Page 14 of Victorious

“Remind me again, why you need organic chemistry.”

Syd cocked her head. “Other than the fact it forms the structural foundation for all life on earth, and is seen as a fundamental educational threshold for anyone interested in the subjects of biochemistry and medicine?”

Mitch sighed. “Right,” he said, wishing she’d taken an interest in coding computers instead of people. Followed in his footsteps, instead of Victor’s.

“Just—do me a favor and keep the music down while I’m out.”

She rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched. “Sure, Dad.”

He knew she only used the word to tease him, but it still sent a little jolt through his chest, not unlike the fear he’d felt when she hadn’t answered.

“Hey, on second thought…”

He swept the pack of playing cards from a nearby shelf.

Back when they were first on the run, and their need to lie low was in constant conflict with Syd’s adolescent restlessness, he’d come up with the game. Different suits stood for different subjects of study, but a face card meant a trip out—a chance for fresh air, freedom. He couldn’t remember the last time Syd had left the safety of the cabin.

He shuffled until he found a queen of spades and held it like an offering.

“Want to come along?”

The old Syd would have jumped at the chance.

But this one shook her head, her focus squarely on the book. “I’m good.”

Mitch tried not to feel wounded as he returned the card to the deck.

Tried to remind himself, as he set the deck back on the shelf, that Sydney Clarke only looked like a kid. That in truth, she was a month shy of her twenty-first birthday. And just as he hadn’t planned on being a parent, she hadn’t planned on spending every one of her teenage years hiding from people who wanted to see her captured or killed. Simply because of what she was.

What she could do.

He slung the bag onto his shoulder. Was halfway out the door when Syd called out, “Hey, Mitch.”

He turned, straddling the threshold. “Yeah?”

“Bring me back a slice of pie?”

He smiled and saluted. “Sure thing, boss.”

Mitch locked the door on his way out. Trudged down the steps, and climbed into his latest chariot, a rumbling pickup, more rust than red, purchased thirdhand on the way into town. As the engine churned to life, he glanced back at the cabin, and was surprised by the word that came to mind.

Home.

VINOW. THEN.

SYDNEY’S pen stopped moving as soon as the door swung shut.

The headphones still hung around her neck, the song reduced to static. She hit PAUSE on the music player—she didn’t have a laptop, or a phone, or anything that required a Wi-Fi connection, just a fob loaded with ten thousand songs, courtesy of Mitch on her last birthday. She held her breath, and listened to his retreating steps, to the rumble of the engine and the grind of tires on cold earth as the truck retreated down the road.

Then she set the timer on her watch.

Two hours.

That’s how long he’d be gone.

Technically Mitch’s weekly outings ranged anywhere from two hours ten minutes to two hours forty-five, but Sydney knew better than to cut it too close, so she set her watch for two hours even, shoveled her work into her bag, and stood up.

Dol rose, too, trailing like a shadow as she crossed the cabin and unlocked the back door.