“I don’t doubt his ability. Just his methods.”
The gun was white hot against Noam’s back. “He did what was necessary. I’ve read the history books too.”
“History is written by the victors.” Brennan turned, his narrowed gaze holding Noam in place. Brennan’s mouth was thin. “You look nervous, boy.”
Did he? Sweat prickled the back of Noam’s neck.
God, his head felt like it was about to explode.
“I’m not,” Noam said.
Brennan frowned, like he saw right through the lie and into Noam’s quivering core. There was a certain weakness to the way he grasped the arms of his chair as he sat again. When he spoke, it was with surprising gentleness.
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”
He knows.Brennan knows.
Noam hadn’t realized, a moment ago, how comforting it was to feel he still had a choice. But with those words, Brennan had just slammed shut the door of escape. If he tried to leave now, he’d have to kill his way out of here once Brennan called for help. Everyone would know the truth—that Noam came to kill someone and that Lehrer had sent him. In one moment of cowardice, Noam would demolish half of Carolinia’s government. He’d damn the refugees. He’d reinforce Sacha’s authority.
He couldn’t just walk away.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Noam said, trying to buy himself time, but there wasn’t any. It had leaked away, all of it, while Noam wasn’t looking.
Brennan shook his head. “You do.” He breathed in. Noam could see the tension in his neck from here. “You’re sixteen. You’ve never killed a man.”
Noam shook his head and wondered if this was it, if this was the moment he was supposed todosomething. He stood there silently and watched it slide by.
“Don’t be in such a rush to get started.”
Brennan looked past Noam, toward the shut door, and a shadow crossed his face—something almost like pain, deepening at the end toward regret. Noam understood why a split second later when he felt Brennan’s hand close around the handgun strapped to the underside of the desk.
Noam had sparred too often with Lehrer to hesitate. He yanked the gun out of Brennan’s hand before Brennan could pull back the hammer. The grip was slippery in Noam’s palm when he caught it out of the air, and he shifted his posture to a steadier stance. Aimed the gun at Brennan’s head.
“Don’t move!”
Brennan, on his feet, stopped, both hands slowly lifting to shoulder height.
“Noam,” he said, very carefully, “think about this. You don’t have to do this. I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but there are other ways. Let... we can talk about them. Sit down. Please.”
“Be quiet,” Noam said. If he thought his headache was bad before, that was nothing compared to the way it felt now.
Brennan shut up. His gaze flicked around the room, looking for another exit.
There wasn’t one. Noam had checked.
Noam squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. Maybe he could just knock Brennan out. Maybe if he hit hard enough, Brennan wouldn’t remember what had happened when he woke up.
Red sparks flashed against his eyelids.
He was so fucking stupid. He never should have come here. He should have stayed in the barracks where he belonged. He wasn’t Dara, and he sure as hell wasn’t Lehrer—no matter how much he might like to be. What was hedoinghere?
Brennan’s wristwatch moved.
“Stay where you are,” Noam snapped and opened his eyes. Brennan had made it to the side of his desk, hands still in the air. “I mean it. Stay right there, or I’ll shoot.”
“You won’t,” Brennan said. He took another tiny step forward. “You can’t. You’re too afraid.”
“That makes me more likely to shoot you, not less.” Noam’s hands were so sweaty he felt like he was going to drop the gun, but they didn’t shake.
