I CLOSE MY eyes and lean against the brick wall. My mind is caught in a dark whirlwind. Finally, I open my eyelids slowly, focus on Apollon. "How could that be?"
"We came here from Two," Jonas spits out softly. "That's how we made a living when we were there."
"But, you left there. You've been here for a year and a half, at least. You weren't even going to stay." My eyes search Apollon's face, wanting him to tell me I'm right. They have no part in this mess. They knew nothing about it.
But Apollon says quietly, "Grey sent us here to be in place for... when things happen."
I blink and shake my head slowly. I want to say something, but I close my mouth on the words. I turn to walk away from them.
Apollon's hand on my arm stops me. "Eden," he says. "You haven't heard everything."
I glance at him warily. There is something more to it. But Jonas' face is still set in that dark look. He still thinks it's none of my business. I want to throw something at him.
Apollon's fingers squeeze my arm. "We volunteered for this," he says. "It was the only way to get out of Two. And we did mean to move on as soon as we could. Before all this. It's just..."
"Oscar," I whisper.
He nods. "And Miranda. And Neveah, even. Travel is dangerous. We couldn't just leave them. Not knowing—"
I wait for him to go on, but he doesn't. "Knowing what?" I finally ask.
He swallows. "Grey means to take over," he says. "He wants to build an empire."
I turn and face him now. "How?"
He shakes his head. His voice goes even quieter. "I don't know," he says. "We only have the general idea. We were supposed to wait for orders."
I cross my arms. "Well," I say, "wasn't that your orders?"
Apollon and Jonas look at each other. I don't like it. I think they're deciding what not to tell me. And this makes me wonder if I should have trusted them at all. Are they really my family? Or are they a better-looking version of the old woman?
Surprisingly, it's Jonas that speaks. "We never wanted to be part of it, Eden," he says softly. "You do what's necessary to survive. Sometimes you make choices that you don't like. But in the end, you're alive."
I meet his gaze, and it's like he has momentarily removed that block that does not let me see inside. He's sincere. He's honest. He's read my mind. A little jolt goes through me, like the kick of a gun. Someone has dropped a hornets' nest into my skull.
He pushes himself away from the wall, walks to me, and takes my hand. "You don't need to know any more," he says. His voice is a caress. "The less you know, the better it is for you."
I'm staring at him. Staring. This is the Jonas whose arm holds back my nightmares. I've never seen him walk in daylight before. Except, maybe, for that one brief moment at the gate to our yard, when he finally gave me an answer. I feel the tendrils of some unnamed tangle of emotions begin to climb up from the pit of my stomach, seedlings reaching for the sun. I've forgotten everything else.
"OK?" Jonas asks, his fingers squeezing mine.
I nod. Of course it's OK. Anything Jonas thinks is OK is definitely OK. I don't even really consider what it is that we're OKing.
A little smile flicks across his face. "Good," he says. He withdraws. His hand, his eyes, his soul.
I struggle not to let out the whimper of protest.
Apollon clears his throat and gestures to the far end of the alley. I turn, in front of them, and start walking, but as I do, I catch the look that passes between them. Apollon— repressed amusement. A toss of the head and roll of the eyes. Jonas— barely hidden self-satisfaction. He sets his jaw. Is it in determination, or to keep from laughing?
My face goes hot. I take large steps to keep ahead of them. The brisk wind sweeps toward us as we emerge from the alley. I let my hair be blown into my face, and do not push it back.