Sacha placed the circlet over his brow once more and stood. He lingered there a moment, fingertips brushing the back of his chair. “Your friend Dara knows Lehrer better than anyone. I’m given to understand his telepathy makes him one of the only people Calix can’t influence. So why do you think Dara turned on him?” A thin smile. “Consider that, Noam, while you decide how much you’d like to tell me.”
Sacha left. The door slid shut behind him, and Noam sat there, staring at his own white-faced reflection in the one-way mirror.
This wasn’t something he could dismiss out of hand—he had to...
He had to at least consider Sacha might be telling the truth.
But what would that mean? Just how deep did this go? Had Lehrer forced Noam to agree to kill Brennan?
What about the coup, or how easily Noam discarded Dara’s warnings in favor of trusting Lehrer?
No one does anything in this country that Lehrer doesn’t want them to.
Dara said that, up on the roof. Was it possible—Sacha, with the Faraday cage... all those horrible things Sacha did. Was Lehrer responsible for that too? Was it just a play to undermine Sacha’s power and pose Lehrer as his heroic opponent?
Noam pressed his brow against the heels of his hands, hunching forward to brace his elbows on the table.
Fuck. No. That wasn’t right. Sacha had worn that crown for ages now. So even if Lehrer could have controlled him once, he hadn’t for a while. And in that time, Sacha made no moves to dismantle the refugee camps. He’d even declared martial law—goaded by Noam and Lehrer’s machinations, sure, but that was stillSacha’sdecision. Sacha wasn’t some lily-white victim.
But part of Noam believed him anyway.
Jesus.
How was Noam supposed to untangle this shit? Impossible to tell how much was another layer of Lehrer’s game and how much was a ploy on Sacha’s part to twist Noam’s loyalty. If Noam still trusted Lehrer, wasthatreal? Had Lehrer ever ordered Noam to trust him?
He couldn’t remember.
Noam exhaled roughly, lifting his head and looking up toward the ceiling. He had to choose. He had to pick a side and hope to hell he wasn’t making a mistake.
Either way, he was probably being manipulated.
The door opened again. But it wasn’t Sacha this time. It was some man Noam only recognized from photographs, General Ames’s replacement: the new home secretary.
Noam frowned. “Minister Holloway?”
“Oh, right,” Holloway said and waved his hand.
The illusion dissipated, there one second and gone the next. Noam leaped to his feet, adrenaline burning through his veins. The sudden change in position made him light headed, Noam grabbing on to the table for balance.
Dara was pale, skin stained by the circles beneath his eyes and his clothes disheveled—but it was him. It washim.
“Come on,” Dara said. “I’m getting you out of here.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Dara. Dara, still flushed with fevermadness. Dara, who could read minds and hated Lehrer and spied for Sacha’s government. Dara washere. Breaking Noam out of jail.
“We have to hurry,” Dara said when Noam didn’t move, glancing over his shoulder toward the anteroom.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Sacha?” Noam said. “You...”
Dara didn’t look well. Whatever else, Lehrer was right about that much: Dara was definitely sick.
Dara’s face contorted into a brief, complicated expression. “Don’t worry about it. Please, Noam, we need togo.”
He held out his hand, and somehow that broke the fragile ice that had frozen Noam’s feet to the floor. Noam lurched forward, and Dara’s hand closed around his, firm and overhot and pulling him out the cell door.
The anteroom was filled with bodies.
