“For fuck’s—we’d bedefenseless, Dara. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. And I hate Lehrer as much as you do, but—”
Dara snorted.
Noam clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might grind his teeth into dust. “Have something to say, Shirazi?”
When he looked, Dara’s face was a mask of bitter amusement, mouth twisted in a tight knotted smile. “You really must hate him a lot,” Dara said, “to throw yourself at him like you did.”
It was exactly what Noam expected him to say, but somehow it still sent ice plunging into his veins. He swallowed against the bloody taste in the back of his throat. “Are you done?” he managed at last, each syllable rough on his tongue, like speaking a foreign language.
“You’re defending him.”
“I’m explaining how hethinks. Isn’t that what you asked for, Dara? You said yourself I needed to understand him.”
Dara laughed. “I was wrong. You don’t need to understand him—you’re justlikehim.”
For a moment Noam couldn’t breathe properly, as if oxygen had turned to acid in his lungs. He kept his gaze fixed on the road, intently enough the horizon began to blur and wave.
The silence stretched on, long enough it was too late for Noam to fill.
Next to him, Dara picked up the Beretta. He turned it over in his hand, rubbing his thumb against the hammer; Noam felt his heat against the metal as if Dara was touching his own skin.
“How many people have you killed?” Dara said.
“What the hell kind of question is that?” Noam bit out, even though when he clenched his eyes shut to clear his vision, all he could see was the look on the face of that man he killed in the QZ with Lehrer. The fear widening his pupils. The taste of blood and magic in the air.
Noam couldn’t even remember the dead man’s name anymore.
“A fair question,” Dara retorted, and he put the gun back where he found it, dropping the weapon like he found it distasteful to touch. “How many, Noam? Just the one? Or have you been practicing since you killed Tom Brennan?”
“Shut up,” Noam said, mouth barely moving.
“Is that how you and Lehrer got so close,really? All those little assassination plots—did it turn you on, having so much power?”
“I saidshut up!” Noam slammed on the brakes to avoid running the next red light, his pulse pounding in his head and his knuckles gone white around the wheel. He turned a glare to Dara, who had gone still, both hands pressed against the flat of his seat. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t—I’m doing the best I fucking can, and I’m sorry if that’s not good enough for you. But I’ve been managing pretty well on my own these past six months. I don’t fucking—I don’tneedyou, Dara.”
The silence following those words was brittle as glass. Dara’s eyes were wide, glittering with the reflection of the stoplight as it switched back to green.
Noam turned back to the road, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He still felt Dara’s gaze on him, at least for a little while. Then Dara turned away, pressing his brow against the passenger-side window, and Noam finally dared to suck in another breath.
They drove like that for a while, in silence. Noam’s heart felt bruised in his chest, twinging painfully with every beat.
Noam couldn’t look at him. He glanced into the rearview mirror instead, into the too-bright glow of the headlights behind them. Better to be safe—no way to know if the Texas guy put a tail on them, or ditched the burner phone and followed them himself. Noam took the next left, then the left after that. Dara said nothing, just rolled down the window and draped one arm over the sill, fingers toying with the breeze.
Noam’s fault. This was all Noam’s fault—the way Dara felt right now, the fact he couldn’t leave his apartment, all that anger tangled in a vibrant knot in Dara’s mind. If Dara had still had magic, Noam might haveseenthat rage, even, green fractals sparking and splitting off Dara’s skin.
If Noam had never gotten involved with Lehrer ... if he’d killed him when he had the chance, after they sparred, Lehrer’s cheeks flushed and his shirt sticking to his sweaty chest ...
Noam could have finished things then and there. It would have been easy.
He hadn’t.
To go back to Dara’s apartment, they should turn right at the next light. But Noam didn’t even slow down as he approached the intersection, just reached into the cell panel controlling the lights and switched them from red to green.
He was tempted to turn on the radio, drown out their silence with the mumbling hum of talk show personalities and bad music. But then Dara wouldstaysilent.
Noam glanced sidelong at him. He had his eyes shut, head tipped back, and the wind was making a mess of his curls—although not as much of a mess as it would have once, before Dara cropped his hair short.
His hand rested on the seat at his side. Noam bit the inside of his cheek, harder and harder until he tasted copper.
