Chapter 84.
The only one with a glass raised is The Host.
“Maybe you’re the one who deserves to die,” Jack says. “Just thinking big picture here.”
“I probably do,” The Host says pleasantly. “Just not tomorrow. And not here.”
The silver-haired man is dressed as he was that night in Maine: dark suit, white shirt, no tie, every hair in place. Carrying himself, as always, like he owns the room.
“I’m curious about something,” Alek says. “Are you even going to acknowledge Amos and Conner? Or how close we came to losing a fourteen-year-old boy?”
“There is nothing I could possibly say that would satisfy any of you,” The Host says.
“You’re the one who put them in the line of fire,” Alek says. “And now more people are dead because of that.”
“Any one of you could have chosen not to go, I made that clear,” The Host says. “You could have pushed your red buttons once you arrived and observed the situation on the ground.” He shrugs. “You put yourselves in the line of fire.”
“You really are a bloodless prick,” Jack says.
“That is nicer than I would have put it,” Gabrielle says.
“This can’t be your first war, Mr. McHenry,” The Host says. “Get over it.”
He’s drinking more of his wine when Jack is up and out of his chair, moving around his table toward him.
Before he’s able to reach The Host, though, Ant Tipton is up just as quickly and blocking his way.
The two men are inches apart.
“Move,” Jack says, eyes locked on Tipton’s. “Only gonna tell you once.”
Tipton doesn’t blink. “We’ve no time for this.”
“You might not,” Jack says. “I kind of do.”
“He isn’t the one you should hit,” Tipton says.
Jack’s eyes narrow. “So you’re protecting him now? What, you got yourself a little deal?”
Tipton leans in just enough for Jack—and only Jack—to hear him. “You touch him and you won’t be the one who pays for it,” Tipton says. “They will.”
Jack freezes for half a beat.
Alek sees it—the flicker in Jack’s eyes. The soldier part of him hearing something real. The rage winning anyway. She thinks: This was inevitable. She’s surprised it took this long.
Jack brings his hands up to shove Tipton aside.
But Tipton is quicker, his arms rising up to block him.
Nobody in the dining room makes any move to break this up. Alek shoots a glance at The Host, who seems to be enjoying the show immensely.
Wyatt has told Alek about Jack having been a football star growing up in Texas. Now she watches as he steps back only long enough to lower his shoulder, then drive it into Ant Tipton.
Tipton goes crashing onto his table, scattering glasses and plates and silverware.
But as Jack reaches for him again, Tipton springs up and off the table.
He grabs a steak knife off the table. Not waving it—holding it the way someone trained holds a tool. A warning. A line.
“Don’t,” Tipton says, voice ugly.
Alek hears Hannah gasp. Wyatt starts to get up from his chair. Carlos Lopez grabs Wyatt’s arm to keep him where he is. Everyone else is frozen in place, shocked that things have escalated as quickly and violently as they have.
Tipton jabs the knife in Jack’s direction like pointing a sword at him. Jack backs away and into a defensive crouch, hands out in front of him.
But The Host stops them both.
“Enough!” he shouts.
Jack and Tipton both turn to see that four guards, in their familiar black jumpsuits, have entered the room. They are moving toward them, guns in their hands.
“Put the knife down, Mr. Tipton,” The Host says. “Do it now.”
Tipton looks over at the guards. He hesitates, but only briefly, before carefully placing the knife back on the table.
There is still a stunned silence in the room until The Host addresses them once again.
“In truth, the timing of what you just witnessed couldn’t be more perfect,” he says. “Because tomorrow we’re going to find out just how many of you are prepared to fight to the death in the name of being The One.”
“Fight who?” Alek asks.
“Each other,” The Host says.