Glass Sword

11

According to the map, Coraunt is four miles northeast, sitting at the intersection of Regent’s River and the extensive Port Road. It doesn’t look like more than a trading outpost, and one of the last villages before the Port Road turns inland, weaving around the flooded, impassable marshlands on its journey to the northern border. Of the four great byways of Norta, the Port Road is the most traveled, connecting Delphie, Archeon, and Harbor Bay. That makes it the most dangerous, even this far north. Any number of Silvers, military or otherwise, could be passing through—and even if they aren’t actively hunting us, there isn’t a Silver in the kingdom who wouldn’t recognize Cal. Most would try to arrest him; some would certainly try to kill him on sight.

And they could, I tell myself. It should frighten me to know this, but instead I feel invigorated. Maven, Elara, Evangeline and Ptolemus Samos—despite all their power and abilities, all of them are vulnerable. They can be defeated. We only need the proper weapons.

The thought makes it easy to ignore the pain of the last few days. My shoulder doesn’t ache so badly, and in the quiet of the forest, I realize the ringing in my head has lessened. A few more days and I won’t remember the banshee’s scream at all. Even my knuckles, bruised from striking Kilorn’s cheekbone today, barely hurt anymore.

Shade jumps among the trees, his form flickering in and out of being like starlight through clouds. He keeps close, never appearing out of eyesight, and is careful to pace his teleporting. Once or twice he whispers, pointing out a twist in the deer trail or a hidden ravine, mostly for Cal’s benefit. While Kilorn, Shade, and I were raised in the woods, he grew up in palaces and military barracks. Neither prepared him for traversing a forest at night, as evidenced by the loud snapping of branches and his occasional stumbling. He’s used to burning a path, forcing his way through obstacles and enemies with strength and strength alone.

Kilorn’s teeth gleam every time the prince trips, forming a pointed smile.

“Careful there,” he says, yanking Cal away from a boulder hidden in shadow. Cal easily wrenches out of the fish boy’s grip, but that’s all he does, thankfully. Until we reach the stream.

Branches arc overhead from the trees on either bank, their leaves brushing against one another across the gap of water. Starlight winks through, illuminating the stream as it winds through the forest to join the Regent. It’s narrow, but there’s no telling how deep it might be. At least the current looks gentle.

Kilorn is probably more comfortable on water than land, and jumps nimbly into the shallows. He tosses a single stone into the middle of the stream, listening to the plop of rock on water. “Six feet, maybe seven,” he says after a moment. Well over my head. “Should we make you a raft?” he adds, grinning my way.

I first swam the Capital, a true river more than three times as deep and ten times as wide, when I was fourteen. So it’s nothing to plunge right into the stream, dipping my head beneath the dark, cold water. This close to the ocean, it tastes faintly of salt.

Kilorn follows without question, his long-practiced strokes taking him across the stream in seconds. I’m surprised he doesn’t show off more, turning flips or holding his breath for minutes at a time. When I reach the opposite shore, I realize why.

Shade and Farley perch on the distant bank, eyeing the water below. Both their faces twitch, fighting smirks or smiles as they watch the prince in the shallows. The stream breaks neatly around Cal’s ankles, gentle as a mother’s touch, but his face goes pale in the moonlight. He rapidly crosses his arms, trying to hide his shaking hands.

“Cal?” I ask aloud, careful to keep my voice low. “What’s wrong?”

Already lounging against a tree trunk, Kilorn snorts in the darkness. He zips off his jacket, ringing out the waterlogged material with practiced efficiency. “Come on, Calore, you can fly a jet but you can’t swim?” he says.

“I can swim,” Cal replies hotly. He forces another step into the stream, now up to his knees. “I just don’t care for it.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Cal is a burner, a controller of flame, and nothing weakens him more than water. It makes him helpless, powerless, everything he’s been taught to hate, fear, and fight. I remember him in the arena, how he almost died. Trapped by Lord Osanos, surrounded by a floating orb of water even he could not burn away. It must have felt like a coffin, a watery grave.

I wonder if he thinks of it too, if the memory makes the quiet stream look more like a churning, endless ocean.

My first instinct is to swim back, to help him across with my own two hands, but that would send Kilorn into a laughing fit even Cal wouldn’t be able to stomach. And a brawl in the middle of the woods is the last thing we need.

