Sanctuary. ?ilina, Slovakia.

  They were two days waiting to hear back from Misha’s contact. On the second day, Reeve knocked on Alex’s door. He knew it was selfish, but he also knew that if they had to move on this lead before the two of them had talked, he wouldn’t be able to focus on a damn thing, which could get them in even more trouble than they were already in. He wasn’t expecting a resolution, but he needed to know that Alex wasn’t set on hating him for the rest of his life.

  “Yeah?” came Alex’s voice.

  Reeve closed his eyes as if against impact. “Can we talk?”

  There was a short silence, then, “No.”

  Reeve squeezed his eyes tighter in a flinch. He called, “Okay,” as neutrally as possible and gave the door a soft pat with the flat of his palm. He nodded, willing his mind to think nothing, as if he might read his own thoughts.

  “Reeve,” Alex’s voice came through the door, with an odd tone of annoyance or exhaustion. “Just come in.”

  He waited a moment, breathing, and then opened the door. Alex was sitting on the bed. The covers were a crumpled mess and the pillow had been dragged down to the middle of the mattress. He wasn’t looking at Reeve and the cloud of thoughts around his mind stung. Reeve avoided it.

  Moving a stack of itchy blankets off the side table just inside the door, Reeve sat down across from him, about as far away as he could. He tried to will the commotion in his chest and stomach into calmness.

  “What?” Alex asked sharply when he didn’t speak.

  Reeve pushed a breath out through his nose. He needed to find some way to not be himself right now.

  “I know the way things happened was... You didn’t want to split up, and I get that you’re upset and I need you to know, I mean, I wanted to tell you that I didn’t intend to hurt you.”

  Alex blinked. “Okay. But you did.”

  Reeve closed his eyes again. “I know.”

  “Do you, though?”

  “Alex, I’m sor—”

  But Alex broke in over him, his voice louder. There was a tremble in it which Alex tried to hide with how sure he sounded. “We had sex,” he enunciated pointedly. “Like, first-time sex. Actual, big deal sex. And then you left for three weeks without talking to me, like it was nothing. You get that, right? I need you to actually look at me now.”

  Reeve opened his eyes and looked at Alex. He was sitting in bed with his spine upright like a steel pole. The muscles around his eyes were strained like he was trying hard not to blink. His face was flat and closed, shoulders tensed, the tendons flexing beneath the scarred skin by his jaw.

  “You get that, right?” he repeated, holding his eyes. “You just left.”

  “Yes,” Reeve said. He was blinking too much and Alex wasn’t blinking enough. “I thought… You were so angry we were splitting up and I thought I was doing you less harm by giving you space. There wasn’t time.”

  “Do you know how stupid you sound?” he snapped. “You thought you were doing less harm? By not even saying goodbye? You couldn’t have sucked it up for like, five minutes, and dealt with being uncomfortable while I was mad? You couldn’t have said something. Anything. Were you even sad to be leaving me? Did it even matter to you? You couldn’t have said, ‘Hey, I’m not splitting us up like this because it’s too awkward to be around you now—’”

  “No,” Reeve tried to interject, but Alex was a pro at speaking over him.

  “You didn’t have ten seconds for, ‘Like, just so you know, I’m not leaving you with Hannah and a guy I hate because we fucked and it’s weird and I don’t know how to tell you this isn’t going to work so yeah, for the first time in my fucking life I’m going to listen to Gareth even though it’s a fucking shitty idea. But it’s fucking weird now and I don’t want to deal with it, so bye.’”

  “Oh my god,” Reeve breathed, leaning forward without thinking. “You didn’t really think that?”

  “Of course I fucking did! You never listen to anyone else, ever, and that’s why we’re here! Look around, Reeve! This is because you’re not a goddamn team player and everyone knows it, and then you pick the day after we fuck to start collaborating? It was a shitty idea, but you went for it anyway—”

  Reeve cut in, “I did what we had to do. It wasn’t a shitty—” He found his voice growing louder despite himself, but Alex cut him off again.

  “Yes it was! We got targeted, not you guys! It didn’t work. You didn’t protect shit. You’re smart; there’s no way you didn’t see that coming. So yes. I thought that.”

