ON A STREET SHADED BY heavy magnolia trees that had lived to see too much history, in a little pink house with a wraparound porch and window boxes spilling with flowers, lived the sociopathic son of a murderous ex-president.

“I’ve got to say, the flag is a nice touch.” I nodded toward the American flag posted at the edge of the porch, an exclamation mark of bold red, white, and blue in an otherwise pastel street. “You can almost believe he didn’t try to destroy the country.”

I’d parked the car on the street a few houses down, in front of a grand old home with a for-sale sign promising AUTHENTIC SOUTHERN LIVING. We were just close enough to downtown Charleston, or at least the historic part with all the tourists, for me to feel uneasy about idling too long.

“They never did find his dad, did they?” Priyanka asked, resting her arms on the front seats as she leaned forward.

“No. He’s still a fugitive. They think he escaped the country in the chaos of the UN coalition taking control.” I shook my head. “Never thought I’d have something in common with President Gray.”

For all that the man had done to us, it was the strangest thing—I just couldn’t remember what he looked like, not unless his photo was right in front of me in the paper or on the news.

It was the strangest mental block. For the longest time, he’d been nothing but an impression; a voice that haunted us, reminding each Psi how very wrong we were. On the bus radio as they drove us through our camp’s barbed-wire gate. On the announcements they sometimes played over our many silent dinners. Pouring out of Betty’s speakers in the middle of nowhere.

“The mailbox says ‘Hathaway,’” Roman said.

“He and his mother are hiding in plain sight as John and Elizabeth Hathaway.” Cruz had given us this information years ago because she knew we’d check for ourselves anyway, but nearly everything else I knew about him could be categorized as a rumor. “She remembers their past life. He doesn’t.”

“Head injury?” Roman asked, eyes narrowing in interest.

“Ruby.” I didn’t tear my gaze away from the front of the house. Its sweet, old face was like a kindly grandmother whose gentle demeanor and endless supply of warm cookies hid her ugly, racist past.

The general public had held up Lillian as a hero to her husband’s villain, which left their son to be cast as the victim she’d fought so hard to save. In that narrative, Clancy Gray had of course received the cure procedure happily, to prove to others that it was safe, much like he’d supposedly volunteered to go to Thurmond, to prove to American families the camps’ “rehabilitation” programs worked. Most people believed the Grays were still living in seclusion outside DC, but Lillian had refused any sort of government position, claiming she just wanted to take care of her son in peace and quiet.

Considering she’d done such a bang-up job the first time, I was shocked that they’d let her.

Then again, Lillian knew things most people didn’t—and Mel used to say that if you could keep someone happy, you could usually keep them quiet. Of course, Clancy had known all those things once, too, before Ruby had taken those memories. Closed them off. Did whatever it was she actually did.

Why did you come here?

The front door opened. All three of us slumped down in our seats.

A man in sunglasses emerged, glancing up and down the street before stepping aside to let a woman pass.

Even with her pale hair dyed brunette, Lillian’s alabaster skin and regal bearing were unmistakable. She worked in one of the labs at a nearby college, from what I remembered.

“So there is a security detail,” Roman said.

“Cameras, too—above the front door and probably at the back,” Priyanka said. “Detail would have to be small to avoid anyone noticing it…one, maybe two meatheads.”

I looked between them, mildly alarmed at the comfortable pattern of their conversation.

Like you’ve never stolen anything, I thought. Or broken in anywhere.

Roman nodded. “Private security, most likely, if Ruby was able to visit without being nabbed by the government.”

“I think so, too,” I said. “They initially froze the Gray family assets, but they released them after she agreed to serve as a witness against her husband when he was tried by proxy. They can definitely afford full-time security.”

Lillian and her bodyguards piled into a black Range Rover parked on the street and took off in the opposite direction.

Priyanka cracked her knuckles for maximum effect. “Well. I can pick any lock and turn any camera blind. But there’s an easier way. It just depends on what Zu wants to do.”

“I need to try to talk to him,” I said. “To see if she actually went to see him.”

“I’m going with the two-guard theory—one for mama, one for baby boy,” Priyanka said. I had to keep from rolling my eyes; Clancy was twenty-six now. “If he’s still here, and not doing whatever it is amnesiac former First Sons do with their time, best bet is to go through a back door or window. The porch rail is tall enough that we could use it to climb up onto the roof. But we’re going to have to draw the guard’s attention away with some kind of distraction.”

She stared at Roman until he looked at her, confused. “You want me to shoot him?”

“What? No! That’s less distraction and more murder.” Priyanka shook her head, throwing a hand against her forehead dramatically. “Alas, the life of the theater calls to me again. You can probably sneak in easily through the side gate into the backyard. Just wait for my signal.”

