She tipped up her chin and waited, unintimidated.
He wouldn’t find falsity. Didn’t matter if he was a telepath or a truthseeker, and he was even now plumbing the depths of her mind. In all their encounters over the past three years, she’d never lied, which was more than he could say for himself.
He lowered his hands to his sides. “Your life means nothing to me.”
For someone unconcerned with her survival, he seemed awfully invested in this conversation. A conversation they were having in his secure compound because he’d overruled her objections and dragged her through that hatch to save her life.
Another lie. Wasn’t he tiring of them?
She directed a meaningful glance at herself, his home, and the nearby tunnel and ladder. Then she raised her brows at him.
He ignored the silent rebuttal. “Don’t die to save me, and don’t die to save anyone else. Not when they’d gladly sacrifice you to save themselves.”
If that was his view of the world and its inhabitants, no wonder his limited array of emotions didn’t includejoyorloveor evenhope.
“And you’d do the same?”
He merely laughed in answer, the sound low and scornful. Fascinated, she watched as his irises softened from black to blue, moment by moment.
“So I shouldn’t save you from harm or death even if I could?” She tipped her head, now studying him in return. “Just to clarify.”
He spoke flatly. “I don’t want your assistance, and I don’t need it.”
“Mmmm,” she said with a nod. Hopefully he took that as agreement, because she wasn’t promising anything.
Not that she foresaw other opportunities to test how either of them would react in an emergency, since the government—
Oh shit.
She checked her phone for alerts. Shushed him when he started to say something.
Nothing. She saw and heardnothing.
She turned to the Neighbor Formerly Known as Chad, grabbed the edges of his open leather hoodie, and clutched tight, her confusion and horror a growing roar in her ears.
His sneer became a frown. “What—”
“Where the fuck are the sirens?” she demanded.
3
Edie called the Containment Zone Emergency Line again.
No one answered. The line rang and rang.
While she waited for an attendant or even an automated message or voicemail option, her Neighbor Formerly Known as Chad wandered over to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator’s French doors, and peered at whatever was inside. Closing the doors again, he strolled to his island—which was probably larger than many actual geographical islands—and bent over to rest his elbows on the marble countertop while he idly scrolled on his phone.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
According to the top of her screen, she still had coverage. Was the hotline simply overwhelmed by calls? Or was there something wrong with her phone in particular?
“Call the Zone hotline from your cell,” she told him. “See if someone answers.”
He didn’t even look up. “Nah.”
“What is thematterwith you? All our neighbors—”Increasingly frantic, she strode over to the island and snatched his phone from his hand. “Fine. I’ll do it myself, jackass.”
He didn’t resist or try to take it away from her. Instead, he simply watched as she found the correct icon and tapped it.
