Chapter 5 James
James
Despite everything, my face splits into an enormous smile. Vindication soars inside of me. “Didn’t I literally just—”
“No.” Kenji points at me. “Absolutely not. This is not the time. Fuck.”
He immediately begins pacing.
Even now, Warner looks down at him with mild disgust. “Foul language is a cheap feast for an underfed mind.”
“Thanks, I love it,” says Kenji. “I’ll ask Winston to whip that up in needlepoint. What do you mean she’s missing? Missing
how? Missing for how long? Did we catch her on camera? Did anyone see her leave?”
“No.”
“I just asked you five different questions, and you’re giving me a syllable in response?”
I look to Warner for his rebuttal, but he jumps off the outcropping and onto the sand, landing so suddenly and silently I
recoil when I realize how close we are.
“No,” he says again, directing his words to Kenji. “No one caught her on camera. No one saw her leave.”
“How is that possible?” Kenji counters, stunned.
“If I knew that,” he says, “I wouldn’t be here right now.
” And then, for the second time, Warner turns his cold green eyes on me.
“We’ve already dispatched units across the city—but I need to know, right now, whether she ever indicated what her plans might’ve been for that vial, or whether she was looking for any particular landmarks—”
“Wait,” says Kenji, frozen in shock. “Hold on a second. She took the vial?”
“She took what she believed to be the vial,” Warner says. “I’ve personally verified that the original is untouched in its
secure location.”
Kenji exhales in relief.
“Don’t be so quick to celebrate,” says Warner. “The dupe had a tracker in it. We traced its location to a party supply store,
where we discovered it stashed in the pocket of a mannequin.” He hesitates. “The mannequin was dressed as a clown.”
I laugh out loud.
“You think this is funny?” Kenji turns on me. “You think it’s hilarious that your girlfriend is pranking us on her way to
kill everybody?”
Warner looks furious, but it’s the first time in days that I’ve so much as smiled, and it feels really good.
Apparently, Rosabelle has a dark sense of humor.
Leaving the vial with the clown was her way of saying she’d known it was a fake—that she took it only to buy herself time.
While Warner was tracking a false lead, she got a head start disappearing.
“Yeah,” I say, fighting my smile. “I do think it’s hilarious. Except I don’t think she’s trying to murder anyone, so I’m not really worried about it.”
Warner turns his full and undivided attention on me. “A professed executioner of The Reestablishment has broken out of a maximum-security
prison cell without a trace, and you’re not really worried about it?”
“She told you she’s an executioner?” I ask, still grinning. “Kenji said you couldn’t get her to talk.”
“I never said that,” Kenji says quickly. “In fact, I never said anything—”
Warner doesn’t bite; he keeps his eyes on me. “Why don’t you think she’s going to murder anyone?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Are you really here to ask me what I think? After icing me out for over a week, you’re finally ready
to hear what I have to say?”
My brother’s expression only darkens.
Kenji laughs, but he sounds nervous. “Yeah, maybe we should table this conversation for another time—”
“Don’t make me regret it,” Warner says to me. “I’m only here because I have a responsibility to make sure I’ve explored every
possible avenue for answers.”
“Fine.” I cross my arms against my chest. “Has she been eating?”
Warner stills. “What?”
“In prison. Has she been eating?”
He studies me for what feels like too long, clearly weighing whether to share this information. Finally, he says, “I came
here to ask you questions.”
I shrug. “You want me to tell you what I think she’s doing or where she’s gone—but I can’t offer confident answers without knowing more about her recent behaviors.” I nod at him. “Has she been eating? Yes or no?”
Warner exhales slowly. The gathering clouds part briefly, a blade of sun slanting across his face, severing him into equal
parts light and shadow. “The fugitive,” he says, “is in roughly the same physical state now as she was upon incarceration.”
I have to assume this means she’s been eating just enough. Not really the answer I was hoping for, but getting him to give
up even a crumb of information feels like a win.
I try again: “Has she been sleeping?”
“No,” says Warner.
“No?” I echo, raising my eyebrows. “Not at all?”
“Why do you need to know this stuff?” Kenji asks, shifting uneasily. “What does eating and sleeping have to do with where
she’s going? This girl is on the loose—we need to get moving—”
“Wait,” Warner says quietly, watching me. “James wants to know how the fugitive is feeling.”