“No idea what that means,” I said. “But are we doing this?”

Roman leaned forward, sliding one of the guns into the waistband of his jeans.

“Okay,” I said. “Guess we are.”

I moved to the sidewalk, meeting Roman there. He reached up, adjusting the lip of my baseball hat so it shaded more of my face. Before I could ask how we were going to approach the house, he looped his arm over my shoulder, pulling me closer to his side.

“Sorry,” he murmured, guiding us down off the curb. “See if you can stand it for a little while.”

“Yes,” I whispered back, glancing both ways as we crossed the street toward the house. “This is definitely the worst thing that’s happened to me in recent days.”

It was early enough in the morning that the Charleston weather hadn’t reached unbearable levels of humidity. A faint breeze smoothed over my cheeks, bringing with it the heady smell of the magnolia blossoms and nearby jasmine.

From what I could see, there was a pathway to the back of the house, blocked only by the smallest of white gates. Still, I was surprised when Roman led us over toward the house next door, giving me a blinding smile and laughing at nothing.

I laughed back, grimacing at how loud and sharp he sounded on the otherwise quiet street.

“We are pretending to have a wonderful conversation,” he told me, turning me so that my back was to the neighbor’s carefully groomed hedge. He walked me back toward it, his wide shoulders blocking my view of the street.

And the street’s view of me.

“And it is going wonderfully,” I said.

Somehow, I hadn’t realized how tall he was until he was standing close enough that I could feel his chest expand with every breath. I looked up at him, eyes tracing the sharp edge of his jaw as he turned his gaze toward the house. I wasn’t sure what to do, so my hands decided for me. They slid across his hips, fingers weaving together again behind his back.

He startled, his hands landing on my shoulders, almost as if he’d needed to catch his balance. I glanced down at his right hand, taking in the raised scars that covered the back of it.

I’d thought I was doing a good job of keeping my anxious thoughts about confronting Clancy to myself, but Roman asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Want is not really the word I’d use in this situation,” I said. A shudder passed through me, and I knew he was close enough to feel it. “The past just feels a little closer to me than it did in the car.”

Somehow, he seemed to understand what I meant. “If it gets to be too much, or if it feels like something is off, signal me—what did you use at Haven to get their attention?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, each hand clutching the opposite shoulder.

“That works,” he said. “How about one for okay”—Roman demonstrated, pressing his right hand to his left shoulder—“and two for not?”

I drew in a breath, nodding. “All right.”

Priyanka’s hard knock on the door finally tore my gaze away from him. She took a deep breath, then began to pace, letting her shoulders slump as she ran her hands back through her thick hair. I could see her muttering something, but we were too far away to hear what it was.

Finally, the door swung open. A bald man in a dark polo and khakis stuck his head out. At the sight of him, Roman’s body tensed. Mine responded in kind.

“Oh, thank God!” I choked on a laugh at the sound of the rich southern accent Priyanka was suddenly putting on. “Sir, I’m in desperate need of your kind assistance—I’ve come to y’all in dire need, one southern lady to a southern gentleman—”

I winced. “We should probably hurry.”

“Roger that,” he said.

Roman took a small breath before stepping back and breaking the circle of my arms. He moved in front of me, keeping an eye on the porch. Priyanka had angled herself away from us and the pathway, forcing the man to keep his back to us.

Unlike the house next door, this path wasn’t paved with crushed oyster shells, but simple pavers. My heart jammed into my throat as Roman boosted me up over the small fence before jumping over it himself. I didn’t understand how someone with such a big body could move so quietly.

The narrow pathway was lined with small lanterns and hedges spotted with flowers, but I didn’t feel any cameras or other security devices hidden in them.

“Should we try to use the porch rail to find a window?” I whispered. “Is it—?”

I slammed into his back as he stopped dead at the end of the pathway. He reached behind him, for me or his gun, I wasn’t sure.

I stepped to the side, edging past him.

The pathway opened to a side yard bordered by white fencing and the same tall hedges. There was a small garden bed of flowers and vegetables that curved along one side of a round patio table. A plate of food, half-devoured, along with a basket of what looked like toasted bread, had been set out on the table. My stomach ached at the warm smell of it, the way the butter melted on its prim dish.

The figure sitting there was hidden behind the sheets of the New York Times. A pot of tea or coffee sat waiting for the nearby cup. Finally, he folded the paper closed, then neatly in half, turning his attention to the pot in front of him.

Coffee. As he poured it, its aroma filled the small garden, bleeding into the sweet perfume of the roses blooming nearby.