“In through the nose, Cal.” When he looks up, our eyes locking across the stream, I give him a tiny, supporting nod. Out through the mouth. It’s just his own advice repeated back, but it soothes him all the same.

He takes another step forward, then another and another, chest heaving with each steadying breath. And then he’s swimming, paddling across the stream like a massive dog. Kilorn shakes with silent laughter, one hand over his mouth. I toss a few stones his way. It shuts him up long enough for Cal to reach the shallows again, and he eagerly sprints out of the water. A bit of steam rises from his skin, driven by the heat of his own embarrassment.

“S’cold,” he mumbles, shaking his head so he doesn’t have to look at us. His black hair sticks, plastered to one side of his silver-flushed face. Without thought, I brush it away, smoothing his hair back into a more dignified style. He holds my gaze all the while, looking pleasantly surprised by the action.

Then it’s my turn to blush. We said no distractions.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of water too?” Kilorn calls across the stream, his voice too loud and gruff. Farley only laughs in reply, grabbing my brother’s wrist. A split second later, they stand next to us, smirking and dry.

They jumped. Of course.

Shade scoffs, squeezing my tail of wet hair. “Idiots,” he says kindly.

But for the crutch, I’d push him squarely into the stream.

My hair has almost dried by the time we reach the rise above Coraunt. Clouds roll in, covering the moon and stars, but the lights of the village are enough to see by. From our vantage point, Coraunt looks like the Stilts, built at the mouth of the Regent’s River, centered on a crossroads. One, neatly paved and slightly raised above the salt marsh, is clearly the Port Road. The other runs east to west, and turns into a packed dirt road beyond the village. A watchtower on the riverbank points toward the sky, its crown illuminated by a revolving beacon of light. I flinch when it passes over us.

“Think he’s down there?” Kilorn breathes, meaning Nix. He eyes the number of squat houses below, huddled in the shadow of the watchtower.

“‘Nix Marsten. Living. Male. Born 12/20/271 in Coraunt, Marsh Coast, Regent State, Norta. Current residence: Same as birth.’ That’s all the list said,” I repeat from memory, seeing the words in my mind. I leave out the last part, the one that sears like a brand. Blood type: not applicable. Gene mutation, strain unknown. It follows every name on the list, including my own. It’s the marker Julian said he used to find these people in the bloodbase, matching my blood to theirs. Now it’s up to me to use that information—and hope that I’m not too late.

I squint against the darkness, trying to see through the night. Fortunately the Regent looks quiet, a black and calm river, and the roads are empty. Even the ocean looks still as glass. Curfew is in full effect, as commanded by the wretched Measures still in place. “No navy ships that I can see. And no traffic on the Port Road.”

Cal nods, agreeing, and my heart swells. Surely Maven’s hunters would not travel without an entourage of soldiers, making them easy to spot. That leaves two possibilities: they haven’t come for Nix yet, or they’re long gone.

“Shouldn’t be too hard, even with the curfew.” Farley’s eyes flash over the village, taking in every roof and street corner. I get the feeling she’s done this before. “Lazy town, lazy officers. Ten coppers says they don’t even bother to secure the town records.”

“I’ll take you on that,” Shade replies, nudging her shoulder.

“We’ll meet you over there,” Cal says. He points at a grove of trees half a mile away. It’s hard to see in the darkness, surrounded by marsh and tall grass. Perfect cover, but I shake my head.

“We’re not splitting up.”

“You’d rather traipse in there together, with you and me leading the charge? Why don’t I just blow up the Security outpost, and you can fry any officer who comes your way?” Cal replies. He does his best to keep calm, but sounds more and more like an exasperated teacher. Like his uncle Julian.

“Of course not—”

“Neither of us can set foot in that village, Mare. Not unless you intend to kill every person who sees our faces. Every person.”

His eyes bore into mine, willing me to understand. Every person. Not just Security, not just soldiers, not even Silver civilians. Everyone. Any whisper of us, any rumor, and Maven will come running. With Sentinels, soldiers, legions, everyone and everything in his power. Our only defense is staying hidden, and staying ahead. We can’t do either if we leave a trail.

“Okay.” My voice sounds as small as I feel. “But Kilorn stays with us.”

Kilorn’s eyes flicker, dancing between me and Cal. “This will go a lot faster if you don’t keep nannying me, Mare.”

