I’ve got yours monitored.”
“You can’t do that. You’re not my father.”
“I keep tabs on all my kids, Tobin. And I’m trying to help you.”
Adults’ alarms can be set to track their children, so they know if anyone goes across the Arc. I didn’t know teachers could do the same for their students.
“I don’t need help,” Tobin snaps.
“Tell that to Jove.”
“I’ve already told him everything I came to say.”
My stomach flips again. I search for something to hide behind in case Tobin comes my way rather than passing Mr. Pace, but everything large enough is bolted to the floor and walls.
“You cannot keep walking away from your problems like that’s the solution to them, Tobin,” Mr. Pace says. “If you keep running away, I’ll just keep following until you talk to me.”
“I don’t want to talk about my dad.”
“Fine, then you can tell me what’s happening with you and Marina.”
I lean forward to make sure Dr. Wolff isn’t on his way back yet. The way my luck runs, he’ll show up before Tobin can answer.
“Marina?” Tobin asks.
“Normally you two won’t even look at each other. I saw you pick her up during the run.”
“She couldn’t make it on her own, so I helped. End of story.”
“Middle of story,” Mr. Pace corrects with the infernal, maddening calm that always marks his temper. “Jove’s got two broken ribs, a busted nose, and bruises that say it’s nowhere near the end. I’ve got Annie telling me you plastered him because he insulted your father, and I’ve got Marina’s version telling me you did it to protect her. Which is it?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I want to know why she’s covering for you,” Mr. Pace says. “The truth. No threats of punishment. No teacher. No student. Just the guy who’s known you since you were born and needs to know why you were outside with Marina, at sunset, by the Arc.”
“I didn’t know she was there,” Tobin says.
“Fair enough,” Mr. Pace says. “But she knew you were, and she didn’t tell anyone, not even when Honoria cornered her.”
“You can’t expect me to understand what goes on inside her head.”
“Do you even understand what’s going on inside yours?”
Silent defiance is his only answer.
“You’re not your father, Tobin. You don’t have to be, and you don’t have to bear his burdens.” He pauses. “I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but are you sure you want to stay in the apartment by yourself? Dominique’s offered—”
“You’re not taking my house away from me!’
“It’s not good for you to be wandering around a space that big with nothing to do but sit and wallow.”
“When my dad gets back—”
“Tobin . . .”
“Mr. Pace, please—”
“What’s all this noise?” Dr. Wolff rushes past me.
My luck’s worse than I thought. It’s when Tobin is at his lowest, begging, that Dr. Wolff returns and yanks the curtain open. On the other side, Tobin stands with his back to Mr. Pace, which means he was facing the curtain. With it gone, he’s facing me.
A rush of heat floods my cheeks. Tobin’s face goes the other way, losing his tan to bleached-out ash.
“Sorry, Doc,” Mr. Pace says.
“This is a hospital, Elias. You can’t bang around like you’re on maneuvers.”
“Let’s go, Tobin. We’ll finish this later.”
But Tobin doesn’t move. Neither he nor I have blinked since the curtain was pulled away. He stands; I sit. We stare without a word—one accusing, one apologizing—until that same, stubborn piece of hair falls forward. I tuck it behind my ear, but with the connection between us severed, he wastes no time leaving.
“Tobin, wait,” I call after him. “I’m—”
He pushes past Dr. Wolff, close enough to my bed to bump it sideways.
“—sorry,” I finish, too late.
“That could have gone better,” Mr. Pace says.
I nod, scooting off the hospital bed as Dr. Wolff hands me my inhaler. The ring feels heavy and cold against my skin when I tuck it in, not comforting at all.
“If I’d known you were still here, I would have waited,” Mr. Pace says.
“S’okay,” I mumble. It’s not like he ruined a friendship; he only pushed the wedge a little wider. “Can I leave?” I ask.
“Go on,” Dr. Wolff says. “Honoria’s arranged something special for you kids at first meal. You don’t want to miss the surprise.”
Yes I do.
Unexpected variables rarely prove to be good for me. They lead to running and screaming and things that can kill me, so talk of something mysterious waiting in the Common Hall isn’t an incentive to get there any faster.
I hesitate near the door, balanced between two bad decisions. At least with the hospital, I know what kind of misery to expect. I’ve pretty much lost my appetite anyway.
“Doctor Wolff,” I begin. It isn’t easy convincing my mouth to explain my nightmares and endure whatever reactions he has to them. I anticipate a lot of needles.
“Yes?” He inclines his head, not looking at me while he sterilizes the scraper with an open flame.
My hesitation costs me the chance to answer.
The door on the far side of the room slams open. Lt. Sykes and another guard hurry in, shuffling to manage a third person between them—Anne-Marie’s brother, Trey.
Burned and bloodied.
Trey holds his arm against his chest. His jacket and shirt are burned through, the skin beneath them melted, as though someone roasted it over an open flame. It’s going to take more than a dab of cold blue gel to fix that.
“What happened?” Dr. Wolff asks.
“Briar
