My hands remained cuffed. They didn't even remove the restraints when they put a sweater over me. Backward, of course. With the hood pulled over my eyes and the edges tugged at the back of my ears, the only thing I could make out was the strong hand that dug into my right shoulder. Pierson's grip.
After I told Anthony information, he kept me in Phelps' mansion in a backroom, one I read The Iliad in during a meeting my father had with him. This time, only the memory of the book kept me company. Hours passed. Once the sun disappeared, he pulled me out and directed me into a car. Pierson drove us somewhere, but we had left the truck minutes ago. We were walking. I had no perception of where we were.
The air smelled like oak trees, and my nose tingled at the familiar scent of a forest. I stumbled from concrete to a dirt path. Why Anthony was taking me into the woods was something I didn't want to ask myself. I fixated on my senses instead—the cool air, the loose ground, the waving trees. If I had to run, I would. If it came down to it, I wondered if I would kill.
"Take it off." Anthony's whisper was hoarse.
Fingers grazed my nose through the cloth hood as it was grabbed and pulled down. My hair swished in front of my eyes as my pupils adjusted to the night sky. It was late—much later than I thought—and stars scattered across the atmosphere. We weren't close to the city, but I recognized the large oak tree in the middle of the clearing.
We stood on the edges of my father's land. I was almost home.
Anthony walked forward. "We have a ways to go."
Pierson pressed his fingertips to my back, and I sprung forward, following the blond through the trees.
"Step over," Pierson directed me, pointing at a pile of stones, but I already had lifted my leg. I knew the piles of stones. I had nearly broken my ankle on them when I was surveying the land last summer. I wouldn't forget they were there, even though it was almost too dark to see them.
Anthony didn't bring a flashlight, and I severely doubted the two boys knew the woods like I did.
"There's a river right there." I lifted my cuffed hands to point.
Anthony's blond hair glittered in the moonlight as he turned to look. When he saw it, his eyebrows rose. "Go first then," he dared.
I shook my handcuffs. It was a deep river, a strong one. Without my hands to balance me, I might fall in and it would be hard to get up. I had always hated water more than land.
"Follow me," Pierson muttered as he walked forward. He leapt onto the exposed stones, water grazing the toe of his boot. When he looked back, his face hardened.
The river was rushing past us at the same speed that it was during the homecoming party. Noah had tossed me in and I had almost drowned. I gulped.
"Can I take my cuffs off?" I asked Anthony.
He shook his head. "You can make it."
I bent my knee, ready to kick him in the groin, but Pierson cleared his throat. "Swallowed a bug," he dismissed once he gained our attention.
Whether he had done it to warn me or not wasn't my concern. Neither was Anthony. I was too close to home.
I sucked in a breath before I jumped to the first stone—round and shiny but ridged. My feet landed on it; my body swayed. The momentum carried me into my next leap. Louder than the rushing water, Anthony laughed at the torturous show. I drowned him out as I hopped from one stone to a log, nearing the two-foot embankment on the other side. Getting above the dirt wall, though, would be impossible.
I tried anyway. My foot slipped, just as predicted, and I closed my eyes, waiting to hit the cold, drowning water. Instead, though, a pressure wrapped around my upper arms. I opened my eyes to find Pierson holding onto me. He must have hurdled over the embankment. Once his fingers dug into my biceps, he lifted me like he spent his days picking up one hundred and thirty pounds. "You good?" he asked, steadying us on the bank of the river.
I couldn't speak. My body was exhausted from running, questioning, and Anthony's gun escapade, but I had to concentrate. As foggy as my mind was, it still focused on Anthony as he crossed the river. I only had a moment to look at Pierson in private.
He had cerulean-colored eyes, bright and alert, and auburn hair cleanly cut against his ears. A thin, pink scar stretched from his scalp to his right eyebrow, but I hadn't seen it before. He may have even been younger than me. Phelps used minors for his dirty work just like Noah's father did. Or, there was something else I didn't know.
Anthony's foot squished against the mud as he hopped onto the embankment. "This way," he ordered as he pulled his foot out of the wet ground. He walked off of the trails and into the trees.
