Chapter 23
Conin
“What the hell was that back there?” I ask.
Ezra situates himself on the bed. His jaw contorts as his brow wrinkles.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice, Ezra.”
“Notice what?” he says as if I’m unaware. He’s deliberately avoiding the question. An unnecessary, totally unwarranted rage ignites within me, and if I’m being honest, I’m not sure where this anger is coming from. More importantly, I’m unsure why I’m directing it at him.
“The way you two looked at each other . . . it was more than just recognition. It was so much more than that. I want to know why it looks like you and Atlas have known each other forever,” I say.
“We haven’t.” He focuses on the floor. “I felt this strange . . . sensation the closer we got to town. Atlas was exuding that same energy. And the way he looked at me . . . I wonder if he could feel it, too.”
The loneliness from last night pierces me like a blade.
What do I make of what Ezra said? An energy that connects him to Atlas?
One I can’t see or feel or hear? I felt estranged from Ezra before, but that feeling has only amplified a hundredfold now.
If there’s a connection that intertwines recidivists, one that ties itself between Ezra and Atlas, well, that distances me further from Ezra, doesn’t it?
How is it that they have a connection when the two have never met?
Ezra has no incentive to lie, and I have no reason not to believe him.
Fatigue claws at my eyelids while my irritation cools. I exhale an exhausted breath.
“Conin?”
“Sorry,” I sigh.
“Don’t be,” Ezra mutters.
“I suppose nothing is keeping us from talking with Atlas now.”
“Should we?”
“Let’s wait. See if he comes to us.”
Time slows. The sun shifts, casting its orange glow onto the blinds.
We keep the television on for background noise, neither of us paying attention, too lost in our thoughts to be comforted.
Ezra turns on the news. He and I watch in silence, trepidation present after each passing second.
There are no reports on the past several nights—zero coverage about two missing boys and mercenaries with a vendetta.
I tell him to search for another channel. He listens without refusing. He rises from the bed but pauses to stare down the beaten threshold. His features scrunch up in consternation. Seconds later, a knock comes from the door.