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“Am I going to die?” Rowan croaks, his eyes wide and filling with tears.
“No.” Nova thinks twice. “Probably not.”
Rowan makes a distressed sound.
“As long as you didn’t eat any of it, you’re probably fine,” I grumble.
“But it’s better to be sure,” Nova adds. “Can you tell us what happened?”
“I found one of your access cards in the cabinet and I wanted to check out which door it opened.” His eyes dart back and forth. “It turned out that it opened this lab. I just wanted to see the machine spin. I swear. I didn’t know it would go crazy like that.”
My nostrils flare. I pull in my bottom lip to keep my words locked up inside me.
At that moment, one of the on-staff medical team appears with a first aid kit. She takes Rowan aside to check on him. Nova goes with them while I watch from afar, stewing in agitation.
“From what I can see, he’s fine.” The medic gives Rowan a pat on the shoulder. “But if he shows any symptoms of food poisoning later, vomiting, stomach pain, you should take him to a hospital.”
“Thank you,” Nova says. Turning to me, she speaks calmly, “I’ll let the staff know they can come back in and I’ll explain this away as a random accident. No one will know Rowan was here today.”
I dip my chin down, my shoulders stiff.
Nova steps close to me, her flowery fragrance slowing my heart down a bit. “Go easy on him, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Rowan and I both listen to her heels clicking on the tiles until it fades to nothing.
She’s gone.
I glance over and notice the goo is slowing down.
Good.
At least it’s not going to take over the building.
I rub the bridge of my nose while Rowan cowers in front of me. He’s shaking like he’s trapped in a freezer.
With a sigh, I shrug out of my flannel jacket and drape it over his shoulders. Next, I grab my handkerchief out of my pocket and kneel in front of him.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan whispers. He’s not doing a great job of holding back his tears.
I reach for his hand and wipe the goo off his palm. It stubbornly remains.
“I’ll need alcohol,” I mutter.
Rowan grabs my hand when I start to pull away. My heart dislodges from its perch in my chest and rattles around like an empty metal can.
Damn. The kid messed up bad.
But… he looks small and scared and lost. I can’t stay angry at him.
“Is it going to cost a lot to fix?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll pay for it,” he says.
I stare at him, finding that declaration odd.
“You won’t tell my mom, right?” His eyes implore mine.