Pierson dragged me after him. Twigs cracked, and branches smacked against my exposed arms. I winced as leaves skimmed my face and bugs crawled up my legs. My ankle throbbed. We were immersed in trees, but Anthony walked as if he knew exactly where to go. That's when I saw it—large Ts carved into the trees we passed. They were too deep to be deer sharpening their antlers or other animals looking for food. Humans made them.
When we burst through an opening, Anthony flailed his arms about. I stumbled as Pierson yanked me backward. His calloused fingers moved across my wrists, and then my handcuffs clicked. I was free.
I pulled my hands forward and rubbed the raw skin. "Thank you," I muttered, trying to ignore the blood that stained the lines in my palm. Noah. Was he okay? Alive?
"As promised," Anthony spoke up, but he wasn't looking at Pierson or me. He faced a thick brush of darkness. The trees moved, and a boy pushed out of the branches, the thorns digging into his brown curls.
I rushed past Anthony, but no one tried to grab me. Miles. I latched onto his coat as tightly as I could.
Miles' arm tightened around my shoulders, but he didn't speak.
"Let's go," Anthony said to Pierson.
I peered back, watching as the boys turned to leave. Anthony had what he needed—information—and he didn't need me after that. At least he had kept his word. I was free.
The trees shuffled around for what seemed like hours before I relaxed at the silence. I buried my nose in Miles' shoulder, and my eyes burned beneath my eyelids.
"We thought"—his voice cracked as he struggled to continue—"you might have been killed. Lyn's a mess."
I leaned back. Miles looked years older. His dark eyes that once danced were now soft and weary, his heavy eyelashes dragging his eyelids down.
"What about Broden?" I asked. "The others? Where are—"
"We'll talk later," Miles interrupted as he gestured to the black sweater they forced me to wear backward. "Ditch that thing," he said as he shook his own jacket off. "You look awful."
"They didn't exactly let me shower," I said as I pulled the black sweater off. I dropped it on the ground and accepted Miles' heavier jacket. My hands shook, and I stuffed them in the thick-padded pockets before Miles could see.
He lifted his chin toward a wooded trail. "Your house is close," he said as we started walking. We left the carved trees behind us. Miles must have made the carvings for Anthony to follow.
"We're in trouble," he said it like I didn't already know, "and we need to get back to the others now."
Ten minutes lasted hours as we stumbled through the rest of the darkened forest. We reached my backyard, and I sighed, feeling as if I had breathed for the first time since the initial explosion. Reflexively, I took off running. My twisted ankle didn't complain as I rushed over the three yards to the backstairs and flew up to the wrap-around porch. The gate smacked the green wall of the house, and I tugged open the heavy white door to get inside.
The air-conditioning slammed into me, and my chest heaved at the sudden temperature change. Lyn was the first person I saw.
She stood up from a couch in the living room. Her dark eyes were bloodshot, and her bottom lip was bleeding from excessive biting. "Baby girl," she whispered, opening up her arms as she rushed over to me. Her tattooed arms wrapped around me, and the scent of Falo's baby powder swallowed me whole. "I was praying this was why Anthony called Miles." Her hands moved up to my face. "You're alive."
"I'm okay," I promised, but tears dripped down. "I'm safe."
Her thumb moved over my ash-stained cheeks. "Lily and Falo are sleeping in the other room," she answered my unasked questions, but her lips twisted into a grimace. "Broden was caught. He was arrested. We don't know much more than that."
All our memories pushed through me. His obsession with biology, his love for animals, his special love for Argos. Baking and running and checking the acres and keeping secrets over knives. And he had kept his own secret from me the entire time.
"What about Noah?" The name tumbled out of my mouth like a foreign language. His blood was still on me.
A series of small bangs erupted around the living room, and we jumped. When Lyn turned around, she exposed the entrance hallway. A small pile of weapons—two guns and a collection of handmade knives—had toppled to the tile floor. The carrier had dropped them, but the boy wasn't even looking at the mess. He was just standing there, his blond hair glowing beneath the entryway lights.
"Sophie," Noah said, his voice low and quiet.
I nodded, unsure what to say, and he hurried over before I could react. He bent down from his height to wrap his arms around my ribs. His tight hold made me gasp; his chest sighed against mine.
"Hi," I managed to whisper against his neck.
He dropped me only for his eyes to skim over every inch of my body. Breath escaped him when he focused on my hands. He grabbed my fingers and flipped my hand over to see my palm. The dried blood wasn't mine. The realization crossed his face in a pale wave.
