Someone had snapped it while she was in the midst of conducting, her hair swinging wildly, her arms uplifted, her face fierce and proud.
We’d sounded amazing that night. She might have faked her teaching credentials, but in that moment she’d been completely genuine. It was the only personal thing in the room.
“Why do they need you?” Eliot asked abruptly.
I set the picture back. “What do you mean?’
“You said Ms. Powell told you the Free Walkers needed your help. Why?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “She was about to tell me more when the guards came. I’ll be sure to ask the Free Walkers once I track them down.”
“We’re wasting our time,” he said.
Exhaustion was creeping in, turning me short-tempered. “Leave if you want,” I said. “But I’m staying until I find something that will lead me to them.”
“You don’t need to,” Eliot said. “If you’ve got something they need—scores, or secrets, or something else—the Free Walkers are going to come for you. It’s just a matter of time.”
He was right. I only hoped they found me before the Consort did.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Days until Tacet: 22
HEADING INTO CCM THE NEXT morning, I felt like I’d been hit by a train too. The late night with Eliot, the fear of discovery, the deepening realization that Ms. Powell was gone, all combined to make my hands shake. But no one looked twice as we checked in at CCM’s front desk; no one was waiting to take me into custody. For now, we’d gotten away with it.
“What have you two been up to?” Callie asked when I slunk into the room behind Eliot, head bent and shoulders hunched.
“Nothing.”
“You look like shit. Both of you.” When Eliot didn’t respond—or look at me—she leaned in and whispered, “Fight? Are you two . . .”
“No,” I said firmly.
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you’re fighting?”
“We’re not fighting.” Fighting would clear out the wound. Despite showing him the cut site, Eliot was still angry, and with every clipped answer, our relationship festered.
I’d thought working together would help. We were always a good team, but helping the Free Walkers wasn’t a common goal, proof or no proof. If anything, I’d made things worse. He’d tolerated my obsession when he could chalk it up to a delusion, a part of the grieving process. Knowing it was real—and that I hadn’t trusted him despite all we’d been through—was a blow we might not recover from.
“Work it out fast, whatever it is,” Callie said, and gestured to the board. Our team assignments for the day were written out, and as usual, Callie, Eliot, and I were together. “I’m not losing my ranking because you two can’t get your act together.”
“Thanks for the support,” I muttered.
She nudged me. “Your name’s still not on the leaderboard. Should I be worried?”
“About me?” I made a brushing-off gesture, laughed too loudly. “Cal, I’m touched.”
Her smile was as forced as my own.
Shaw strolled in, followed by my father and the rest of his team, Cleavers named Clark and Franklin. “Dad?”
“Cleaving Day,” Shaw called, and the air crackled with anticipation. “We have a team here—led by Del’s father—who are going to walk us through a real cleaving, step by step.”
I gaped at my dad, who gave me a cheerful wave. His smile faltered when I didn’t return it.
“But—”
Across the table Eliot coughed loudly, a warning to stay calm.
I gripped the arms of my chair. He was right. I couldn’t afford to draw any more attention to us. Somewhere in this building, Ms. Powell was locked up, or worse. Unless I wanted to join her, I needed to look like a team player. So I shut my mouth and avoided my father’s gaze while Shaw reviewed the ground rules and target frequencies. Eliot leaned back and took notes, as always, but I couldn’t hear over the drumming of my pulse.
“Remember,” Shaw said, “your role today is strictly observation. For safety reasons, we’ve chosen a relatively stable world, instead of one that’s badly deteriorated. Even the most routine cleaving can be dangerous, so it’s important we stay together and follow directions exactly. Got it?”
All around the table, heads bobbed agreement, but I held still, feeling as fragile and wavery as antique glass. Eliot cleared his throat, and I nodded in time with the rest of the class.
“Great. Let’s roll, kids.”
Shaw strode to the coatrack and shrugged into a canvas duster, clamped a cowboy hat on his balding head, and beckoned for us to follow. Everyone scrambled up. Only Eliot and I