Nanny. I suppose that’s what I’m being, even now when he can think, fight, and provide for himself. If only he wasn’t so foolish, so dedicated to refusing my protection.

“Maven knows your name,” I tell him. “We’d be stupid to think your ID photo hasn’t been sent to every officer and outpost in the country.”

His lips twist into a scowl. “What about Farley—”

“I’m Lakelander, boy,” Farley answers for me. At least we’re on the same page.

“Boy?” Kilorn says with a scowl. “You’re barely older than me.”

“Four years older, to be precise,” Shade answers smoothly.

Farley only rolls her eyes at both of them. “Your king has no claim over my records, and he doesn’t know my true name.”

“I’m only going because everyone thinks I’m dead,” Shade pipes in, leaning on his crutch. He puts a calming hand on Kilorn’s shoulder, but he shrugs him off.

“Fine,” he grumbles under his breath. Without so much as a backward glance, he starts marching toward the grove, quick and quiet as a field mouse.

Cal glares after him, a corner of his mouth twitching in distaste. “Any chance we can lose him?”

“Don’t be cruel, Cal,” I reply sharply, heading after Kilorn. I make sure to hit the prince as I pass, bumping him with my good shoulder. Not to harm, but to communicate. Leave him alone.

He follows me closely, dropping his voice to a whisper. Warm fingers brush my arm, trying to soothe me. “I’m only joking.”

But I know that’s not true. That’s not true at all. And worst of all, I wonder if he’s right. Kilorn isn’t a soldier, or a scholar, or a scientist. He can weave a net faster than anyone I know, but what good is that when we’re catching people, not fish? I don’t know what kind of training he received in the Guard, but it’s little more than a month’s worth. He survived the Hall of the Sun because of me, and outlived the massacre of Caesar’s Square because of luck. With no ability, little training, and less sense, how can he do anything but slow us down?

I saved him from conscription, but not for this. Not for another war. Part of me wishes I could send him home, back to the Stilts, our river, and the life we knew. He would live poor, overworked, unwanted, but he would live. That future, tucked between the woods and the riverbank, is no longer possible for me. But it could be for him. I want it for him.

Is it mad to let him stay here?

But how do I let him go?

I have no answer for either question, and push away all thoughts of Kilorn. They can wait. When I look back, meaning to say good-bye to Shade and Farley, I realize they’re already gone. A shiver of fear runs down my spine as I imagine an ambush down in Coraunt. Gunfire echoes in my head, still close in my memory. No. With Shade’s ability and Farley’s experience, nothing can stop them tonight. And without me, without the lightning girl to hide, no one will have to die.

Kilorn is a shadow through the tall grass, parting green stalks with able hands. He hardly leaves a trail, not that it matters. With Cal crashing along behind me, his broad bulk trampling everything in his path, there’s no point in masking our presence. And we’ll be gone long before morning, hopefully with Nix in tow. If we’re lucky, no one will notice a missing Red, allowing us time to get ahead of Maven once he figures out what we’re doing.

What is that, exactly? The voice in my head turns strange, a combination of Julian, Kilorn, Cal, and a little bit of Gisa. It needles, poking at what I’m too afraid to admit. The list is only the first step. Tracking down newbloods—but then what do we do with them? What do I do?

Frustration makes me walk faster, until I outstrip Kilorn. I barely notice him slowing to let me pass, knowing I want to lead alone. The grove gets closer by the second, shrouded in darkness, and I wish I was alone. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since I woke up alone in the mersive. But even that was fleeting, my silence broken apart by Kilorn. I was glad to see him then, but now, now I wish I had that time to myself. Time to think, to plan, to grieve. To wrap myself around what my life has become.

“We give him a choice.” I speak aloud, knowing neither Cal nor Kilorn would stray beyond earshot. “He comes with us or he stays here.”

Cal leans against a nearby tree, his body relaxed, but his eyes stay fixed on the horizon. Nothing escapes his gaze. “Do we tell him the consequences of this choice?”

“If you want to kill him, you’ll have to go through me,” I reply. “I won’t put a newblood to death for refusing to join up. Besides, if he wants to tell an officer I was here, he’ll have to explain why. And that’s as good as a death sentence for Mr. Marsten.”