I moved away from him. "I'm okay, Noah." His eyes followed my stained skin. "Are you?"
He laid his hand on his shoulder where Lyn had already sewed him up. "I'm alive." Noah was wearing one my father's white T-shirts, but Lyn had cut off the sleeve where he had been shot. A large, tan bandage stretched over his bicep to his neck. It wrapped around the collarbone. "Lyn had good medicine to help."
"I stole it from the hospital a few weeks ago," Lyn informed us, exposing more of her skills.
The patio door creaked as Miles walked in, and Noah stepped away from me. His green eyes turned into a solemn information seeker. "Any news?"
In the light, dark bags hung from Miles' eyes. "Tony didn't say anything to me," he said, his fingers running over his watch. "Pierson was there."
Noah's bottom lip hung open.
Miles nodded as if he knew no one could respond to it, but I did, "Pierson was with Anthony the whole time."
"That doesn't make sense." Noah's head moved side to side. "He's on our side."
"He still is," I interrupted, thinking of the blue-eyed boy. "He helped me. He told me to lie to Anthony. I don't know why, but he did, and Anthony let me go."
"Lie?" Noah's brow crumbled. "About what?"
"Anthony wants the new synthetic drug," I told them. "Another version of tomo."
"What?" Noah's voice rose. "There isn't a new version."
"I know that," I said, unable to hide my smirk.
Noah's crumbled brow rose before he leaned back and laughed.
"What just happened?" Miles asked, looking from Noah to me.
Noah was too busy laughing to answer, so I spoke up, "Anthony wanted to know what Noah was after, so I told him there was a new version. Pierson told me to lie, so I did. Anthony believed me, and I got out."
Miles lit up. "I told you he was good."
"Did I miss something?" Lyn asked.
"Pierson," Miles laughed. "He's my guy. Met him on the transport. He's not from Topeka, but said he studied science like me. I'm not sure what type or what for, though." Miles' brow furrowed. "You know, I shouldn't even know that." Studies were very personal, often confidential if enrolled in a government program. "But he's the one who introduced us to Gigi."
At Gigi's name, Miles' eyes shot to the ground. "We don't think she made it out."
I hadn't even seen her. Not once. I had no idea how old she was or what she sounded like. But we had shared a mission, and she hadn't survived.
"We don't know that for sure." Noah leaned his back against the wall, only to spring forward. Breath hissed out of his teeth. His injury wasn't painless.
"Don't lean on anything or pick anything up," Lyn lectured.
Noah's green eyes wavered when he looked back at her. "Like that is even possible." No one argued him. He didn't have time to be hurt. "Looks like Pierson works for Phelps now," he summed up.
"Maybe he always did," Miles pointed out.
They didn't know their comrades as well as they thought.
"Amazing." Noah rubbed his chin. "Just amazing. We have an inside guy."
"Or a double spy."
"Well, maybe he can break Broden out of jail, Mr. Tomery," Lyn murmured, dissatisfied by the turnout of the explosion.
"I'll get him out," he promised, but he was looking at me. "What about Rinley? Does Anthony have her?"
I shook my head. "Anthony suspects she's here, but he doesn't think that's what you're really after."
"I don't either," Lyn agreed.
Noah's expression darkened. "It is."
Tension filled the living room, and I placed myself between my practical sister and the boy who had brought a war upon us. "Anthony told me where to find her."
"What do you mean?"
"Your sister," I clarified, but he didn't respond. "We need to get into your old house while the officials are distracted with the Traveler's Bureau."
"What?" Miles asked. "Why?"
"Because her file was moved there—as a trap to find anyone in the Tomery family." I explained what Anthony had told me. "He told me we could get inside without getting caught. But we have to hurry."
The entire house was a trap, but Noah already knew that. He hadn't returned for a reason.
"There's no way Phelps will be watching it," I said. "Not with the record's building up in flames. Not with the Traveler's Bureau down."
Noah shook his head. "We can't trust Tony on that."
"Do we really have a choice?" Miles lingered on the truth of the matter.
"You guys have come this far," Lyn sided with us. Her black hair hung in her face, and she shook it as if she couldn't quite believe it herself. "I'll wake you up in a few hours, but you all need to get some sleep," she said. "Tomorrow is going to be another rough day."