My things.
I don’t have them.
Leeanne’s crew must’ve stripped me of them when they discovered what my backpack contained. I can’t imagine they’d want someone walking around with an unregistered handgun, would they?
“I stole it from a mercenary pursuing Ezra and me,” I reply, brief, deliberate.
The Angelic finally looks up.
“Which mercenary?”
Were they not told?
“Mara Barclay, of the Barclay Network.”
The Angelic blinks, then rapidly puts ink to paper.
“What happened?”
“She was apprehended by the Angelics in Eureka.”
“Is this where you came into possession of the gun?”
Don’t lie. Don’t give them a reason not to trust me.
“No.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Is it pertinent information?” I ask sarcastically. “I’m sorry, I don’t see how any of this is necessary.”
“The more we know about you, the better,” they say, yet elaborate no further. So, I reluctantly retell the story, from the encounter in the motel to the events on the highway. They write studiously in their notes, as if trying not to leave out a single detail.
“Alright, we’re finished here. I’ll pass you along to Katherine for orientation and room assignment. She’ll give you back your stuff, but the gun will be held at Headquarters.”
“Thank you,” I lie and wait to be escorted out.
I’m led to a meeting room in the vast warehouse where the Angelics are keeping us. Neither Ezra nor Atlas have been seen since our interaction with Leeanne, which deeply unsettles me. The room’s vacant when we arrive, and I’m told to sit down anywhere in the rows of fold-up metal chairs. These chairs remind me of the many times Mom and I were late to church, subject to sitting in the overfill for latecomers at the back of the hall.
I choose a seat at the back of the room, an eye on the only entrance and a solid wall behind me. I’m dressed in clothes I wasn’t wearing in the suite. If memory serves me well, I wasn’t clothed before succumbing to sleep—limbs twisted with Ezra’s, his head propped underneath my chin. Next, we were in this warehouse, and I was clothed in a shirt and sweatpants kept in my backpack.
Ezra appears across the threshold, gaze transfixed on me. My worries dissolve at the sight of him. Atlas trails behind, seeming a little worse for wear.
“Are you okay?” I whisper to Ezra.
“I’m fine. You?”
“Yeah.” I close the space for a kiss.
He wasn’t expecting the move, so he and I get an awkward peck on the edge of the lips. His smile’s coy, while I brush it off with some playful laughter. Atlas is dormant next to us, staring at the carpeted floor. I feel a sense of loss for him.
A lady enters. Her eyes pan from the front of the room to where our trio sits, as if she were expecting us to sit closer. I have no plans to satisfy any request to move, not while this wall is at my back. “Ah, I see you’ve all survived our extensive questioning,” she says to brighten the room.
None of us laugh. Atlas looks as if he’s seen a ghost. Ezra and I hold hands, myself watching her in reproachful disapproval. She grins awkwardly and moves for a chair, grabbing its back, thenshuffles over to sit close. She clasps her aged hands above her kneecaps.
“I’m Katherine,” she sighs, “but let’s cut the pleasantries. You three have been through a lot. I’d rather not have you sit through another hour or two of orientation you’ll be dreading the entire time. So, how about this? We get you some food, I’m sure you’re starving. Then we’ll take you to your assigned rooms so you can get settled. Here—”
Katherine groans and walks to the front, where she grabs three large packets. She returns and hands us each one. They’re intimidating, binder-thick. Katherine nods gravely.