  Reeve tried to speak, but Alex steamrolled ahead, shouting now, “Like, were you regretting it or was it really bad? Was I bad? Just not good enough for what you wanted, and it was too complicated for you to even fucking figure out how to tell me?” His voice was starting to break. He stopped and swallowed. His voice quieted. “You didn’t even say goodbye. Whatever. I don’t care anymore. Fuck it.”

  Reeve sat back, quiet for a second, reeling from the idea that Alex had spent weeks thinking he’d used him. That hurt him in a way he’d never felt before. At the same time, it stung to know that Alex thought so little of him that he believed he would ever do that.

  He fought to focus and to focus on Alex. “I get that I fucked up. I didn’t think—”

  “No,” Alex snapped, pointing a finger at him, and continued in rapid fire, “Stop talking right there. I don’t give a shit what you were thinking because I didn’t get your thoughts, I got what you did.”

  He nodded. “I regret with my entire being that you took it that way.”

  “No,” Alex drew the word out the way you might correct a child, “you hurt me. This isn’t about how I took it.”

  Only Alex could make an apology this impossible. He opened his mouth to speak but Alex ran over him.

  “No.” He threw up his hands. “I know that look. That’s the, ‘Alex is an unbelievable brat’ look. Oh, and now this is the ‘how dare anyone read me, I’m an all-mighty telepath’ look. Great. Forget it. Just get out.”

  “I’m trying to apologize,” he snapped a little louder than he intended.

  “I don’t care.”

  Reeve let out an exasperated breath and struggled to find his bearings.

  “For shit’s sake,” Alex nearly shouted, “Get out!”

  Reeve stood silently and carefully replaced the blankets where they’d been. Alex’s eyes were wet, but he was holding back. He looked primed to lash out, though he didn’t, only watched Reeve leave and close the door behind him.

  Reeve didn't notice Misha until he had almost walked directly into him coming down the hallway.

  “Whoa,” he said, putting his hands on Reeve’s shoulders to stop him.

  “Sorry,” Reeve stammered. His face was hot. “I didn’t mean…” His voice stuck.

  Misha waved him off. “Whatever, my contact set a time for a meet.”

  Reeve nodded once. “Can this wait?”

  Misha’s chin reared back. Reeve watched his face morph from annoyed shock to curiosity, like he was appraising every inch of Reeve’s face. It made his skin itch.

  “Da.” He gave a sliver of a shrug.

  He thought, thank you, and headed into the room he shared with Misha and shut the door with enough force to make it clear that Misha had better not consider using their room for a while.

  Once inside, he found himself at a loss. He had tried to apologize but he’d somehow fucked that up too. He sat on the bed but his body felt like it was moving, so he paced. But even pacing felt wrong, like he was out of step with his body.

  After waiting weeks to tell Alex all the things he’d only barely been containing, not being allowed to apologize had taken him truly by surprise. All he wanted was to slowly move forward in any direction that wasn’t immediately back into this fight, but Alex wanted to stew in it.

  Maybe this limbo would be better than moving through to a reality in which Reeve had blown this one shot and their relationship had become an awkward, tainted thing. But that wasn’t right now. Right now was this stupid fight where Alex was hurt (he got that) and Reeve hadn’t acted as best as he could have (he got that too) but Alex was unwilling to let him do anything about it.

  He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. Maybe he had screwed up his apology. Or maybe they both did. He felt like it was about time that something wasn’t entirely his fault.

  With everything they’d gone through, his team—his family—had been painfully vocal that he was to blame for all of it. And yes, Reeve might be ornery about it, but ultimately he didn’t often disagree. His intentions had been noble, but his actions put them at risk.

  It was supposed to have been his risk alone, but he hadn’t factored in that Hannah and Gareth would be stupid enough to defect just because of him. That they’d listen to Alex on the matter instead of keeping him out of harm’s way, even if it meant the Corp moving him into an Academy away from them.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  That didn’t matter. Reeve didn’t deny he was the reason they were on the run and he was spending every waking hour making sure they were safe to make up for it. And most of his hours were waking. His fault, his responsibility to keep them alive.