“Ew,” says Kenji. “Can we go?”
“So she just . . . hasn’t been sleeping?” I ask Warner. “Not even a little?”
“Not well.”
Even now, after everything, I can hardly control the uncharted feeling that moves through me at the admission. Apparently,
the instinct to protect Rosabelle hasn’t died in me at all. Nine days and she’s hardly slept. That makes two of us.
Great, I hate it.
“Thank you for the insight,” Warner says, straightening. His eyes go cold. “I see nothing’s changed.”
I look up, stunned. Instantly pissed off.
A little humiliated.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it right away: he was only answering my questions to gain something in return.
Dickhead.
It’s always embarrassing to be emotionally examined by Warner. Sometimes I really hate that he can read other people’s energies.
He’s constantly giving me shit for taking my healing abilities for granted—and he’s probably right that it’s made me reckless—but
I don’t think he realizes he’s just as blinded by his own powers.
Warner’s greatest strength is also his greatest weakness.
He relies too much on his ability to sense other people’s emotions, forgetting that it’s not a precise science. There can
be nuance in feeling—people can feel multiple things at the same time—and it can all be true, and it can all be changing.
When I finally look back at him, he’s still watching me.
“What?” I say angrily.
“I’m well aware of my deficiencies,” he says after a moment. “I’ve been laid low many times by my deficiencies. You, on the
other hand, have yet to be battered by the closed fist of your own arrogance.”
I laugh, the sound hollow. “How would you know?”
“You lack humility,” he says.
“Me?” My eyes widen. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“Confidence and arrogance are diametrically opposed,” he says with deathly calm. “If you were wiser you’d understand the distinction.”
“You never answered one of Kenji’s earlier questions,” I say, ignoring this. “How long has Rosabelle been missing?”
Warner holds my gaze, his jaw tensing. “We have reason to believe she left the prison grounds just over an hour ago.”
“An hour?” Kenji gapes at Warner. “You waited an entire hour to tell me this?”
Warner pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why are you so loud?”
“Why do you look like shit?” says Kenji, inspecting him up close.
Warner lifts his head. He looks offended, which I find quietly hilarious.
It improves my mood a little.
“Okay, all right,” Kenji says, relenting. “You don’t look like shit. But you look a little rough. Did you even get any sleep last night? I talked to J and she said—”
“Shut up,” says Warner quietly.
Just like that, my improved mood is gone.
Heat coils in my chest, galvanizing into resentment. Suddenly Warner’s intentions are crystal fucking clear: he didn’t come
here to repair things between us. He’s not interested in my participation. He came here only to mine me for answers like I’m
some civilian eyewitness to a crime. He’s still treating me like a traitor. Like an idiot. As if he wasn’t the one who taught me everything I know.
Excellent.
Really fucking excellent.
I pack up my sample kit immediately, snapping the clips shut in two satisfying motions. The wind batters my back and I welcome
it. I feel suddenly hot, my head full of steam, but the adrenaline is somehow calming.
I stalk off without a word.
“Hey,” Kenji calls out. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I’d tell you,” I shout back, “but you don’t have the necessary security clearance to know.”
Kenji laughs, the sound colored with disbelief. “Are you joking? You can’t leave right now— We need your help—”
I keep walking, well aware I’m being immature, and too angry to care.
“James.” Warner doesn’t raise his voice, but somehow it carries.
I ignore him.
“James.”
I ignore him again.
No one follows me, and I don’t look back.
I’m done being patient. I’m done waiting for Warner to realize I’m not some inexperienced, emotional child. All the people
I care about think I’m some broken, helpless kid who still wakes up screaming every night. Maybe I’m still broken, but I’m
not helpless anymore, and while the nightmares keep coming, I stopped screaming years ago.
Warner wants to be an asshole and ice me out?
No problem.
There’s only one way to fix this situation now. If they won’t give me respect, I have to demand it. I’ll force his hand, piss
him off, and prove him wrong by doing what he can’t do on his own—not because he’s incapable, but because he’s got his head
shoved so far up his own ass he can’t see that I’m useful.
And I’m really fucking useful.
Maybe, if he’d asked politely, I’d have told him exactly where to start looking for Rosabelle.