I’m rocked back in the astral plane, feeling the impact as I slam full-force on the ground. Conin moves slightly closer, gentle in his approach. He dismantles my entire being, dissecting and prodding at what remains. He seems calm and collected on the surface, but there’s more underneath that stoic façade.
“I’ve noticed how you and Atlas have been around each other the past few days. It makes me happy—”
“It’s not like that at all!” I exclaim. Because it isn’t, itreallyisn’t. I like Atlas as a person, and a friend, but nothing more.
“Well . . . regardless. I’m just going to come out and say it. I . . . feel guilty for not admitting my feelings earlier. With everything that’s transpired. I don’t want any secrets between us.”
“Conin?” I question.
Feelings?
“I love you, Ezra.” And the world stands still. “Not in a friend way. More than that.”
I’m still. Frozen. Unable to speak.
“I want to be with you, Ezra Gray. And if we die today, I want you to know that I love you.”
Bereft of words, I gawk at Conin with my mouth clamped shut. The proper thing to say eludes me the longer we stand here through the silence I’ve created. Because if I’m truly straightforward with myself, I never thought this would happen. I never thought my best friend would see me as any more than a friend or brother. I grasp for the subtle indications—any evidence that might’ve given him away in the past. There, of course, were the sudden, brief slips of his mask, his willingness to follow me to our impending dooms, everything he’s done for me over the years.
I was too stupid to realize I owned Conin’s heart.
His face falls, eyes sad. I’m ruining this. I’m ruining this moment. This should be beautiful, and profound, leading to a confession of my own. I open my mouth. Hope glints in his azure blues. That’s when Atlas’s voice rings from above.
He comes barreling down the stairs, the metallic hiss of the door sounding a second later. “We need to leave! Now,” he says.
Conin nods, turning for the bedroom to gather our possessions before I can get another word in. To be continued, I suppose, more than crestfallen.
We have everything we need within two abnormally large backpacks, courtesy of Atlas. All we had from before is stowed away, so we slip on the bags and follow Atlas to the bunker’s exit. When we enter the MacPherson’s home, a Black woman with blonde dreads and a white man with bright, gleaming red hair is there to greet us.
“Ambrosia. Matt. This is Conin and Ezra. Conin and Ezra, Ambrosia and Matt,” Atlas says in a slew of speech.
“We’ll make introductions later, but we don’t have time for pleasantries. Let’s get you to the van. It’s on the outskirts of town,” Ambrosia commands.
Matt nods grimly. When we make for the door, Atlas follows suit.
“I’m coming to say goodbye,” he says and my heart collapses.
I smile because that’s all I can do before we’re ushered out of the home and into the backstreets of Eureka. We don’t even get a chance to thank Atlas’s parents. I follow the Angelics with a narrow tunnel vision as if we’re in some thriller or action movie.
Our path takes us through the main street, the center of town. The nondescript white van the Angelics arrived in can be spotted next to a turnoff for a car shed. Our gait is poised and nonchalant, the perfect pace not to draw unnecessary attention. But I feel an uneasiness—dart my eyes in every direction, afraid the Barclay Network will rain down everything they’ve got at any given moment.
Time suspends, stretches. The pattering of boots sounds from the asphalt behind us. I crane my neck and watch two black-clad mercenaries and an all-too-familiar skull mask barrel in our direction.
Chapter 38
Conin
The mercenaries are upon us before we can react. There’s nowhere to flee, nothing Ezra, Atlas, and I can do in time—
“Levi Finch,” Atlas says breathlessly.
Callum’s brother.
I get confirmation when a wave of heat and smoldering flames nearly burns us alive. If not for Ambrosia’s timely counterattack, we would’ve been goners. The fire narrowly misses with the swipe of her armored hands. The flames disperse both ways to reveal Levi Finch’s twisted grin. I notice the familiar features he shares with his brother. Same sandy hair, same psychopathic stare, same piercing green eyes with the underlying need to kill. He sports no scars of his own, but his wild expression is enough to send chills down my entire body.
Ambrosia and Matt are armored head to toe—where the armor materialized from, I can’t say, but I recall the emblems attached to the center of their chests in the MacPhersons’ which center the suit’s breastplate. Next to Levi, with lightning cracklingbetween her fingertips, is Mara Barclay, skull mask a haunting reminder of that night days ago. I didn’t kill her. I’m not a murderer.
She releases the lightning with a thunderous bang. I step down on my ankle and pain shoots up, though I manage to pull Ezra to the ground. Atlas takes the rear. Matt uncaps a canteen looped on to his armor. Water spills out. As he rapidly raises his arms, I’m reminded of Tommy as Matt barricades us from Mara’s attack with a wall of slopping liquid.
