His rage carried him all the way back to the government complex, one mental finger on social media—his technopathy had become reflexive now; it was easier than ever to hold multiple lines of thought—in case anyone tried to upload a video from today. But the hashtags were clean. No traitors.
Not yet.
Noam was certain if he went to Lehrer’s right now, he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face. He’d end up punching Lehrer’s, breaking his knuckles on Lehrer’s cheek—Lehrer unharmed, of course. So he went back to the barracks instead, climbing the stairs with heavy feet.
Bethany was the only one there, curled up on the common room sofa with sock feet tucked under her weight and a holoreader perched against her knees. She looked up when he came in, a blip of electricity flickering against Noam’s senses as she shut off her computer.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
Noam frowned. Was it that obvious? “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You look like you haven’t been getting a lot of sleep—that’s all.” It was diplomatically put; Bethany was a healer. She could probably tell exactly how much sleep Noam had or hadn’t gotten. But he couldn’t sense her magic right now, characteristically rosy like a soft sunrise glow, so maybe his exhaustion really was written all over his face.
“Curse of working two jobs,” Noam said. “I’m counting Level IV as a job, by the way.”
“Seems fair.” Bethany moved over on the couch and patted the seat cushion next to her; he dropped his satchel by the coffee table and sat, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling.
“Sorry,” he mumbled eventually. “I’m not gonna be very interesting tonight.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time around Lehrer,” Bethany said.
He looked at her, a muscle clenching in his jaw—but she gazed back with an even expression, unruffled.
“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked at last, words coming out tight.
“Maybe nothing,” she said slowly. “But ... you know ... I can sense when someone’s hurt. It’s hard to ignore. And I never said anything because I didn’t think it was my business, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t notice.”
Noam’s breath came quicker now, little sips of air that he couldn’t keep in his lungs. He wet dry lips. “Dara.”
She nodded. “I healed him a few times. If it was bad enough.”
Noam let his head fall forward against his hands, dragging fingers back through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I know ... about that.”
“Maybe I should have done something,” Bethany whispered, tone curling up slightly at the end of the sentence like it was half a question. “I thought it was right to keep his secrets, but ...”
When he opened his eyes this time, he saw Bethany had drawn her legs up toward her chest, both arms wrapped around her shins and color darkening her cheeks. She couldn’t look at him now—just kept her gaze fixed on the far wall, glaring at it. Her lashes were damp.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Noam said. He reached over and curled his hand around her wrist, squeezing very lightly. “Listen to me, Bethany. I mean it. There was nothing you could have done. Nothing he would havewantedyou to do. Even if you had told someone ... Dara would have denied it, and Lehrer would have buried it, and nothing would’ve changed.”
“I know,” she breathed. “I just wish he ... I wish he’d let someone help. You know?”
Noam nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do.” He twisted toward her more fully, sliding his arm around her shoulders and tugging her into a half embrace. She fit her head beneath his chin, her blonde hair tickling Noam’s nose when he tipped his face down to kiss her crown. “My mother killed herself. I don’t know if I ever told you.”
She shook her head against his chest. “No. I’m sorry.”
“It was years ago now. It’s—” Only he couldn’t say it was fine, because it wasn’t. Even now. “I blamed myself. I didn’t even know she was sick. I had ...noidea. I spent every day with her, and I still didn’t see it coming. And I kept thinking there must have been signs. People don’t just ...dothat, they—”
“Noam ...”
“There was nothing I could have done,” Noam said. “I know. That’s my point. There was nothing I could have done, just like there’s nothing you could’ve done. You can’t fix everything.”
It had the false note of words said to convince himself as much as her, but he needed to believe it. Needed to try.
But even now, Noam wondered if someday someone might say that about him. If whatever infected his mother—his father—lived in his blood as well, and one day it would rise up and consume him whole. And there would be nothing he or anyone else could do to stop it.
