He’s less defined, less muscular, less imposing. He has an anxious energy; his shoulders are rounded, his posture defensive. Standing next to James, he presents more like distant relatives. James emanates a magnetic energy that almost demands a response; he’s electric and breathtaking even at rest, the breadth of him both comforting and terrifying. Adam, by contrast, seems to exist on a quieter frequency. If he ever had the harder edges of his brothers, they’ve been sanded down by time.
He’s handsome in an unthreatening way.
He has a cartoon Band-Aid on one finger; his jacket is missing a button. His wedding ring is scuffed, dull, thoroughly worn. The glimmer of a snack wrapper peeks up out of the pocket of his jeans. He shakes the keys in his hand, from which hangs a bright, tiny toy action figure. He looks every inch an ordinary citizen. He seems far less likely—or capable—of killing someone.
“You’re unarmed,” I say to him.
He stops shaking the keys. “What?”
“No—you’reneverarmed,” I say, frowning as I assess him. “You’re not like your other brothers. You’re afraid of change. You don’t value ambition.” I pause. “You don’t seek glory, do you? Your aims are smaller. You prefer routine. You fear death.”
Now he looks taken aback. “What? I’m not—Wait, how do you know I’m never armed—”
“Whoa,” says Winston, gaping at me. “That was scary.”
“Stings, doesn’t it?” James says to his brother. “You should’ve heard what she had to say about me. Felt like I’d been disemboweled.”
Adam stares between the two of us, dumbfounded.
“All right.” Winston claps his hands, then straightens to his full height. “Do me next. I’m ready. I can take it.”
Nazeera cuts him a look.
“What?” he argues. “I’m serious. I need a ten-second psychological evaluation that could ruin my life. It might be the motivation I need to finally get my shit together.”
James rubs at his eyes. “I hate all of you.”
“Wait,” says Adam. “Wait.She never answered my question—”
“You don’t have to worry,” I say to him. “I’m going to fix things.”
“But—”
“Bro, enough, stop asking her questions,” James says angrily. “For the last fucking time, she’sliterallystarving, and we will discuss this over dinner.” He throws opens the front door and a cold breeze immediately penetrates the little house.
“James—wait—” I try to say.
“No, this is not up for debate,” he says. He storms back inside the house, grabs me by the puffed sleeve where my hand should be, and tugs me across the threshold.
“James—”
“No.”
I give an unintelligible cry as we’re hit by the cold blast of early evening.
29
Warner
“Look,” says Kenji. “All I’m trying to say is that, everything considered, I think that went pretty well.”
I glance at him. “He was crying.”
“Yeah, but isn’t Hugo always crying these days?”
I look into the darkening night with a sigh, bracing myself as a brisk wind pushes through the street. It’s a struggle to clear out the sounds of the man’s broken sobs from my head. I had to tell Hugo why he wouldn’t be showing up to the prison tomorrow. I had to explain that we were ending the interrogation process and cutting off his access to his daughter for an indefinite period of time. I had to tell him we were transferring Rosabelle to a safe house. I could not assure him that she would survive. I could not promise him he would see her again.
The meeting did not, in fact, go well.