  But it wasn’t that long ago that they were at Maggie’s, giving him hell for not leaving space for their input and not taking their ideas into account—and now that he was, that was wrong too.

  Everything in his body felt like it was twisting. All of Alex’s arguments ignored the fact that he alone hadn’t made the call to split up, to trust that Gareth—who had lived with Entropy—had a better idea of how to avoid them. They had taken a fucking vote. Alex and Hannah had gone one way, everyone else had gone the other.

  And Alex. He hadn’t thought this would ever actually happen. This seismic shift. Now it had all gone sour and that was his fault, too, with no avenue toward forgiveness.

  Blaming Reeve for everything bad in their lives was one thing. Forcibly holding him over the coals of it was another.

  Because it’s not like Alex had said anything, either.

  They had both stood in that too-small room in Berlin while Alex packed and where Reeve had said his name, but Alex had refused to look at or even acknowledge him. Alex was hurt that he’d left without saying anything more. Reeve was hurt that he’d been blocked out when he attempted to talk to him.

  Reeve had left not understanding what had gone wrong and why Alex was so angry with him. It may not have been his first time, but Reeve still felt like he had put himself out on a limb—one that had terrified him and that he’d long labeled as impossible, for the sole reason that Reeve was deathly afraid of hurting Alex.

  Somehow that didn’t matter and Reeve was still the fuck-up here. He didn’t even really want to fight Alex on the point. Just move past it. He couldn’t do that right, either.

  A knock at the door jolted him out of his own head and he sat up sharply on the bed. Shvedov walked in without waiting and shut the door behind him.

  “Sorry.” Alyosha wore his small, regretful smile. He was giving Reeve a caring but pitiful look that made him shrink. Reeve’s eyes were burning and he knew he must have been crying at some point. Shvedov leaned against the door. “Misha’s contact just got here and he sent me to tell you.”

  Reeve made a rare, frustrated wordless sound and rubbed at his hair leaving it falling in all different directions. “He came here to the Sanctuary? For fuck’s sake. Okay, tell him I’ll be right down.”

  “He said you have a minute. This guy loves hanging out in Sanctuaries or something.”

  “That’s...really weird. Sure.” He left his head in his hands, attempting not to think. Instead, he thought about what he must look like to Shvedov.

  Alyosha pushed himself off the door and crossed the room to Reeve’s bag. He fished out one of Reeve’s button-downs– it came as close to a clean shirt as any of them at this point– and tossed it to Reeve, who caught it and sat up straighter.

  “Come down,” he told Reeve. “Everyone is already there. We need you.” Shvedov gave him a fortifying squeeze on the shoulder and left.

  He sighed and pulled off his sweat-damp shirt, letting it drop onto the floor. It didn’t seem right that they should have both: needing him and him ruining everything he touched, leaving him no way to not hurt them.

  Reeve distractedly examined his hands, arms, and chest. The skin of his hands and fingers were dry and torn. He’d lost his familiar farmer’s tan weeks ago. He had no idea he’d miss it so much. The paleness made his endless freckles stand out even more. He ran a hand down his arm, across his belly to touch the twisted, raised scar on his ribs and flinched, even though it didn’t hurt. He shook his hands out and lightly slapped at his face to wake himself up. He threw on the shirt, unbuttoning the sleeves to roll them up to his elbows because it made him feel like he was ready to work. It would have to do.

  ---

  As Alex and Gareth went downstairs, they could see Misha’s contact in the hall, a tall man in his sixties and gone a little soft with it, swinging a heavy machete through the air with an amused smile. Gareth put a hand on Alex’s shoulder and they slowed. Alex tried not to flinch at the touch, but he was still wound pretty tight. It helped to know Gareth would get it.

  The man noticed them coming down and gave the machete one last shake before handing it off to Misha.

  “All of you are suicidal,” he said in Eastern European-accented English with a grin.

  “This is Nikolas,” Misha called, stepping more into view. “He is an old friend.” Nikolas grinned wider and threw an arm around Misha’s shoulders, giving him a jostling squeeze.

