Ethan stared at the slim black piece of plastic like it might explode. Aaron picked it up and studied it, while still managing to scowl at Bethany.
“Stick the skinniest end into the slot at the back of the collar,” Bethany said. “It will click open, promise.”
Aaron did as told, and the collar fell into Ethan’s lap. He picked it up with two fingers and put it on the far end of the table. Ethan rubbed at the red ring of irritation around his throat, then nodded at her. “Thank you,” he said.
She shrugged.
“No, really.”
“Whatever.”
Aaron squeezed the back of Ethan’s neck, his scowl a little less fierce, but still there. I didn’t think it was meant for Bethany anymore, though.
“I want to talk to them,” Bethany said. “Sasha, Tate, and the others you met today.”
“Why?” Teresa asked.
“Because they think we’re traitors.” The teenage whine was back in full force. “Maybe me and Landon can convince them we’re not. We can tell them why we came here. That we believe you about our parents. Maybe they’ll believe it, coming from us.”
Bethany finally believed us about her parents? Halle-fucking-luiah.
“They’d never agree to come here, and Landon is too weak to leave the island.”
“So I’ll go. He can talk to them over the phone.”
“Sasha did seem willing to listen before the cops showed up,” Gage said.
Teresa nodded. “I like the idea, but first Sasha needs to contact us.”
“How’s she supposed to do that?” I asked. “Carrier pigeon?”
“No, I left a few phones behind at the gym. I’ve called them all with no answer. Hopefully she took at least one with her.”
No one could ever accuse Teresa of not thinking ahead.
“So if Sasha calls, we can talk to her?” Bethany asked.
“Yes,” Teresa replied.
“Landon, too.”
“Landon, too, by phone only.”
“Okay.” Bethany smiled, then attacked the rest of her dinner.
I ate my soup and pondered what I’d been told. I really didn’t know how I felt about the DNA-tampering idea. On one hand (and for Thatcher’s sake), I wanted Landon to be safe from the authorities. Bethany’s fate mattered to me less. On the other hand, Landon and Bethany had committed multiple crimes in Pennsylvania, and they were actually guilty. But who was to blame for them committing those crimes? Themselves? Uncle, who raised them to be vigilantes and criminals?
Too many shades of fucking gray.
Maybe it made me a coward, but I was glad I didn’t have to make this decision. I wasn’t a leader. I was very content being a minion and doing as I was told.
Marco left the table first, Lacey less than a minute after. The soup was sitting nicely in my stomach, and I contemplated getting some crackers to add to the broth. The decision was interrupted by Aaron standing so abruptly his chair nearly fell over backward. Ethan grabbed it before it could. Aaron mumbled something, then strode out of the cafeteria.
I glanced at Teresa, but she wouldn’t look at me. “Is he okay?” I asked softly.
Ethan shook his head, then exhaled hard through his mouth. “Not really. Noah and Dahlia have been acting funny recently, and they won’t talk to either of us about it. Aaron’s worried. Really worried.”
I had no idea what to say to that, considering I had been sworn to secrecy. I also didn’t want to lie to Ethan’s face, so I said, “I’m sorry.” It had the advantage of being completely true.
“He’ll get it out of Noah sooner or later. He’s persistent like that.”
The dinner table broke up without much more conversation. I wasn’t certain what to do with myself next, so I decided to do something brand-spanking-new. I put two bowls of soup on a tray, along with a handful of crackers, and I took it down to the infirmary.
Halfway there, I knew it was a bad idea. My arm was screaming from the weight of the tray, and broth sloshed back and forth as I tried to balance it on one hand. Sweat popped out on my forehead, and I had horrible images of the whole shebang crashing to the floor. Thank God Jessica was leaving as I wanted to get in, because she held the door for me.
The steady cadence of Thatcher’s voice filled the hallway, coming from the half-open door to Landon’s room. I stood outside it a moment, listening, curious at the nonconversational sound. Then it hit me—Thatcher was reading a book. The idea of a father reading a book to his injured son hit me like a sledgehammer, right in my solar plexus. It was beautiful and depressing all at once.
I didn’t want to walk in, and my hands were full, so I tapped on the doorframe with my foot. The recital stopped. Fabric rustled, and then he stood in the doorway. A grumpy scowl melted into a warm smile, and I smiled back. He looked down at the tray and his eyes widened.
“I brought you soup,” I said.
“Thank you,” Thatcher replied. He took the tray, and my throbbing arm thanked him back. “Please, come in.”
“I don’t want to interrupt.”
“It’s okay,” Landon said. He was sitting up in bed, looking more alert and healthy than he had just twelve hours ago.
Thatcher placed the tray on a bedside table. “Hungry?”
“A little.”
He sat on the side of the bed and held one of the bowls out for Landon. Landon glanced at me, then picked up the spoon and sipped some of the broth while his father held the bowl. The sight—considering two days ago they’d been mortal enemies—made my heart swell, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Thatcher filled the role of the protective father perfectly, and I hated that in a week they’d be separated again.
“How’s your arm?” Thatcher asked.
“It has a hole in it,” I replied.
“You don’t say?”
“I’m sorry you got shot,” Landon said.
“It’s not your fault, Junior, but thanks.”
“Feels like my fault.”
“This entire mess is Uncle’s fault, not yours. The big challenge is figuring out his end game.”
“Division,” Thatcher said. “He’s giving you another enemy to watch out for, stacking the odds against you.”
“For what, though? Another war?”
“Possibly. The late Angus Sewell can’t be the only person who wants all Metas destroyed.”
The name sent a shot of irritation down my spine. Angus Sewell had once been a friend, an ally to the old Ranger Corps, and he’d been there in January as we reassembled in Los Angeles. He’d also been a double agent, coming at us sideways using stolen Meta powers while pretending to be on our side. His ultimate goal was to force the government, once we twelve Ranger kids were dead, to use its fail-safe on the Banes residing in Manhattan —murdering them all via their security collars, to protect the world from their powers.
Needless to say, we foiled the plan and stopped the bad guy. The betrayal still cut deep, though.
“Uncle may not be counting on our ability to convince people of the real truth,” I said.
“Exactly,” Thatcher replied.
“Speaking of the real truth, Landon, Teresa has agreed to Bethany’s request to let you two talk to Sasha and the others. Over the phone only, for you.”
“Really?” Landon said, his eyes widening. “She’ll let us?”
