CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I learned, when we were bumping back toward Mid-City, that while I liked Scarlet’s curves, I did not like her suspension.

“Well,” Gavin said, “that was an interesting trip.”

“What was that paper you were waving around?”

“Vehicle registration,” Gavin said with a grin.

Nailed it.

“You want to tell us what happened out there?” Gavin asked the question, but I could feel Liam’s gaze on me.

I forced words out, even though my chest had gone tight with emotion. “That’s Laura Blackwell. The woman whose name was on the ADZ Logistics invoice. The president of the company.”

The car was silent for a moment, and I assumed they were debating whether to ask me to elaborate. I saved them the trouble.

“She’s my mother,” I said, looking out the window to watch the buildings pass.

“Your mother?” Liam said quietly. “She wasn’t dead.”

“No. My father lied to me.” And I was still working my brain around that one. “She apparently left my father, and didn’t want to revisit that part of her life. I guess he wanted to close that chapter.”

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

I nodded. “She didn’t tell me anything about Icarus. She said she’d ‘protect what was hers.’”

“And yet she called Containment on her own daughter,” Gavin said, then whistled low. “What a stone-cold bitch.”

“Can’t argue with that. And I guess Containment has issued a bounty on me now.”

“And me,” Gavin said happily, adjusting in his seat and squeezing his shoulders between me and Liam on the bench. Maybe people had been smaller when this car was built. Or it hadn’t been meant for the tall, broad-shouldered Quinn boys. “About damn time. I was beginning to feel left out. Now we’re the Three Wanted Amigos.”

“Oh, good,” Liam murmured.

“Here’s my question,” Gavin said. “How’d Crowley manage to get there at just the right time? That’s a pretty damn big coincidence.”

“No way that was coincidence,” I said. “Either they’d been watching the building, thinking we might show up if we connected it to Icarus, which seems really unlikely, or someone inside called Crowley when they saw me.”

“Containment guards were patrolling,” Gavin said. “More evidence this is a Containment problem.”

I didn’t like the implications. But the connections to Containment were undeniable.

“The more we learn about this,” Liam said, “the deeper into Containment it goes.”

Gavin nodded. “And the more they try to rein us in.”

“We’re running out of time.”

Liam meant me and him and Gavin—and everyone else on the run. And he meant New Orleans. And he meant Paranormals. Everyone still touched by a war that had never really ended. Only the tactics had changed.

“Yeah,” I said. “Something is brewing again. And someone doesn’t want us to know what it is.”

•   •   •

Without a better option, we went back to Moses’s place. Our being there was enough to put him at risk, but there wasn’t any help for it.

We walked inside, found Moses at the computer table with an open can of beans, the lid ragged-edged and sticking up from the can.

“Lunch?” he asked with a smile, but it faded when he looked at us. “What the shit happened? You get into a scuffle again?”

“Containment showed up at the building, as did Crowley’s bastards.” Liam pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, then came over and pressed it to my temple.

“Glass, I think,” he said quietly, his brow pinched in concentration as he dabbed carefully at my forehead. I hadn’t felt a cut there—at least not separate from the million other little injuries—but the pressure stung a little.

I winced, hissed air through my teeth.

Liam went still. “You all right?”

I nodded. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

He lifted my hand, held it to the handkerchief. “Keep pressure on it.”

“Sure.”

Moses was looking at me when Liam walked away, and he raised his brows comically a few times. The narrow-eyed stare I gave him put a little pink in his cheeks.

Malachi walked into the room, looked us over, then frowned at the sight. “What happened?”

“Long story short,” Gavin said, “Claire just outed herself to her mother, who works at ADZ, there’s a bounty on all of us now, and Crowley and Containment got into a gunfight over the bounties.” He held up a finger. “And I had to get rid of the Rover, and Claire knows how to hot-wire a car.”

Malachi looked at me, a mix of pity and anger in his eyes. “That was a dangerous thing to do, to confront her. But necessary, I suppose.”

I just nodded, feeling miserable by the reminder.

“No point beating her up for trying to talk to family,” Moses said. He cocked his head to the side. “She was at ADZ, eh?”

I nodded. “Going into the building. She called Containment on us.”

“No wonder your father got rid of her. Good riddance, I say.”

But my father hadn’t gotten rid of her. She’d gotten rid of him, and me, soon enough that I didn’t have a single clear memory of her face.

