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There was no way Damian had driven at anything close to the speed limit, because he was at my door ten minutes later. He found me in the doorway.

He didn’t say a word. He took the knife from my hand, pulled me close with a brief, crushing grip, his hand cradling my head, then walked upstairs ahead of me.

When we walked in the room, the air felt like it might ignite.

“Hey man,” Kai said, holding his hands up sloppily at the sight of the kitchen knife in Damian’s hands. “I’m not here for them. I’m here for her. I swear.”

Damian set the knife down on the dresser and looked at Callie, then him. “Why is she crying?”

“Too much weed. She ate a gummy that was too strong for her.” He looked at Callie. “I’m sorry, babe.”

Callie wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

“It was dolphin shaped. I trusted it,” she said.

“And because she’s terrified,” I said, pointedly.

Damian turned to me. “What did she tell him?”

“Everything,” I said. “Clemency. The plan. You.”

A muscle moved in his jaw. He was still standing just a foot from the door.

“Damian,” Callie said. “You have such a worried face.” She sniffed, and her face folded again. “I told him our secret. All the secrets. I’m so bad.”

He looked at her until some of the tension went out of him, like he was forgiving her for being too far gone to know better. Then he turned to Kai.

For maybe ten seconds, neither of them said a word. They just looked at each other, in a moment neither Callie nor I were part of. Two men who’d spent their lives performing with each other, reporting on each other, quietly supporting each other. Now they were measuring each other across the small space of my living room, with everything finally on the table.

“And what did you tell her?” Damian said to Kai.

Kai’s hands were still limp at his sides. “That I’ve known about you for years. That I know you want out.” He tapped his foot once against the floor. “And so do I.”

Damian looked at him like he was searching for the crack in him. “And how do I know that’s true? How do I know this isn’t all going straight to your mother tomorrow?”

“It’s not. I hate my mother.”

“I’m gonna need a better answer than that, Kai.”

“I can’t give you a better one sitting here.” Kai spread his hands. “You know that better than anyone. So you’re gonna have to do the thing you do. Read me.”

“Give us a minute,” Damian said, without taking his eyes off him.

I coaxed Callie into the kitchen, where I made us coffee, because no one would be going back to sleep after this. We sat with our legs pulled up on our chairs, listening intently. Damian’s voice came low and even through the wall, and Kai answered in a slow, steady rhythm. Every so often a word came through whole. Reported. Then, minutes later, Wren, in Damian’s voice, and not as a question. Then a long stretch with nothing in it at all.

I sat there assembling it into three different conversations, each one worse than the last, and stayed exactly where I was.

Callie’s tears finally dried. Her face was pink and swollen from crying. She whispered “I’m sorry,” over and over, until I placed my hand over hers and squeezed.

Damian appeared in the doorway about twenty minutes later. “He’s telling the truth.”

The relief hit me so hard my legs felt like jelly. “You’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he said, the fury still washing out of him. “I’m sure because I know exactly what he looks like when he’s working, and he’s not working now. He’s been on our side the whole time.” Damian let out a breath. “Which is the only reason we’re not finished tonight. The only reason I’m not dead, and Branwen isn’t dead, and you aren’t. We got lucky,” he said. He glanced at Callie. “I’m not angry at you. You weren’t in your right mind.”

Callie was apologizing again, hugging her knees.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re okay. You’re going to feel terrible tomorrow, but you’re okay, and nobody’s going to hurt you tonight. Alright?”