Resonance - Erica O'Rourke Page 0,20

in a code, and the lock turned over with a thunk.

“I don’t think—Mom?”

The room was smaller than the Chamber, but equally stark. Plain white walls, black-and-white-tiled floor, no doors except the one we’d passed through. And sitting on the far side of the table, clasped hands visible under the glass tabletop, were my parents.

“Hi, kiddo. Sit, sit.” My dad patted the chair next to him, but I stayed standing, trying not to look like I was about to run.

Behind me, Lattimer locked the door again. Running was out.

At the head of the table sat the third member of the Consort: Councilwoman Bolton, the scientist, her smile a sliver of white against her dark skin. “Apologies for interrupting your training, Delancey. Especially on your first day back.”

I nodded, not sure how I was supposed to respond.

Lattimer remained standing, and everyone’s attention shifted to him—a wordless acknowledgment of who held the power. His silver hair was swept back, his pale eyes shrewd. He was old, but there was nothing frail about him. Unlike Monty, his age gave him an air of command, of cold iron will and calculation. “You were reinstated more than a week ago.”

“Del’s been through a lot,” my father said. “She needed time to recover.”

“A prudent course,” Crane agreed, settling in at the end of the table. “The Consort is grateful for your help in apprehending your grandfather. I know it was a difficult time, but you handled it as a true Walker should.”

“Thank you,” I said, the words stiff and ungainly.

“Tell us again about the moment you realized he was dangerous,” Lattimer said, smooth as a well-honed knife.

A command, not a question. Typical Consort-speak.

Addie, Eliot, and I had all given reports about what had happened, making sure our stories were straight, concealing the truth about Simon and my solo Walking. We’d rehearsed it like a sonata, and now I performed it again.

“We went to the school for more training.” We went to the school to fix the anomalies Simon kept triggering. “Mom had told us to stay out of the Echoes, but we thought we’d be safe.” We knew time was running out. “The inversions were spreading so quickly, we decided to fix them on our own.” Telling you would land us in prison and get Simon killed. So we did it ourselves. “The Train World inversion was too big for us to handle, but Monty refused to let us tell you, or cleave it.” He’d told me to run there with Simon, and then everything fell apart.

“You became suspicious,” Lattimer prompted, but his eyes narrowed.

“Eliot distracted him while Addie and I went through to stabilize it, but . . .” I lifted my hands helplessly. “The inversion was out of control. Addie figured out the anomaly was somewhere within that branch just as the threads split. We escaped, and Addie performed an emergency cleaving on the Key World side. Monty was furious, so I knew something was off. I brought him to another Echo and he confessed. That’s when you found us.”

“Yes,” Lattimer said. “The cut site is weaker than we’d like, but considering the circumstances, you did the best you could.”

“Thank you,” I said again, fighting off the sensation that the walls were inching closer.

“Montrose mentioned the Free Walkers to you when he confessed.” Bolton peered at a report, then glanced up sharply, braids swaying. “We believe the anomaly was their attempt to destabilize the Key World, and by extension, the Walkers.”

I didn’t reply.

“Coming to terms with your grandfather’s betrayal must be quite difficult,” she said, the slightest note of compassion in her words. “I’m sure you’re very angry with him.”

“I don’t think about him,” I said. Which was a lie, and Lattimer knew it, and judging from the look my parents exchanged, they knew it too. But an obvious lie is like a magician’s patter—misdirection, to conceal the greater, more important trick.

It worked. Lattimer smiled, indulging me. “I see. Nevertheless, Delancey, it’s the Consort’s duty to think about him. We’ve questioned your grandfather about his affiliation with the Free Walkers, but he refuses to answer.”

My stomach lurched. If Monty talked—and the Consort listened—Addie, Eliot, and I would end up in prison alongside him. We’d counted on our manufactured reports and Monty’s history of dementia to keep us safe, counted on his remorse to keep him quiet. Now that I was locked in a windowless room with a bunch of murderers, it seemed like a miscalculation.

I slipped my hand into my pocket and curled my fingers