Tears—of sadness, of frustration, of pent-up emotion—stung my eyes, and I looked away, blinked them back.

“I need to get some air,” I said, and headed outside before anyone could stop me.

I walked down the street in broad daylight, angry and hurt enough in that moment that I’d have dared Containment to take me. And I’d have thrown everything I had at them. Every last ounce of magic.

I was so tired of pretending.

A few doors down, past Moses’s butter house, was a cottage with a swing bolted to the roof of the front porch. Plastic beads, which would probably never degrade, still hung from the gingerbread at the house’s corners.

I tested the steel chain, the slats of wood. And when it held, I sat down, pushed off with my feet. The swing rocked back and forth, then back again. I closed my eyes and let myself grieve, let sadness cover me like the dark water near Montagne Désespérée.

I heard him walking toward me, his footsteps on the sidewalk. Liam walked purposefully. Not slowly, but intentionally. He took his time.

The porch creaked when he stepped onto it. I kept my eyes closed, let him look me over.

“I’d ask if you were all right, but that seems like a stupid question.”

“I don’t know what I am.” I rubbed my hands against my eyes, my damp cheeks.

Silence, then: “Can I sit?”

I opened my eyes, scooted over to one side of the swing, wrapped a hand around one of the chains. The swing shivered when he sat, but it held.

“I’m disappointed,” I said. “Does that make sense?”

He pushed the swing back. “It does.”

“I feel stupid saying that. Disappointed about my mother. I thought she was gone, that I’d never have a chance to so much as see her. And now I’ve had that chance, and she’s not what I wanted. Not even close.”

“She never was,” Liam quietly said.

“I know. That’s what hurts the most.”

“It’s okay to grieve.”

“I guess.” I rested my head on the back of the swing, looked up at the porch’s ceiling. Someone had painted a mural there—a second line marching down the street behind a bride and groom, all bold colors and slashes of paint. There was water damage in some spots, flaking paint in others. But it was still a beautiful representation of what had been.

“Before the war,” I heard myself saying, “when other kids went shopping with their mothers, or their moms dropped them off at school, or whatever, I wondered what that was like. My dad tried hard to keep me from feeling different. But I did. I did feel different, but I didn’t grieve, because I hadn’t exactly lost anything.”

“It was already gone,” Liam said.

I nodded. “Yeah. And now, I got it back, but that’s almost worse. I’ve learned that my father lied to me—probably to protect me. That my mother was cold and didn’t care anything about me. That she was still in town and apparently working for Containment, although I’m not certain if he knew that. And that’s on top of learning he was a Sensitive, collected magical objects, and was dating Erida. And he didn’t tell me about any of it.”

“You’ve had a hard few weeks.”

My sigh was half exhaustion, half laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Silence fell again, the only sound the creak of the swing as Liam pushed it back and forth, back and forth.

“Magic killed Gracie,” Liam said. “Now I’m magic. I’ve had to deal with that, to accept it.”

“You’re just wrong.”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it, Claire. Your magic is different.”

“Magic is magic. It isn’t good or bad any more than that tree”—I pointed to a magnolia overtaking the postage stamp of a front yard—“is good or bad. It’s entirely what we make of it.”

The swing was perpendicular to the run of the porch, so we faced the side of the house next door, a cottage not unlike this one. He kept his gaze on that house, with its blue paint and rotting wood.

“You didn’t inherit evil from Ezekiel,” I quietly said. “That’s not the way it works. And magic didn’t kill Gracie. Ignorance did. Ignorance and fear that kept the wraiths who killed her from getting help when they’d needed it. Wraiths didn’t cast a spell on her, and no spell was cast on them. They were victims of human ignorance just like she was, because we refused to let them control their magic. They were victims of the war, just like Gracie.”

I nudged him with a shoulder. “Once upon a time, you introduced me to Moses so I’d understand that not all Paras were bad. I’d say that operates for humans, too.”

“It’s impolite to throw my words back at me.”

“Yeah, it is.”

We rocked in silence for a few more minutes. And when Liam put his hand over mine, I didn’t pull away.

•   •   •

By the time we made it back to Moses’s house, Darby had joined them, her utility vehicle parked in the narrow space between his house and the one next door.

Her ensemble—a red top and circle skirt with white polka dots—was a big contrast to her grim expression.

“We were waiting for you to get back,” Malachi said kindly, then nodded at Darby.

She didn’t waste any time. “They were definitely synthesizing something.”

