I’m finally getting the hang of riding the cycle when it begins to make a spluttering noise. Jost responds by speeding up to cut off the others, and by the time they turn back, I’m waiting next to the immobile motocycle.

“Out of gas,” Dante proclaims, and we redistribute so that I am now riding with Jost.

“How much farther do we have to go?” Erik asks.

“Not much longer, especially now that we can keep pace with one another,” Dante says, and I feel heat flood my cheeks.

We race through the crumbling roads, zipping around large cracks and holes. My suspicion that I was holding Jost back was right. The ride is terrifying. It’s harder to trust the safety of the cycle when I’m not the one controlling it. Whirling through the crisp air, my hair beats across my face, and I clutch Jost’s waist. The speed results in a sort of paralysis of mind and body, and I keep my eyes shut. The only parts of me that seem to be working are the arms that squeeze around him tighter with each jerk of the motocycle, and then the hum of the motocycle fades down, and I realize that we’re coming to a stop. Carefully opening one eye, I peer over Jost’s shoulder, not sure what to expect.

The crawler sits before me, and I can’t believe how happy I am to see it, considering I hate riding in it. Dante wastes no time gathering the charges and panels. Shame over our screaming match seeps into my chest. Dante came out here to do work, and I messed everything up.

“Did you get any solar energy?” I ask him, trying to make conversation.

“Enough,” he says with a grunt. He hoists a panel onto his shoulder and turns away from me.

“Enough?”

“Enough that Kincaid might not ask questions about where the hell we’ve been all day,” Dante says.

He ignores me as the boys help him load up the back of the crawler. Erik throws me concerned glances, but no one says anything more about what happened at the ammunition factory.

“Sit up front?” Dante asks when we go to leave. I’m surprised that it’s a request and not a demand.

I look to Jost, and he leans down to my ear and whispers, “You should talk.”

I take the front seat and wait for the lecture to begin, but when Dante finally speaks, it’s not what I’m expecting to hear.

“You should know why I agreed to let you come along—”

“Because you knew I wanted to see the mines,” I guess, but Dante shakes his head.

“I didn’t take you to see the mines or to learn about Sunrunning. I brought you because I didn’t want to leave you at the estate with Kincaid after his little play,” Dante says.

“Kincaid doesn’t realize he’s scaring me,” I say, fully believing it. Kincaid thought unwinding Deniel and staging that play would help me feel safer. In his own way, he’s as twisted as Cormac Patton.

“He knows what he’s doing, Adelice. Kincaid is many things, and you would do well to remember that,” Dante warns. “But I’m sorry, Adelice. I shouldn’t have attacked you like that.”

“No.” I stop him. “It was stupid of me. I clearly don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Dante pauses, shifting the crawler into a higher gear. His eyes flick over to me. “I think we should work on that. You have a magnificent talent, but it won’t do you any good if you can’t control it.”

He’s being reasonable, but I still feel smaller as he speaks. The words are a carefully disguised reprimand—once again, he sounds like my father. I dreaded Benn Lewys’s gentle rebukes more than any punishment he could dole out, usually because I knew he was right. Apparently Dante shares that quality with his brother.

“You’re probably right,” I mumble.

Dante opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. We’re both trying. Only we have no idea how to do this. The rest of the ride, I concentrate on thinking about how to approach this problem, how to accept what we are to each other, but when we pull through the estate’s gate, I’m no closer to a solution than I was before.

TWENTY

THE ESTATE IS QUIET, HEAVY WITH SLEEP, when we arrive. We part ways with murmured good nights, eager for baths and beds, but Jost takes my hand as we climb the steep stairs into the mansion. He holds my hand when we get inside, but he doesn’t ask what Dante and I were talking about on the ride home.

An angry voice echoes through the silence, and I freeze. Jost tugs me along but not before I overhear the argument.

“You are not to remove her from this estate again,” Kincaid commands. “I expect better judgment from you.”

“It was a simple gathering trip. We set up the panels and enjoyed some sun. It was fine,” Dante says. His lie is smooth and believable.

“This is a warning. Consider what would happen to your precious girl if they caught her. She’s here under my protection.” The song is out of Kincaid’s voice, his words fierce and demanding.

“I appreciate that,” Dante says.

“Do you, Dante?” Kincaid asks. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

Their voices fade, but I’m sure Jost heard it, too: Dante lied for me. I can’t digest what it means, any more than I can understand Jost’s silent treatment.

“Come on,” Jost says. “I’m tired.”

But before we can continue toward our rooms, Dante speaks. He’s quieter than he was with Kincaid, so I dart closer to his voice, coming from the large assembly room. I hide in the shadows of a neglected piano.