The prince’s lip curls. He fights the urge to snarl. But arguing with me will get him nowhere, not now. He’s obviously not used to taking any orders but his own. “Do we tell him about Maven? That he’ll die if he stays? That others will die if Maven tracks you down?”

I dip my head, nodding. “We tell him everything we can, and then we let him decide who and what he wants to be. As for Maven, well …” I search for the right thing to say, but those words are scarcer with every passing moment. “We stay ahead of him. I guess that’s all we can do.”

“Why?” Kilorn pipes in. “Why give him a choice at all? You said yourself, we need everyone we can get. If this Nix guy is half of what you are, we can’t afford to let him go.”

The answer is so simple, and it cuts me to bone.

“Because no one ever gave me a choice.”

I tell myself that I would still walk this path if I knew the consequences—save Kilorn from conscription, discover my ability, join the Guard, tear lives apart, fight, kill. Become the lightning girl. But I don’t know if that’s true. I honestly don’t know.

Maybe an hour passes in heavy, tense silence. It suits me just fine, giving me time to think, and Cal revels in the quiet. After the past few days, he’s just as hungry for rest as I am. Not even Kilorn dares to joke. Instead, he’s content to sit on a gnarled root, weaving strands of tall grass into a brittle, useless net. He smiles faintly, enjoying the old, familiar knots.

I think of Nix down in the village, probably pulled from his bed, maybe gagged, definitely ensnared in a net of my own making. Would Farley threaten his wife, his children, to make him come? Or would Shade simply grab his wrist and jump, sending them both hurtling through the sickening vise of teleportation until they land in the grove? Born 12/20/271. Nix is almost forty-nine, my father’s age. Will Nix be like him, wounded and broken? Or is he whole, waiting for us to break him?

Before I can fall into a spiral of dark and damning questions, the tall grass stirs. Someone is coming.

It’s like flipping a switch in Cal. He pushes off his tree, every muscle taut and ready for whatever might step out of the grass. I half expect to see fire on his fingertips, but after long years of military training, Cal knows better. In the darkness, his flame would be like the watchtower beacon, alerting every officer to our presence. To my surprise, Kilorn looks just as vigilant as the prince. He drops his grass net, crushing it underfoot as he stands. He even pulls a hidden dagger from his boot, a sharp, thick little blade he once used to gut fish. The sight of it sets my teeth on edge. I don’t know when the knife became a weapon, or when he started carrying it in his shoe. Probably around the time people started shooting at him.

I’m not without my own weapons. The low thrum in my blood is all I need, sharper than any blade, more brutal than any bullet. Sparks vein beneath my skin, ready if I need them. My ability has a subtlety that Cal’s lacks.

A birdcall splits the night, hooting through the grass. Kilorn responds in kind, whistling out a low tune. He sounds like the thrushes that nest in the stilt houses at home. “Farley,” he murmurs under his breath, pointing at the tall grass.

She is the first to step out of the shadows, but not the last. Two figures follow: one is my brother leaning on his crutch, and the other is squat, with muscled limbs and the round belly men gain with age. Nix.

Cal’s hand closes around my upper arm, exerting a slight pressure. He pulls gently, moving me back into the deeper shadows of the grove. I go without hesitation, knowing that we can’t be too careful. Dimly, I wish for a scrap of scarlet, to mask my face as we did in Naercey.

“Did you have any trouble?” Kilorn says, stepping up to Farley and Shade. He sounds older somehow, more in control than I’m used to. He keeps his eyes on Nix, following every twitch of the round little newblood’s fingers.

Farley waves off the question like an annoyance. “Simple. Even with this one limping around,” she adds, jabbing a thumb at Shade. Then she turns to Nix. “He didn’t put up a fight.”

Despite the darkness, I see a deep red blush creep across Nix’s face. “Well, I’m not stupid, am I?” He speaks gruffly, directly. A man with no use for secrets. Though his blood hides the greatest secret of all. “You’re that Scarlet Guard. The officers would string me up for having you in my house. Even uninvited.”

“Good to know,” Shade mutters under his breath. His bright eyes dim a little as he cuts a meaningful look my way. Our very presence could doom this man. “Now, Mr. Marsten—”

“Nix,” he grumbles. Something glimmers in his eye and he follows Shade’s gaze. He finds me in the shadows and squints, trying to see my face. “But I think you already knew that.”