“Who was?” Gavin asked, obviously confused. I couldn’t blame him.

“Whoever created the Icarus file. I was right about it being the plan, for lack of a better word, for the synthesis—the creation—of something biological.”

Malachi’s brows lifted. “What kind of something?”

“A virus.”

“Oh, shit,” Gavin said.

No details necessary to think a government department creating a virus was a bad thing. A very, very bad thing.

“What kind of virus?” Liam asked.

“Call it what you will,” she said. “It’s a completely new virus. A virus that was created in the lab from scratch. Thus, the term ‘synthesized.’ It’s got elements of other viruses. Protein structures borrowed here, phage structures borrowed there, but the makeup, the totality, is completely new.” She lifted her gaze to Malachi, and she looked absolutely bleak. “And the research isn’t just theoretical.”

The air seemed to leave the room completely.

“Vacherie,” Malachi said.

She nodded. “I tested the vials.” She pulled a folder from a vintage leather satchel on top of one of Moses’s stacks, then took out a sheet of paper that showed two graphs.

She came toward us, pointed to the graph. “That’s from the stub file—the bit we found on Containment-Net.” Then she pointed to the graph on the right. “That’s the test of the Vacherie Paranormals’ blood.”

The lines on the graphs were almost exactly the same.

“Merde,” Liam said as Gavin crossed himself.

“Icarus involves a virus,” Malachi said. “A virus that sickens and kills Paranormals.”

But not just Icarus, I thought as sickness overwhelmed me and the edges of my vision went dark. I reached out for the wall with a hand, let myself slide to the floor so I wouldn’t keel over.

“Claire!” Darby said, and I heard her voice move closer. “What’s wrong? Are you all right? Are you sick?”

“Tell her,” I said, staring at the floor. “I can’t— Just tell her.”

“Claire’s father told her that her mother was dead,” Liam quietly said. “Turns out, she’s not. She’s the president of ADZ Logistics. She’s part of Icarus.”

Even Darby went pale. “Oh my God.” She held up a hand. “Wait, just wait. Let’s not panic. Just because she runs ADZ doesn’t mean she was involved in this.”

“She’s involved. She’s Laura Blackwell.”

“What does she look like?”

I gave her the description.

“PCC Research,” Darby said. “I remember seeing a woman like that at PCC Research, or before I left, anyway. She was very beautiful. A striking woman. She wasn’t in my division, and we were very segmented, so I didn’t know her. I just saw her around.”

“What division?” Liam asked.

Darby’s milk-white skin went somehow more pale. “Biologics.”

My mother was alive.

My mother was a scientist.

My mother was a murderer.

“I need a really good Cajun swear,” I said miserably.

“Start with ‘fils de putain,’” Gavin said. “Means ‘son of a bitch.’”

I repeated it back to him, and only slightly mangled it.

“Not bad,” he said. “We need to work on the accent, but that’s not bad.”

Liam slid to the floor beside me. He didn’t touch me, probably could sense I wasn’t ready for that. But the fact that he’d literally moved down to my level just to be supportive nearly wrecked me.

“How does the virus work?” Malachi asked. “How did it kill them?”

Darby stood up, looked at Malachi. “Given the symptoms you’ve described, I’m thinking it acts like a bacterial infection, triggers the crazy immune response—the septicemia or septic shock.”

“How could Containment have infected them?” I asked, looking at Malachi. “You said they got boosters before they left Devil’s Isle, right? Shouldn’t that have protected them from illnesses, even this one?”

“Wait,” Darby said, throwing out a hand. “What do you mean, ‘boosters’?”

“Immunity-boosting injections,” Malachi said, “given to the few Paranormals who got passes just before they left Devil’s Isle.”

“Maybe they weren’t immunity boosters,” Liam said darkly, then looked at Malachi. “Did all the Paras at Vacherie receive the injections?”

Malachi was quiet for a moment, but his expression seemed frozen with rage. “All but one. He was late to the clinic check-in and missed it.”

“Is he sick?” Darby asked.

Malachi shook his head. “Not him. But all the others received the injections. And they’re either sick or dead.”

“It’s a small sample,” Darby said. “Too small to be certain, but awfully coincidental if the one guy who didn’t get the injection also didn’t get sick. Is anyone in Devil’s Isle sick?”

“Not according to Lizzie,” Liam said.

“If you want to hurt Paras, why inject only the ones who are leaving Devil’s Isle?” Gavin asked. “You could do more damage administering injections to those staying behind.”

