Warner doesn’t bite; he keeps his eyes on me. “Why don’t you think she’s going to murder anyone?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Are you really here to ask me what I think? After icing me out for over a week, you’re finally ready to hear what I have to say?”
My brother’s expression only darkens.
Kenji laughs, but he sounds nervous. “Yeah, maybe we should table this conversation for another time—”
“Don’t make me regret it,” Warner says to me. “I’m only here because I have a responsibility to make sure I’ve explored every possible avenue for answers.”
“Fine.” I cross my arms against my chest. “Has she been eating?”
Warner stills. “What?”
“In prison. Has she been eating?”
He studies me for what feels like too long, clearly weighing whether to share this information. Finally, he says, “I came here to askyouquestions.”
I shrug. “You want me to tell you what I think she’s doing or where she’s gone—but I can’t offer confident answerswithout knowing more about her recent behaviors.” I nod at him. “Has she been eating? Yes or no?”
Warner exhales slowly. The gathering clouds part briefly, a blade of sun slanting across his face, severing him into equal parts light and shadow. “The fugitive,” he says, “is in roughly the same physical state now as she was upon incarceration.”
I have to assume this means she’s been eating just enough. Not really the answer I was hoping for, but getting him to give up even a crumb of information feels like a win.
I try again: “Has she been sleeping?”
“No,” says Warner.
“No?” I echo, raising my eyebrows. “Not at all?”
“Why do you need to know this stuff?” Kenji asks, shifting uneasily. “What does eating and sleeping have to do with where she’s going? This girl is on the loose—we need to get moving—”
“Wait,” Warner says quietly, watching me. “James wants to know how the fugitive is feeling.”
“Ew,” says Kenji. “Can we go?”
“So she just... hasn’t been sleeping?” I ask Warner. “Not even a little?”
“Not well.”
Even now, after everything, I can hardly control the uncharted feeling that moves through me at the admission. Apparently, the instinct to protect Rosabelle hasn’t died in me at all. Nine days and she’s hardly slept. That makes two of us.
Great, I hate it.
“Thank you for the insight,” Warner says, straightening. His eyes go cold. “I see nothing’s changed.”
I look up, stunned. Instantly pissed off.
A little humiliated.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it right away: he was only answering my questions to gain something in return.
Dickhead.
It’s always embarrassing to be emotionally examined by Warner. Sometimes I really hate that he can read other people’s energies. He’s constantly giving me shit for taking my healing abilities for granted—and he’s probably right that it’s made me reckless—but I don’t think he realizes he’s just as blinded by his own powers.
Warner’s greatest strength is also his greatest weakness.
He relies too much on his ability to sense other people’s emotions, forgetting that it’s not a precise science. There can be nuance in feeling—people can feel multiple things at the same time—and it can all be true, and it can all be changing.
