Dara screaming,Don’t let themandPleaseand Noam’s name, like someone praying the Shema.
The sickness in Noam’s stomach.
Knowing he did the right thing. Hating himself anyway.
Gold-glitter magic.
The moment they won the day, Carolinia’s blue banner unfurling anew over the government complex.
The crowd chanting Lehrer’s name.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
It was three days after the coup—three days after the military junta seized control, two days after the Atlantian refugees were granted citizenship by executive order, one day after Brennan’s body was put in the ground—before Noam saw Lehrer again.
They lit fireworks in west Durham, dazzling bursts of color lighting up the sky, visible even from the courtyard of the government complex. Noam sat on a bench with Dara’s flask of bourbon between his knees, face lifted starward.
He ought to be happy. They won.
He wasn’t happy. His blood sludged through his veins, breath stale in his lungs and stomach swollen with something rotten.
Guilt, of course. He knew that. It was natural. Of course it was. He killed a man. He killed Brennan.
That’s all he saw every time he shut his eyes. Brennan’s dead gaze and the flare of blood on the wall behind his desk, red and vibrant as one of those fireworks.
Sometimes he saw Dara instead. Those times were worse, somehow, because he deserved to feel guilty over Brennan. He deserved worse than guilt. But Dara? There, at least, he’d done the right thing. Dara would be okay. Dara would be safe. Dara might not realize it yet, but soon he’d be healthy and happy and back to his old self.
If he survived these next few months, that is.
The last thing Dara shouted—the last thing Noam understood, anyway, before Lehrer’s men took him away—waskill me.
“I thought I might find you here.”
Noam looked up.
Lehrer had discarded his military uniform in favor of a plain suit. Understated. Political.
“Is everything all right?” Lehrer said.
He must have noticed the bourbon but pretended not to.
“I’m fine,” Noam said. “Just... thinking.”
Lehrer gestured toward the bench. “Do you mind if I join you?”
Noam nodded. After a beat, he even thought to pick up the bottle cap and screw it back on the flask.
Even sitting, Lehrer’s body took up far more room than Noam’s. He rested an arm along the back of the bench and shifted to face Noam properly. He looked at Noam like Noam was the only person in the world.
“This past week has been difficult,” Lehrer said. “I know that. And I hope you realize you can talk to me.”
Noam sat on his hands to keep from reaching for his flask. “I’m fine,” he said eventually. He couldn’t quite meet Lehrer’s gaze, even now. Even after everything Lehrer had done for him, for Atlantians. For Carolinia. He stared at his knees instead and said, “Sacha told me about your power. Mind control. I thought you should know that I know.”
He stole a glance, quick enough to catch the flicker of emotion darting across Lehrer’s face: shock, uncertainty, a sudden tension. Noam braced himself for Lehrer to—what? Kill him, like Sacha said he would?
Noam knew Lehrer better than that, or so he liked to think.
“It’s notmindcontrol, Noam.”
