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“What you can do is stay here and tell Dave everything you can about Solomon’s operation so we don’t miss anything,” Ice said, placing a gentle hand on Apollo’s shoulder.
“Where’s Azrael?” Echo asked.
“I don’t know.” Apollo shook his head. “I’ve searched the entire house, but he’s hiding.”
“Where can he hide in this place?” Echo turned to Ice. If anyone knew this place, it was Ice.
“What room was he given?” Ice asked Cash and Apollo.
“Dave said to pick our own.”
“You two, search every room. Echo and I will look outside. Take my cell phone and call Echo’s number if you find him.” Ice handed over the cell phone to Cash.
Real cursed under his breath and stalked to the base of the wide staircase. He jogged up the steps and reached the second landing and kept on going until he was on the third floor. One by one, he searched behind each door, trying to think of where he would have hidden when he was a kid. Someplace dark, maybe. Someplace small?
No, he hated confined spaces. He walked along the hallway, not knowing this place at all, but he figured it was like the first level rooms where he was currently crashing.
At the end of the wide hallway was the last door and he pulled it open to find a set of stairs going upward. Taking those to the top, he stepped out into an attic.
With a bed, dresser, and lamp, it was sparse, but doable. On the bed, he spotted the hoodie Echo had given Azrael.
The open window drew him and he leaned out, checking.
Nothing. He stepped out onto the slanted roof and gazed around and then behind him.
Azrael sat, knees bent, arms wrapped around his legs. Wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans that were both too big, the boy looked even smaller than he’d looked earlier on the beach.
Their eyes met and Azrael brushed his wildly blowing hair from his face.
Real pulled out his phone and called Cash.
“Cash? It’s Real. Call Echo. I found him.” He hung up before Cash could ask where.
Walking up the slanted tiles, he sat a few feet from Azrael. From there, he could faintly make out the ocean through the riot of color that was the setting sun.
“Are they looking for me?”
“Yes,” he said, keeping his eyes on the sunset before turning to gaze toward the beach.
“Sorry.”
“Sometimes you just need to be alone. I get it.”
“Yeah.” The boy’s voice was thick with tears.
“People worry because they care,” he murmured.
“I’m not use to that.”
“I know. It’ll take some time.”
“Are you going to kill Solomon?” Azrael whispered, wiping his sleeve against his nose.
“Yes.”
“Good.” The boy’s voice was fierce and hate-filled and tormented all wrapped together.
“I won’t let him live,” Real promised.
