Colton drew a breath. “There.”
She followed where he indicated, staring up the road, and saw nothing of note. Several snow-blanketed cars sat parked along the curb. A scarecrow stood lashed to a lamppost, his autumnal court laid to waste by the unseasonal squall. A faceless couple made their way down a nearby stoop, huddled close for warmth.
“Come on.” Colton headed off after them, drawing Delaney’s arm into his without tenderness or grace.
“We’re following people now,” she noted, wishing she’d worn more sensible shoes. Her feet were beginning to complain. A blister threatened to form on the back of her right heel. Colton didn’t slow.
“Quiet.”
“Don’t shush me.” She tried to wriggle out of his grasp and found herself rooted to him; his iron grip closed over her fingers. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s socially unacceptable to follow strangers at night like this?”
“They’re not strangers.” They rounded first one corner and then another—tailing the couple toward the city proper. “Not to me.”
They walked one block. Then another. Always hanging back, never getting close. Delaney felt distinctly like a voyeur, her heartbeat thudding in her ears. In her chest, the voice was silent, silent, silent. Only the dark murmured, jaded and ill at ease and huddled out of reach. As they idled at a crosswalk, she chanced a glance at Colton. He was quiet as the grave, his mouth soldered in a tight line, his jaw locked.
Softly, she asked, “Are we going to kill them?”
“No, Wednesday,” he said, flat. “We’re not going to kill anyone.”
The next rounded corner brought them to a pop-up market. The night became emblazoned in streaks of vivid gold, the white-tented street vendors illuminated beneath rows and rows of tea lights strung between buildings. Scant crowds of people milled about, sipping cocoa by a central firepit, listening to the live band, walking hand in hand between artisanal shops.
The crisp petroleum smell of city winter faded away, replaced by the treacle scents of warm chocolate and freshly baked bread. Up ahead, the couple paused at a small shop and bent down to inspect the wares. At this new proximity, and with the aid of light, Delaney could see that the woman was pregnant. Every now and again, her hand ran absently over the prominent bulge beneath her coat.
Colton watched the couple without moving, every part of him threaded tight.
“Colton,” she said, softer than before. “Who are those people?”
This time, he answered. This time, he offered up a truth, singular and raw. “That’s my brother.”
“Your—” Something in her sank impossibly low. “Oh.”
Working her hand free of his, she turned back toward the vendor and the couple just in time to see the woman throw her head back and laugh. Her auburn hair caught gold in the lights. Next to her, the man grinned, tucking a newly wrapped parcel under his arm.
She could see it. The resemblance. It was there in the line of his shoulders, the sharp angle of his jaw, the crook of his smile. When they moved on, she watched them go, feeling a little like she’d felt while dreaming—as though she’d somehow stepped into Colton’s nightmare instead of her own. She thought, without meaning to, of the boy’s face half-buried in the earth, the little bones scattered in muddied furrows.
Look what he’s done.
Look what he’s done.
“Does he—”
But Colton was already speaking, his voice tight. “In every reality, it’s the same. Either I’m dead, or he is. I’ve gone through a thousand doors, and I’ve yet to find any different.”
She glanced up at him, surprised. “Colton—”
“I’m going to be an uncle.” His breath came shredded. “They’re expecting a baby in April.” He tracked the movements of his brother and sister-in-law as they wound through the market, disappearing and then reappearing amid the throng. “I thought I could do it. I thought if I agreed to work with the Apostle, I could find a way to keep him. To make him whole again. But look at him, does that look like a man who isn’t whole?”
Liam Price stood lit by the fire, his features thrown into stark relief, his arms around his wife. When she tilted her face up to his, he caught her, smiling, in a kiss.
“No,” she admitted. “He looks happy.”
“He moved on.” There was nothing bitter in Colton’s voice when he said it. Only sadness, deep and resolute. “He moved on, and I’ve been stuck chasing ghosts.”
A truth. Here was a truth. Here was a piece of Colton Price he didn’t give away, and he was giving it to her. Severing it from himself, here in this snowy Boston entire worlds away from home. She reached out without thinking and slipped her fingers back into his. His hand tightened instantly around hers. His throat bobbed in a swallow.
“I love you,” he said, speaking suddenly and unexpectedly.
All the breath ran out of her on an exhale. “What?”
