Dara tilted his head to one side, and for a second Noam thought he didn’t believe him—only, no, that wasn’t it. There was a softness to Dara’s gaze that hadn’t been there before, aconsideration.
“Ames told us you went to Dallas with Lehrer,” he said. “Was that ...” He didn’t finish the sentence, but Noam couldn’t help imagining what might’ve come next—Was that okay? Wereyouokay?
Although that might be wishful thinking on Noam’s part. There were so many ways that question could end.
“Yeah,” Noam said, lifting a hand to drag his fingers back through his hair. He dropped down onto the edge of Dara’s bed, the spring mattress bouncing a little under his weight. “It was ...”
Terrible.
Noam hadn’t slept the entire flight back to Durham. Just paced the length of the plane, adrenaline shivering up and down his spine. And every time he shut his eyes, he saw the bodies of those soldiers crumpling as Noam killed them—killed all of them. Every time he stood still, he felt Lehrer’s touch on his skin—heard Lehrer’s voice:We’ll see.
His mouth had gone dry. He licked his lips, or tried to. Shook his head. “I ...”
Dara was staring at him from across the room.
“We saw combat,” Noam said eventually. “Ames probably told you.”
Dara exhaled, shifting his weight to the other foot. “She did,” he said. “I ... I’m sorry. I know that was ...”
Noam tipped his head forward to scrub the heels of both palms over his face. “Thousands of people. I killed ...thousandsof people, Dara. For fucking—for what? ForLehrer? For this bullshit—this—”
“People die in war. It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, well, these people died because ofme. So it kinda is my fault, actually.”
“You weren’t you. You were—you’re a soldier, Noam. You acted forCarolinia.”
Noam laughed against his own hands, the sound muffled and low. “You know I’m an anarchist, right? I don’t even believe in fucking ... I don’t believe in borders. I don’t believe instates. But I just killed a whole lotta people in the name of one.”
“What else were we supposed to do? Texas is locking up witchings—experimenting on them. I hate Lehrer more than anyone, but he’s right. Something had to be done.” Dara’s footsteps were soft as they approached. The mattress dipped next to him—and after a long moment, Dara’s hand settled light on Noam’s spine. “Besides,” he added, “I thought you were a communist. Wasn’t that the point of your whole coup?”
Noam snorted and lifted his head. Dara was watching him with a small smile on his lips, soft and hesitant. “That,” Noam said, “was before I really got to know Calix Lehrer. I’ve changed my mind now. All states are corrupt.”
“Edgy, Álvaro.”
“Says the guy who tried to shoot a head of state at a dinner party.”
Dara’s grin tilted a little wider. “I also killed Sacha for you, so I think I deservesomeancom street cred.”
“Did you just unironically say the wordsstreet cred?”
“Is that not a thing people say anymore?”
“Dara, that is not a thing anyone haseversaid.” Somehow it felt as if a weight had lifted from Noam’s chest; his next breath came easier, and Dara’s hand smoothed against his back, dragging from his neck down his spine and then up again.
After a second Dara took in a breath—a sharp one, like he was girding himself for something—and said, “Noam. When you went to Dallas—”
But he didn’t get a chance to finish the thought, as that was the moment Ames chose to return from the bathroom, pale but otherwise not much worse for wear. The conversation naturally refocused around her and what the hell she was supposed to tell Lehrer when he called her in to debrief, and how utterly fucked they’d all be if Lehrer persuaded her again.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go back at all,” Ames said, standing there by the window staring down at the radiator as it spat weak steam against the wall. She kicked it, but even the violence was half-hearted. “I know way too much. If Lehrer gets paranoid ...”
“You could stay here,” Dara suggested, gesturing at the room. “It’s not exactly diplomatic accommodations, but it’s better than the alternative.”
“What would I tell Lehrer?” Noam said. “That y’all realized she was a spy? Then what—you killed her? Or should I say y’all have some massive stockpile of suppressants somewhere that he doesn’t know about? I can’t tell him about Faraday.”
“You don’t have to tell him either way. We could be using suppressants still, but we’re running low. It would make us sound weak—that’s beneficial.”
Noam twisted his cuff in his fingers, looking for a loose thread to wrap round his knuckles—but his shirt was too new, too expensive. He clenched his nails in against his palms instead. “I don’t think so. The whole argument for leaving Ames in place to begin with was that we could control the flow of information—let Lehrer think he has two functioning spies, corroborate our stories. If he knows we’ve made her, he’ll have to act fast to mitigate the damage. And he won’t expect me to befinewith it—I’ll have to be ... I’ll have to be angry with him.”
