Behind Mira’s back, I widened my eyes. Nodded once and mouthed“say yes”.
“Yes,” Lucian said. The half-second delay was almost imperceptible. “The scheduling. It’s handled.”
“What was the issue exactly?”
Another pause. Longer this time. His gaze cut to me again and I could feel the silent conversation happening across the room.What did you tell her? What scheduling? Why am I lying about shifts I actually did today?
I made a frantic face behind Mira’s head. Pointed at Solomon’s papers. Made a vague circular gesture that was meant to communicate“just go with it”but probably looked unhinged.
“Overlap in the rotation,” Lucian said. Smooth now, recovering. “Two crews assigned to the same window. Paperwork error.”
Mira’s head whipped around toward me.
I looked at the ceiling, whistling. It was suddenly very fascinating. I examined a very interesting spot on the wall that I’d never noticed before.
“Percival.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“You’re lucky you recently got shot.”
“Totally grateful. I’m gonna keep cashing this in.”
“But you’re all hiding something.” She pointed at each of us in turn. “You. You. And you.” Her finger landed on Lucian last. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
She picked up her book and returned to reading with the pointed silence.
Lucian crossed to the doorframe and leaned against it. The look he gave me over Mira’s head was a masterclass in restrained annoyance.
I mouthed“sorry”and took another sip of the smoothie as penance.
The silence stretched, loaded and obvious, until I decided that someone needed to break it before Mira started asking questions none of us were ready to answer.
And also, I was starting to feel guiltier about the lie.
“So,” I said. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous. You’ll hurt yourself again,” Mira murmured without looking up from her book.
“About the bond.”
That got her attention. The book lowered an inch. Her eyes lifted to mine, curious and cautious in equal measure.
Solomon shifted in his chair. Lucian, who’d been leaning against the doorframe, straightened. Both of them recognized what I was doing. The look they exchanged confirmed it: this was a conversation that needed to happen, and I’d just volunteered to start it.
We couldn’t tell her some things for now but we should definitely tell her the stuff we can talk about. Gotta build that healthy communication. And since the other two are, again, emotionally constipated, I have to do the heavy lifting.
“You’ve been feeling things,” I begin. “Through the bond. Emotions that aren’t yours. The pull toward us that you can’t explain. Also, the way we knew you were in danger at the dance before anything happened.”
“The alarm,” she said. “How you found me in the forest.”
“That was the bond. It’s incomplete, but it’s strong enough to transmit distress. Fear. Proximity.” I held her gaze. “What you’re feeling now is the thread. The beginning of the connection.”
She closed the book, setting it on the coffee table with full attention. “And the rest of the connection?”
“Claiming.” Lucian’s voice from the doorway. One word.
