She sat next to him on his bench. There had been a thickness to her voice that wasn’t usually there, and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She’d lost her brother to corruption. He hadn’t just failed Reece; he’d failed her too.
They were silent together for a moment, then St. James said, “You came here after the empaths. To do your job.”
“I did,” he admitted.
“But you let Reece go.”
“I let him go.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Why?”
A small skiff was just visible in the edge of the city lights, chugging along, never minding that it wasn’t as big or fancy as the other boats. “It’s—complicated.” Grayson watched the little boat for a moment. “He and I are—we’re—well. I’ve made some complicated memories, when it comes to him.”
“Mm,” she said. “You know what else is complicated, though, right?”
“What?”
“Feelings,” she said, her voice still tight, still too thick.
When he closed his eyes, he could still see Reece on the other side of the gun barrel. He didn’t remember having any memories, but he must’ve. What else could have stopped him from pulling that trigger?
“I can’t have feelings,” Grayson said. “They’re gone. Alex destroyed them.”
“Alex was also supposed to be dead,” she said. “How’d that work out for Vancouver?”
They went quiet again, except that Grayson could hear her quiet swallows, a sniff she’d probably blame on the cold.
“I don’t know how Reece became corrupted,” Grayson confessed. He owed St. James the truth. “He told me to join Vivian Marist, not Director Traynor, and then switched our phones and went after Traynor himself. I still don’t know why. I don’t know if my word is worth anything to you, but I swear, if I could have stopped it—”
“You never would have let him fall, even if it meant putting yourself in a bullet’s path again. I know. I believe you.” St. James blew out a very long breath. “And maybe that’s part of the answer.”
Grayson looked at the phone in his hand again, like the dark screen held any answers.
St. James stuck out her hand. “Give me Reece’s phone.”
Grayson tilted his head but held it out. She took it, typed something in, then handed it back. “Here. Nice selfie; watch me not ask why my brother has it.”
The screen was lit up and unlocked. The wallpaper was set to the picture Grayson had sent Reece from the gym back in Vermont. “How’d you unlock this?”
“Reece hates passcodes. When he has to set one, under duress, he only ever uses the exact same thing.”
“Which is?”
“It’s 123456.”
“I really ought’ve been able to guess that,” Grayson muttered. His thumb went, unbidden, to the text message icon, opening up their text chain. He looked at the last message between him and Reece: the selfie Reece had taken of himself at the hotel, in the bear hat and pajamas, Grayson fast asleep in the background. Reece had been happy enough that night to project it onto others; if you looked for it in the photo, you could see the true happiness in his smile, the way it extended all the way to his bright eyes.
Grayson turned off the screen and set the phone on his lap. “I gotta be honest. I don’t know what to do next.”
“Yeah, well, lucky for you, you’ve got me on your team,” said St. James, and Grayson turned to look at her. “Because I know what we’re doing now. We’re going to find them.”
“Corruption is permanent,” Grayson said. “Irreversible.”
“So was your brother’s supposed death, but he’s still here,” she said. “So was becoming the Dead Man, but you just let Reece go. Maybe I’m choosing to believe none of it is as permanent or irreversible as you’ve always believed.”
Grayson lit the phone screen again, illuminating the picture. His gaze lingered on Reece’s smile, and when he licked his dry lips, he could almost imagine he still tasted Reece’s kiss.
“Empaths made us who we are,” she said. “I say we use all our empath-given skills to find them. My brother. Your brother. The world’s scariest therapist.”
