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“You should lie down.”
“If I lie down, I’ll throw up.” Tom’s walkie-talkie crackled. Jesse waved him away. “You go, mate. I’m not much use to anyone right now.”
“Tell me what happened first. What did Emory do?”
“I can’t even say.”
“Try.” Jesse blinked at his tone and finally met his eyes. They were hard. “Did he hurt anyone?”
“No,” Jesse said softly. “He saved someone.”
Tom blinked. “Fromwhat?”
“It looked like another haemophile.”
Tom blanched. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” Jesse breathed. “I’ve never seen him before—never seen anyone like him before.”
Tom bit his lip. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “And where’s Emory now?”
“Gone after him, I think…”
Tom hesitated. “Did this haemophile have red eyes?”
Jesse opened and closed his mouth. The memory made him shiver. “I thought it was a trick of the light.”
“Shit,” Tom swore, running his hands through his hair. “Lucien.”
“That’s what Emory called him,” Jesse whispered. “Who’s Lucien?”
Tom took Jesse’s elbow and tried to urge him along the corridor. “You really should go rest, Jesse.”
“Who is Lucien, Tom?”
“That’s not for me to tell you.”
“I just watched him almost rip some guy to pieces,” Jesse said, halting. “Who the fuck is he?”
Tom shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry Jesse. I really can’t tell you. Emory will…if he wants you to know.”
Jesse’s head started to spin again. Tom escorted him as far as the stairs, but his phone started ringing. He answered with an apologetic look and raced back to the security room.
Jesse sank onto the bottom step and pressed his forehead to the cool wall. His own phone started vibrating. He groaned and took it from his pocket.
Ant calling…
Jesse’s blood surged. “Ant?”
“It’s me, Uncle Jesse.”
Jesse’s chest clenched. “Olly…mate. Are you okay?”
“I think so.”
Jesse closed his eyes, head aching more than ever. “Does your dad know you’re using his phone?”
“No…” Olly said in a small voice. “But I needed to speak to you, and he wouldn’t let me.”
