Noam.
Dara pushed to his feet, the legs of his barstool scraping against the floor. He was dizzy with the change in posture, sick with it, but god,god—
“Why are you here?” he said, too sharply.
Did Lehrer know? Oh god, was—was Lehrer coming right on Noam’s heels, had hefollowedhim here? Would the door open one final time, Lehrer’s figure a shadow against the streetlights, his magic a snap of gold and glitter as he crushed all their hearts in their chests?
But maybe Noam came here on his own, because he knew, because he finallyunderstood, because he was leaving Lehrer and joining the resistance and fighting at last to bring Lehrer down.
Vertigo crept in black waves through Dara’s vision. He clutched the bar for balance.Relax. You have to be in control.
Noam stared back at him, unspeaking. Damn it, why didn’t he answer? Why was he looking at Dara like that, like—
“I invited him,” Holloway said, settling himself down on an empty stool and leaning one elbow atop the bar. He looked so out of place in his bespoke suit next to the recycled wood counter and the dirty glass ashtrays, like an actor who’d walked onto the wrong set.
“Noam Álvaro,” Priya said flatly. “Lehrer’s student.”
“And Dara’s old friend.” Holloway’s expression was calm as a shallow sea. “Isn’t that right, Dara?”
Everyone was looking at Dara now.
Dara ignored Holloway. “Are you here to stay?”
But he knew the answer, even before Noam opened his mouth. It was written all over Noam’s face, the furrow between his brows and the way he braced his shoulders, tilting his head back to stand a little taller.
“No,” said Noam. “And that’s exactly why you need me.”
Dara wished he could reach for magic, twist it into something electric and painful that he could snap against Noam’s skin. This was Noam’s problem: he was too good, tooagonizinglygood, which meant he couldn’t see further than the end of his nose.
Noam and his goddamn hero complex were going to get them all killed.
Claire shot Priya a sidelong glance. “He could be under persuasion. Do you think ...?”
“I’m not.” Noam stepped farther into the room, and Dara recognized that glint in his eyes.Stupid, stubborn boy.“He can’t read my mind, either, before you ask. I found a way to keep him out.” His arms folded over his chest. “If Lehrer thought I knew about his psionic abilities, he’d kill me. Or make me forget. That’s how you know I’m telling the truth.”
“Lehrer could still be controlling him,” Priya said. “This could be Lehrer’s script. A gambit. I don’t like it.”
But Claire was looking at Dara now. Her long spiky nails drummed an arrhythmic beat on the counter; it set Dara’s teeth on edge. “Can we trust him?”
It was so damn tempting to say no.
Only, if Noam walked out of here—if he wasn’t allowed to come back—Dara might not get to see him again.
Noam’s gaze was still steady and fixed on Dara.
Dara sat back down, gripping the seat of the barstool hard enough it hurt. He felt like he’d swallowed acid. “Yes. We can.”
For better or for worse.
Noam’s mouth tipped into a smile, almost like he was trying to showgratitude. Dara shot back his best withering glare and looked away.
He kept his attention fixed on the condensation building at the base of his club soda, one droplet cutting a quick path down to dampen the napkin tucked underneath, as Claire said:
“All right, then. Take a seat. And a beer, maybe—you’re serving, right, Leo?”
“He’s seventeen. He’ll have water,” Leo said and grabbed a glass, holding it under the tap. His movements were still stiff, mechanical.
Noam slid onto one of the stools nearer the door. Dara wished the bar weren’t quite so small after all. Even on the other side of the room, Noam was close enough Dara caught the way he glanced sidelong at him. Close enough to make out the tightening to his lips and the tension in his cheek.
