Dalton doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. The thing on his face is its own answer.
Tomlinson looks at me. At my wrist. At the marks there, dark and distinct and plural.
"How many," he says.
"Five bonded," I say. "One waiting."
He absorbs that. Nods slowly. The acting headmaster expression settling over something more personal.
"I have to tell Gavin," he says. "The bond status of residents and staff is a panel disclosure requirement. I can't circumvent that." A pause. "But I'm not calling him tonight. You have time to get ahead of it." He looks at Dalton. "Use it."
Dalton breathes out. One breath, controlled. The fear reorganizing — still there, still for me, but shifting into calculation underneath it.
Tomlinson looks at me. Then at Dalton.
"I know what I'm looking at," he says. Not administrative. Something more personal underneath it.
The quad is quiet around us.
"Tomlinson," I say.
He looks at me.
"Why are you giving us time?" I say.
He's quiet for a moment.
"You'll have to meet my mate Rae," he says. "To fully understand." He looks between us. "Get ahead of it before Gavin hears it from someone else."
He nods once and goes inside.
Jon takes a deliberate sip of his coffee. Looks at Dalton. "You should have told him yourself," he says. Not unkind. Just true.
"I know," Dalton says.
"Earlier," Jon says.
"Jon," I say.
He stops.
"He knows," I say.
Jon looks at me. Then at Dalton. Makes the sound of a man conceding a point and goes back to his coffee.
Dalton is still looking at the door Tomlinson went through. The fear has settled into something else — not gone, just reorganized. The Dalton version of processing, which is to go very quiet and start building the next move.
"Hey," I say.
He looks at me.
"He said we have some time," I say.
Something moves in his face. The careful thing and underneath it the fear and underneath that — Dalton deciding something.
Chapter twelve
Alex