“Because Devil’s Isle is in the middle of New Orleans,” Liam said. “It’s surrounded by humans. And Containment doesn’t want them sick.”

“Where the Paras are in isolated areas,” Malachi said, “there are only a few humans around.”

“So maybe they’re still testing it,” Gavin said, “or very carefully deploying it.”

Liam nodded. “You deploy first to Paras heading outside New Orleans until you confirm it’s not contagious, that it won’t spread to humans.”

“Gunnar wouldn’t have let this happen.” They were the first words I’d said in a while, and they were twisting my stomach into knots. I looked pleadingly at Malachi. “He wouldn’t have.”

“She’s right,” Liam said. “Gunnar’s a stand-up guy. He’s part of Containment, but chain of command isn’t as important to him as integrity. He wouldn’t have authorized the intentional infection of Paras, and certainly not their murder. And if he hadn’t authorized it, but someone wanted to do it anyway, he’d have spread the word.”

“Which means he probably didn’t know about it,” Gavin said. “So either Containment’s not in it, or they’re in it up to their eyeballs, but only a very few people have access.”

“Containment’s in it,” Liam said. “The file was on their network. Containment guards were outside the building where Blackwell was working. The Caval brothers are involved, as is a Containment safe house.”

“I’m stuck on the efficiency thing,” Gavin said. “Why would anyone in Containment, or affiliated with Containment, do this? You want to take out Paranormals, take them out in Devil’s Isle. Hell, they could have let Reveillon have the run of the place. Why even bother fighting back?”

“Because Reveillon killed Containment agents,” Malachi said. “They wouldn’t have just destroyed Devil’s Isle and the Paras in it. They’d have completely seized power. That’s different.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but if you destroy Paranormals, you destroy the reason for Containment’s existence. No Paranormals, no federal money, no Devil’s Isle.”

Liam looked at Malachi. “Do you know how many received the injections?”

Malachi shook his head. “Not precisely. We understand there are approximately forty Paras with passes right now.”

“Forty counts of murder,” Moses said, his voice low and stained dark with anger.

“Forty-two if you count Broussard and Caval,” Liam said. “Broussard found out about Icarus, about Caval.”

“They killed Broussard because he found out too much,” I said to Liam. “And they pinned his death on you because it made sense and bought them some time. Steered the investigation away from what Broussard had been looking into.”

“Yeah,” Liam said, “that sounds about right.”

“We need to talk to Containment,” Darby said. “Stop the vaccinations immediately.”

“And how do we help those who have already been infected?” I asked.

“What about an antiviral?” Gavin asked, looking to Darby. “They’ve been developed for some viruses, haven’t they?”

“Antivirals take luck and money—and, most important, time,” Darby said. “We don’t have any of those resources right now. And that plan assumes this particular virus would be susceptible to an antiviral. Not all viruses are.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Gavin said. “You’ve got brains and a lab. It’s worth looking into.”

“I won’t refuse to help,” Darby said, “but you can’t rely on that. You’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way—you’re going to have to go to the source.”

“We have to tell Gunnar the whole story,” I said. “We have to warn him.”

“Forty targets,” Liam quietly said. “God willing we can save some of them.”

•   •   •

Darby would pass the message to Gunnar, this time on the way back to her lab. We decided to meet in our old haunt, an old church in the Freret neighborhood. Gunnar hadn’t been there before, but it was time to bring him into that particular circle, and we hadn’t met at the church in weeks anyway. Gavin stayed with Moses. Malachi could come separately, as he always did.

I asked Moses for a small favor before we left, and he provided it without comment. Then we drove Scarlet to the church, simple and beautiful and largely abandoned.

Two short steps led to double doors in front. The walls were planks of white wood, the paint peeling, the words on the sign out front long since worn away, except for APOSTLES. Maybe that was the only word that mattered.

We parked around the corner and took the standard wait-and-watch approach before climbing out and walking to the front steps. The doors were unlocked but heavy. Liam pushed one open, and we slipped inside.

The church had a small foyer and a larger sanctuary, wooden from floor to vaulted ceiling. The quiet, the dark, the sameness of it made me feel a little better about everything. When it felt like everything was changing, the few places that had stayed the same were comforts.