  Once they’d gotten to the bottom of the stairs, they could see Hannah leaning against the counter, her mouth a flat line. Gareth moved in front of Alex and extended his hand. “Gareth.” They shook hands, but Nikolas barely looked at him, instead scanning upwards at the stairs and back down at Alex. Gareth clearly noticed, because he shook his hand longer than necessary, but Nikolas didn’t seem to care.

  After Gareth released him, he extended one hand to Alex, his other held out as if for an embrace. “And who is the young one?” Alex was starting to get used to European greetings and didn’t want to offend, but still, he hesitated.

  Misha casually slipped between them and handed Alex the machete handle first. “Alex, put this away for me, eh? With the others in the back closet.” Alex couldn’t read anything from his face but took the knife and the out. He exchanged a puzzled look with Gareth but didn’t stop until he was around the corner.

  “Strong name,” he heard Nikolas say.

  “His gift is that he can see the secrets and past of anyone he touches,” Misha explained.

  “Ah.”

  He heard the scrape of the wooden kitchen chairs against the floor and rushed off to stash the machete. It made a loud clang when he tossed it. Back in the kitchen, Gareth nodded to the empty chair beside him.

  “My English is not perfect,” Nikolas began, waving one hand. “No chance we share another language? Czech, Slovak, Polish, German?”

  “No,” Gareth said bluntly as Alex sat.

  Nikolas said something to Misha in a language Alex didn’t know, but stopped as they heard more footsteps on the stairs. Alex looked down at the table.

  “Nikolas, this is Reeve,” Misha said. “I think you just met Alyosha, yes?”

  Alex reached out and gingerly stole Hannah’s glass of water. He sipped at it, giving him something to do with his hands.

  “Thanks for coming out here,” Reeve said, shaking the man’s hand. Nikolas didn’t stand.

  “Yes, yes. We were just settling on English as what we all have in common. The tall one doesn’t speak any of my four other languages,” he announced with a bit of a sneer.

  Alex looked at Gareth, who didn’t seem to find it funny.

  Nikolas waved one pointed finger around the room, “you all go out and uh—” He mimed hacking at the air.

  “Yeah,” Gareth replied blandly.

  “And you’re all Icarus?”

  “Not me,” Alyosha said, raising one hand.

  “That is still many, many Icarus.” His tone got Alex’s hackles up.

  Reeve glanced around the room and Alex toyed with the glass but refused to look away or avoid eye contact with him. Reeve turned away quickly and leaned forward on his elbows. “So, what is it that you do?”

  Nikolas looked at Misha with a silent toothy smile by way of response for too long of a moment before asking, “Where did you find this one, eh?”

  Misha took a sip of his drink and replied flatly, “High school,” causing a disruptive boom of laughter from Nikolas.

  Reeve’s face was uncharacteristically red. He wasn’t used to being ignored and it gave Alex a fraction of satisfaction—a little less since it was coming from this contact.

  Nikolas seemed to Alex like the kind of man he grew up with who owned a tiny shop in the city but saw it as a palace from which they could throw breadcrumbs to their stand-in peasants, the local street kids, but only if they were sufficiently humble and grateful. The kind of man who probably had work for the street kids in his favor, work you didn’t really want.

  When the laughing had subsided, he leaned back and looked at Reeve again. “Import, export. I help our mutual friends move what they need wherever they need to move it.”

  “The Church?” Hannah asked, from her position beside Alex.

  Misha rolled his eyes, “No.”

  Reeve cleared his throat. “Misha says you know about the Network.”

  “Yes,” he said, tapping the table rapidly with one fingernail. “Some place the mess of you Icarus can be safe from the big bad drug company.” He swirled his empty tumbler until the ice clattered against the glass. Misha gestured to Alex with one hand. Alex blinked at him. Misha repeated the gesture, smaller this time.

  Alex stood and made his way behind the row of chairs as the room sat in awkward silence. He felt watched and gritted his teeth. Once he’d walked into the kitchen, Nikolas continued. “I know two Icarus who went to the Network.”

  Alex opened up the liquor cabinet and realized he had no idea what this guy was drinking. Staring at the row of bottles he grabbed the two that looked closest to the color of what was in Misha’s glass.

  “They were both told it was in the same place?” Reeve asked.