Kilorn steps lightly, shifting so he blocks me from view. The motion seems innocent, but Nix’s brow furrows as he understands the deeper meaning. He bristles, standing toe to toe with Kilorn. The younger boy towers over him, but Nix doesn’t show an inch of fear. He raises one ruddy finger, pointing at Kilorn’s chest. “You pulled me out here after curfew. That’s a hanging offense. Now you tell me what for, or else I’ll wander on home and try not to die on the way.”

“You’re different, Nix.” My voice sounds too high, too young. How do I explain? How do I tell him what I wish someone told me? What I don’t even truly understand? “You know there’s something about you, something you can’t explain. You might even think there’s something … wrong with you.”

My last words find home like arrows. The gruff little man flinches as they land; bits of his anger melt away. He knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Yes,” he says.

I don’t move from my place deep in the grove, but instead gesture for Kilorn to step aside. He does as asked, letting Nix walk past him. As he approaches, joining me in the shadows, my heartbeat quickens. It pounds in my ears, a nervous, eager drum. This man is a newblood, like me, like Shade. Another who understands.

Nix Marsten looks nothing like my father, but they have the same eyes. Not in color, not in shape, but still, they are the same. They share the hollow look that speaks of emptiness, a loss time cannot heal. To my horror, Nix’s hurt runs deeper even than Dad’s, a man who can barely breathe, let alone walk. I see it in the droop of his shoulders, in the neglect of his gray hair and clothing. Were I still a thief, a rat, I wouldn’t bother to steal from this man. He has nothing left to give.

He returns my stare, eyes flickering over my face and body. They widen when he realizes who I am. “The Lighting Girl.” But when he recognizes Cal at my shoulder, his shock quickly gives way to rage.

For an almost fifty-year-old man, Nix is surprisingly fast. In the shadows, I barely see him drop a shoulder and charge, catching Cal around the middle. Though he’s half the prince’s size, he takes him down like a bull, smashing them both into a sturdy tree trunk. It cracks loudly beneath the blow, shaking from roots to branches. After half a heartbeat, I realize that I should probably step in. Cal is Cal, but we have no idea who Nix is, or what he can do.

Nix gets in one bruising punch, hitting Cal’s jaw so hard I fear it might be broken, before I manage to get my arms around his neck. “Don’t make me, Nix,” I rumble in his ear. “Don’t make me.”

“Do your worst,” Nix spits back, trying to elbow me off. But I hold firm, squeezing his neck. The flesh feels rock hard beneath my touch. Very well.

I push enough power through me to stun Nix into submission. The jolt should set his hair on end. My purple sparks hit his skin, and I expect him to drop back, maybe shake a little, and come to his senses. But he doesn’t seem to feel my lightning at all. It only annoys him, like a fly would a horse. I shock him again, stronger this time, and again, nothing. In my surprise, he manages to throw me off and I land hard, my back against a tree.

Cal does better, dodging and catching as many punches as he can. But he hisses in pain at the contact, even the blows that glance off his arm. Finally the flame-maker bracelet at his wrist sparks, forming a fireball in his hand. It breaks against Nix’s shoulder like water on rock, burning the clothes but leaving the flesh unharmed.

Stoneskin echoes in my head, but this man is no such thing. His skin is still ruddy and smooth, not gray or stony. It is simply impenetrable.

“Stop this!” I growl, trying to keep my voice low. But the scuffle, or should I say butchery, continues on. Silver blood pours from Cal’s mouth, staining Nix’s knuckles black in the shadows.

Kilorn and Farley rush past me, their hurried footsteps pounding in time. I don’t know how much use they’ll be against this human wrecking ball, and I hold out a hand to stop them. But Shade reaches Nix before they do, jumping into position behind him. He grabs Nix by the neck, like I did, and then they’re both gone. They appear ten feet away a split second later, and Nix falls to the ground, his face vaguely green. He tries to get up, but Shade braces his crutch against his neck, pinning him.

“Move and I’ll do it again,” he says, his eyes alive and dangerous.

Nix raises one silver-stained hand in surrender. The other clutches his stomach, still flipping from the surprise and sensation of being squeezed through thin air. I know it all too well.

“Enough,” he pants. A sheen of sweat glints across his forehead, betraying the exhaustion setting in. Impenetrable, but not unstoppable.