I walked to the lectern at the front and put my palms flat on its surface, the wood smooth where other people had done the same thing throughout the church’s history. I slid my hands to each side the way a preacher might have while looking over his congregation, pondering their burdens and sins, trying to figure out how best to reach them. A hundred years of wisdom and power worn like a stain into the wood. Maybe some of it would seep into my fingers; we needed all the help we could get.

“What an absolute horror show.”

“It’s not your fault,” Liam said.

“She’s my mother. My blood.”

“And instead of making the kinds of decisions she makes, you’re doing what you can to fix the world, not tear it down.”

We heard a flutter of wings overhead, a soft coo. A mourning dove, its feathers a pale and shimmering gray, landed on one of the exposed wooden beams that held up the church’s roof.

“I’ve always thought the sound of doves was creepy,” Liam said as he looked up and studied the bird.

“Agreed. And very sad.”

Without warning, the heavy oak doors began to rattle and shake, like they were being assaulted from the outside.

“Shit,” Liam said, and pulled a gun from his pocket. It was smaller than the .44 he kept in his truck. Black and sleek, it looked like a Containment service weapon, for those who preferred guns over stunners.

I came around the lectern, stood beside him, body braced for a fight. “Containment shouldn’t know where we are. Gunnar wouldn’t tell.”

The doors flew open, bodies silhouetted against the brilliant sunlight outside.

“Whoa,” Gunnar said, his features clearing as he stepped into the room, keeping his body in front of the doorway to protect the rest of them from any violence we might accidentally do. “It’s just us.”

“Sorry,” Liam said, putting the gun away. Malachi and Erida stepped inside behind Gunnar.

“Door got stuck,” Gunnar said. “We figured we’d beaten you here, or we would have just knocked.”

“They’re coming for you,” Malachi said.

“What do you mean?” Liam asked.

“Containment,” Gunnar said. “They’ve increased the bounties on all of you.”

“Because of what happened earlier?”

“Which was what?” Gunnar asked. “We were told to meet here, but didn’t get details.”

“What are you doing here?” Liam asked Erida, ignoring Gunnar’s question. His tone was as sharp as his gaze. “You’re supposed to be with Eleanor.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” she said, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She wore leggings, knee-high boots, and a short-sleeved top, and looked ready for either military action or a polo competition. “And I wouldn’t have come if Eleanor was not safe. She’s with Roy, and she’s safe. I’d stake my life on it.”

“You have,” Liam growled.

“Why do we need help?” Gunnar asked. “What’s going on?”

“You found Caval?” Liam asked.

Gunnar’s eyes went hard. “I did. Received a message from what was possibly the worst alias I’ve ever come across that Broussard’s killer was an agent named Caval and telling me where to find him. Forensics found him, is testing the DNA.” He looked at Liam. “I assume you found him like that?”

“We did. How we got there is involved, and we’ll get to that. How long will the testing take?”

“Should have the results later today, tomorrow at the latest. If it’s Broussard’s blood, that will help put you in the clear. Would help more if we could explain the murder weapon.”

“Let me lay it out for you,” Liam said. “We believe the Paras who’ve been dying have been infected with a virus—the same virus found in the Icarus file Broussard located on Containment-Net. We think Containment, or an outfit connected to Containment and run by a scientist named Laura Blackwell, synthesized the virus. We think Containment administered it to Paras with passes via an ‘immunity booster.’ It’s the reason the Paras at Vacherie got ill and the reason they’re dead now. It’s the reason Broussard is dead.”

Gunnar just stared at him, and I saw the instant rejection in his eyes. The dismissal of the possibility that his organization was responsible for something like that. “You’ve got it wrong. There is no way in hell Containment would administer a virus to Paras or anyone else.”

“We’ve got it right,” Malachi said. “Blood samples verify.” He offered Gunnar the papers Darby had printed.

“Three dead?” Gunnar frowned, ran a hand through his wavy hair as he looked down at the papers.

“So far,” Liam said, “of the forty who received injections. They’re all potential victims.”

“There’s no illness inside Devil’s Isle,” Gunnar said. “I’d know.”

“The only Paras who received the injections, as far as we’re aware, have passes,” Liam said. “None have returned yet.”

“I don’t know anyone named Laura Blackwell,” Gunnar said. “If she’s part of this, whoever she is, she’s not on our payroll.”

“If she’s not being paid by Containment, she’s being paid by the PCC,” Liam said. “Containment’s in this, neck-deep.” He glanced at me, hesitant to take that next step.

I might as well pony up. “And she’s my mother.”

