered individual discovered by a trafficking network, and his lifelong friend, who possessed no abilities of his own, was along for the ride. That was some dedication. I mean, how else would you react to this kind of situation? Maybe they’re even in love. How sweet.
No matter what it may seem like or even that abu tasked me to carry on his work (not by my own free will, I can assure you), I’m woefully unprepared, with no clue what the hell I’m doing without him here to help me. Mamá and papá are convinced I listened to every lecture he ever gave me—that I was present for every Angelic visit, but that’s not the case. That’s not the case at all.
Because it’s not what I wanted for myself.
I am so incredibly fucked. I was so focused on school and tutoring and seeking out cute people that I lost complete control over the operation abu had run for decades. He would be gravely disappointed in me (no pun intended; I promise).
That was so fucking morbid. God, I’m a sick person.
I need to act as if I have my shit together, that I know what I’m doing, and that I’ll safely get these friends to Proctus. They’ll be none the wiser when my part is over and done with. Meanwhile, I calm the creases scrunching up my forehead, the tension in my cheeks, and the lock in my jaw. The jobwillget done.
Conin parks on the opposite side of the street, per my request, a bit of a distance away from home. He listens, albeit reluctantly. Telling him what to do almost made me shit myself when I remembered the gun he kept in the pocket of his hoodie. I should warn Mama and Papa of that.
The walk to my house from the car isn’t a long one, so I feel comfortable enough to lead them through the dark, lightless streets of Eureka at night. I swear to god, if they think I’ll jump them or lead them into an alleyway so I can murder them in cold blood, I’ll . . . well, I won’t do anything, but Iwillpanic. I don’t want them to believe I’m up to anything nefarious. If I mention that, I doubt it will do me any favors. They most likely won’t believe me. And I’ll most likely be shot.
Instead, I say, “I’m sure ma and pa are still awake. They don’t normally go to sleep until I get home from a shift.”
“Okay. Thank you,” Conin says. Ezra is cold and silent beside him, his unique eyes gazing speculatively at me, calculating, as if he’s trying to decide whether I can be trusted. Fair enough, I suppose.
The presence of another powered individual breezed through me like an intense wind just minutes before they arrived at the motel. It had been so strong, so overwhelming, I had keeled over for several minutes to compose myself. It was unlike anything I had felt before—certainly not anything like the bond I shared with abu, and most definitely not like the feelings I’d get when the Angelics came around for a visit.
This sensation is utterly new to me. It’s intoxicating and my every waking thought is glued to the way it makes me feel. What’s different about Ezra? Why do I feel innately tethered to him, as if I’ve known him my entire life? Ambrosia said once after she broke the news she and Matt had gotten together, that their bond had always felt like something more, but she hadn’t had the words to explain it until they’d started dating. That can’t be possible with Ezra. I only just met him. There’s no way something’s already happening between us. To even entertain the idea is asinine.
Can he feel it?