Kilorn plops back down on his root, snatching up the remnants of his net. He smiles to himself, almost laughing at the sight of Cal beaten and bleeding. “I like this one,” he says. “I like him very much.”

I fight to my feet, ignoring the old aches setting off across my bones. “The prince is with us, Nix. He’s here to help, same as me.”

That does nothing to assuage him. Nix sits back on his heels, baring yellow teeth. His breath sounds ragged and visceral. “Help?” he scoffs. “That Silver bastard helped my daughters into an early grave.”

Cal does his best to look polite, despite the blood dripping down his chin. “Sir—”

“Dara Marsten. Jenny Marsten,” Nix hisses in reply. His glare goes right through me, a knife in the darkness. “The Hammer Legion. Battle of the Falls. They were nineteen years old.”

Died in the war. A tragedy, if not a crime, but how is it Cal’s fault?

Judging by the look of pure shame crossing his face, Cal agrees with Nix. When he speaks, his voice is thick, choked with emotion. “We won,” he murmurs, unable to look Nix in the eye. “We won.”

Nix clenches a single fist, but resists the urge to charge. “You won. They drowned in the river, and their bodies went over Maiden Falls. The grave diggers couldn’t even find their shoes. What was it the letter said?” he presses on, and Cal winces. “Ah yes, that my girls ‘died for victory.’ To ‘defend the kingdom.’ And there were some very nice signatures at the bottom. From the dead king, the general of the Hammer, and the tactical genius who decided an entire legion should march across the river.”

Every eye turns to Cal, and he burns under our gaze. His face goes white, flushed with blood and disgrace. I remember his room back in the Hall of the Sun, the books and manuals filled to the brim with notes and tactics. They made me sick then and they make me sick now, with Cal and myself. Because I’ve forgotten who he truly is. Not just a prince, not just a soldier, but a murderer. In another life it could’ve been me he marched to death, or my brothers, or Kilorn.

“I’m sorry,” Cal breathes. He forces himself to look up, to meet the eyes of an angry, grieving father. I suppose he was trained to do it. “I know my words mean nothing. Your daughters—all the soldiers—deserved to live. And so do you, sir.”

Nix’s knees crack when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Is that a threat, boy?”

“A warning,” Cal replies, shaking his head. “You’re like Mare, like Shade.” He gestures to us in turn. “Different. What we call a newblood. Red and Silver.”

“Don’t you ever call me Silver,” Nix says through gritted teeth.

It doesn’t stop Cal from continuing, rising to his feet. “My brother will be hunting people like you. He plans to kill you all, and pretend you never existed. He plans to erase you from history.”

Something sticks in Nix’s throat and confusion clouds his eyes. He glances to me, looking for support. “There are … others?”

“Many others, Nix.” This time when I touch his skin, I have no intention of shocking him. “Girls, boys, old and young. All over the country, waiting to be found.”

“And when you find them … us? What then?”

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. I haven’t thought that far ahead.

Farley steps forward when I can’t, extending a hand. She holds a red scarf, ragged but clean. “The Scarlet Guard will protect them, hide them. And train them if they want to be trained.”

I almost balk at her words, thinking back to the Colonel. The last thing he seems to want is newbloods around, but Farley sounds so sure, so convincing. Like always, I’m sure she has something else up her sleeve, something I shouldn’t question. Yet.

Slowly, Nix takes the scarf from her, turning it over in his stained hands. “And if I refuse?” he asks lightly, but I hear the steel beneath.

“Then Shade will put you right back in bed, and you’ll never hear from us again,” I tell him. “But Maven will come. If you don’t want to stick with us, you’re better off in the wild.”

His grip tightens on the scarlet fabric. “Not much of a choice.”

“But you do have a choice.” I hope he knows I mean it. I hope it for my own sake, for my own soul. “You can choose to stay, or come. You know better than anyone how much has been lost—but you can help us regain something too.”

Nix is quiet for a long while after that. He paces, scarf in hand, occasionally glancing through the branches at the watchtower beacon. It revolves three times before he speaks again.

“My girls are dead, my wife’s dead, and I’m sick of the marsh stink,” he says, stopping in front of me. “I’m with you.” Then he glares over my shoulder, and I don’t need to turn around to know he’s looking at Cal. “Just keep that one far away from me.”