Gunnar blinked, then stared. “She’s your— But your mother is dead.”

“No, she’s very much alive and working at a place on Elysian called ADZ Logistics. She’s my mother, was married to my father, left shortly after I was born because she wasn’t interested in being a parent.”

“Oh, Claire,” Gunnar said. “I’m sorry. And what a dick move.”

“No argument,” I managed.

“The Icarus file that Broussard found was created at ADZ,” Liam explained. “We went to surveil, and she was the first one to drive into the lot. Claire confronted her, and she called Containment on us.”

“Darby discovered the file was a plan for the synthesis of a biologic,” Malachi said. “Paras with passes have been getting ill, and she matched the virus that sickened them to that synthesis and the so-called immunity boosters.”

“You have hard evidence the injections contain the virus?”

Malachi’s gaze was hot. “We have her test results. Would you like to sample the injection and see?”

“I’m not doubting you. I wish I could doubt you. I want you to be wrong.”

“But?” Liam asked.

“But I couldn’t find anything about Icarus, so I asked an ally in the department. He laughed it off, said I had too much going on to worry about a pet project from someone in DC.”

“Interesting,” Liam said.

“Isn’t it?” Gunnar looked at me, sympathy in his eyes. “I’d tell you that you shouldn’t have confronted your mother. Except I’d have done exactly the same thing in your situation. Not that that does a lot of good.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Not my wisest move. But it had to be done.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“So am I.”

Gunnar looked at Liam. “And Broussard? Caval?”

Liam nodded. “Broussard was killed by Javier Caval. He and his brother, Lorenzo, were involved in a Containment project—some sort of black ops program that paid very, very well. And because fate is a twisted bitch, a mutual friend gave Lorenzo my knife—the one used to kill Broussard.”

I took up the story. “We think it’s possible he might have killed Javier; apparently they had a falling-out over the project. Lorenzo lives in the barracks on Canal, and that’s all we’ve got on him.”

“I knew the Caval brothers,” Gunnar said. “Not well, but I knew of them. Some minor demerits for causing trouble, starting fights.”

“Impulsive?” I asked, and Gunnar nodded.

“I’m not aware they’re involved in anything unusual. But then again, I probably wouldn’t be. That’s for their division commanders. I need to get someone to the barracks,” he said, almost to himself. “Pick Lorenzo up, see what he knows.”

He considered that for a moment, then looked at Malachi. “I presume you’re in communication with the Paras at Vacherie?”

He nodded. “The nomedic, as he’s referred to, is still there, treating as he can.”

“Good,” Gunnar said, then ran a hand through his hair. “As soon as I leave here, I’ll make arrangements for medics at the other facilities.” He looked at Malachi. “And I’ll make sure this isn’t held against them for leave purposes. They worked too fucking hard for what little freedom they were granted.”

“I agree, and I appreciate it.”

Gunnar paced to one end of the church and back, his brows furrowed as he looked at the floor, worked through his mental steps. “I have to talk to the Commandant,” he said when he reached us again. “About stopping the injections, about stopping the project, which is against so many laws and international treaties it would take me an hour to explain it.”

“Not to mention fundamentally wrong.” Malachi’s voice was a low rumble of anger.

Malachi wasn’t the only one pissed. “I’m not saying it’s not wrong,” Gunnar said. “I’m saying it’s illegal. Inside my organization, that matters.”

“When it suits you.”

Gunnar took a step toward him. “We stood between the armies that came from your world to destroy ours. Are we perfect? No. Have we been doing the best we can to keep peace in this world? To salvage what we could? Yes.”

“I will not stand over more dead bodies.”

“Hey,” I said, and stepped between them. “Both of you, back off. This situation royally sucks, and it can suck for multiple reasons at the same time. It’s not a damn competition.”

They stared at each other for another long minute before moving apart again.

“If strings are being pulled in DC, it’s going to be tricky.”

“He can’t just sit on this,” I said. “He can’t not do anything.”

“I didn’t say he wouldn’t act,” Gunnar said. “But there’s a chain of command. It’s the military, and it’s part of the game. If we want him to bypass that system, we’re going to have to make a pretty damn convincing case. Well, I will. Because that’s my job.”

“Mentioning Eleanor’s name might help get things moving in DC,” Liam said, glancing at Gunnar. “She’s connected enough, and she’d be on board. Use that however you need to.”

“Appreciate it,” Gunnar said, with an expression that backed up the words. “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”