  “Well, yes and no. The second only knew because I told him where the first had gone,” he chuckled.

  Alex stood behind Nikolas and held up the two bottles questioningly, hoping to God the rest wouldn’t stare at him so much that the whole room turned around.

  Your left, Misha’s mind flowed into him. Alex set the bottle in front of him, not willing to pour for him.

  Nikolas nodded at the bottle and continued. “The first one, Jared—good kid, made ice out of nothing, told me he was headed to Paris and that if he stuck around long enough, someone would contact him. I got a call from him months later that they’d sent him a phone and told him to go travel somewhere he wasn’t supposed to disclose and to wait for a call.”

  Alex sat down again. Reeve was looking pinched and thoughtful. “Have you heard from them since?” Reeve asked.

  “Nie, they went off grid. That was always the plan.”

  There was a silence around the table. Reeve wasn’t looking as relieved as Alex expected he would, finally getting the lead he had been looking for.

  “Is that where you want to go then?” Nikolas asked.

  “I guess,” Hannah said slowly.

  “You plan on going the Church way? Busses, walking?” He picked up his empty glass and sipped at the melting ice cubes. Hannah made a nearly silent huffing sound and moved to stand up, but Alex touched her hand and stood up faster. He knew these kinds of assholes and he didn’t miss them.

  He crossed behind the chairs again, making hard eye contact with Misha. Plucking the bottle from where he’d left it on the table, Alex poured the liquor into the man’s glass.

  Nikolas leaned back and folded his hands over his belly, the glass untouched. “I can arrange transportation for you. Paris is a long way.”

  Reeve took a breath and held it before answering. “What would that cost?”

  Nikolas laughed again, looking at Misha. “Is he worried about getting into debt?”

  “I don’t understand,” Reeve said.

  Misha simply rolled his eyes again. “Tell me you have work for us.”

  Nikolas shrugged. “Nothing at the moment. I will contact you when I do.”

  Reeve tapped at the table. “And if your tip pans out and we fall off the grid before we can pay you back?”

  “Misha will pick up your tab. He would never leave the Church. What is wrong with him, he doesn’t like favors?”

  “He loves favors,” Misha drawled, “just not this end of them.”

  “Can we get back to you?” Reeve asked sharply.

  Nikolas smiled, slow and wide. “Yes, of course. Give me a few days to line up your transportation and I’ll be in touch.” He drained his whiskey and stood. Misha got up with him and Alex and Reeve followed suit, with Hannah awkwardly standing a beat later. Alyosha and Gareth sat, their faces tense.

  Nikolas clapped Misha on the back and Misha began walking him to the door. “Always good to see you.”

  Nikolas responded not in English and disappeared down the hall without giving the rest of them another glance.

  Alex exchanged looks with Hannah and Alyosha. Reeve was avoiding looking in his direction. He liked that for the time being.

  When he was gone, Misha took his seat again. He looked almost as tired as Alex felt.

  Reeve was mashing at his temples. “What did he mean he’ll arrange transport? That’s not what I said.”

  “He knows we’d be stupid to refuse his offer.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Hannah spat.

  “Good,” Misha said, pushing his glass away with a shove. “That means you’ve got an ounce of common sense. I am surprised. Don’t strain yourself.”

  Hannah stuck out her hands like she was gripping an imaginary Misha’s head. “You said he was an old friend.”

  Misha shrugged. “Is an expression.”

  “No it isn’t!”

  Gareth stood up from the table. “I don’t like this.”

  “Big surprise,” Misha sneered.

  “Entropy is fucking based in Paris. This is the complete opposite of what we’ve been doing.”

  “Entropy found us anyway,” Hannah said gently. “And we could have gotten a lot of Church people killed. I think it’s pretty clear we need the protection of this Network.”

  Gareth didn’t answer.

  “Why did he laugh,” Reeve asked, in his calm voice—the one that flatly stated everyone else was being silly and only he knew what the point was. “When we talked about debts?”

  “You just bought information from him. You’re already in his debt. We’ll take his train.”

  Alex cleared his throat. “He looked like he was going to sell us out.”

  “I don’t think he would,” Misha sighed. “We have history.”

  ***