That same icy touch crept over my skin until it froze me in place.

He looked the same—not as when I’d last seen him, but the first time, at East River. His dark hair had grown back, and his form had filled out either with care or age. He was no longer lean, half-starved like the rest of us had been at the end, but strong. Still, the tidy button-down shirt, the crisply ironed slacks, and the preppy sunglasses masking his eyes were pure Clancy Gray.

It wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. He didn’t deserve to be here, looking so healthy—so content. After everything he’d done, after so many good people had died instead of him, because of him, he got this small, carefree slice of bliss.

As if my thoughts had reached out to him, he looked up and smiled.

“Hi,” Clancy said, setting his cup back down onto its saucer. “Ruby told me to expect you.”

When I first met Clancy Gray, it had been like stepping into a dream.

At the time, none of us had known the careful way he was orchestrating things at East River. How he played each of the kids there, including the four of us, like notes in the grand symphony of chaos he was secretly conducting in his mind. We had been so exhausted when we’d arrived, hungry and desperate for even a few minutes of safety. Clancy had all but literally opened his arms to us, shining that perfect smile, every tooth straight and white. Everything about him perfect.

The kids at East River had worshipped him. He’d made sure of it. That was his thing, of course—pinpointing exactly what each individual person needed and wanted more than anything, and giving it to them. A thought would appear in your mind, and you would just accept it as your own. If the hairs rose on your arms when you caught him watching you, your first instinct was to chastise yourself for being a bad friend to someone who had given you so much. After all, if so many other kids adored and respected him—what was wrong with you that you had a problem with him?

But there was something wrong with his eyes. They were like cold rain, and when the mask slipped, you felt that ice sink down to your soul.

Even now, without his abilities, or the memory of his years as a monster, there was still something in his gaze that just wasn’t wholly there. Maybe it had been taken from him, the way we’d all had pieces of who we might have been stripped away. Maybe he’d never had it in the first place.

He lowered his sunglasses, staring at me over them. I took a step forward, embarrassed of every hard, quickening beat of my pulse. It wasn’t fair to hate someone so much, to despise them for the pain they caused your friends, and to still feel frightened enough to want to crawl out of your own skin and run away.

You’re here for Ruby, I reminded myself, clutching my hands behind my back. Ask him and then go.

Static ran through my fingers, only to release with a hard snap as Roman stepped up behind me and touched his hand to mine.

“Ah,” Clancy said, turning back to his plate. His tone had lost some of the imperious quality it used to have, but it was still as carefree and confident as anyone born with too much money and too much privilege. “I can tell you used to know me. Huh. Ruby mentioned the two of you were friends, but she never brought up the fact that you and I had met. She told me that I should be patient with others so they know they don’t have to be nervous about saying the wrong thing.”

“Ruby’s giving you advice now?” I asked.

He reached for his coffee again. “Yes. She’s good at it. Even my mom listens to her. Wow, I’m being rude—do you want any of this? I can get a few more cups from inside.”

As hungry as I’d been a few minutes ago, my stomach was too tight to get anything down. I shook my head.

“We’re good,” Roman told him.

“Well, at least have a seat,” he said. “Or stand if you’re in a hurry, I don’t mind.”

Another thing that hadn’t changed about Clancy: he still talked way too much.

Roman looked to me, waiting to see what I wanted to do. After a deep breath in, I nodded, moving to the chair directly across from Clancy. Roman followed, standing behind me. One hand curled over the back of my chair. His knuckles brushed my shoulder, a grounding touch as nerves fired throughout my body.

I folded my arms over my chest, sitting back. “So you recognize me? You know who I am?”

“From the news, yes,” he said, giving me another close look. “Both good and bad reports. I suppose none of the bad is actually true, then?”

“No, it’s not,” I said. “Your security might not be so quick to believe me, though.”

“Security?” Clancy repeated, cocking his head to the side. “No, those men are my mother’s assistant and driver. Why in the world would we need security?”

“Because you’re…” Oh, damn.

“Famous,” Roman finished.

Clancy laughed at that word. The sound crawled over my skin. “I guess? Having the first documented case of memory loss as the result of the cure surgery will do that. Mother always has coworkers coming in to run tests to see if anything’s changed.”

I bit my lip, clenching my hands together in my lap. I needed to be careful here. His mother had constructed this new identity for him. He didn’t remember anything about his past life beyond that she was his mother. Nothing about his father being president, nothing about his ability, and nothing about the chaos he’d caused.

I’d been wondering how Lillian explained his memory loss to him. A side effect of the surgery, huh? It must have been exhausting trying to keep him from finding out the truth. Someone’s full-time job, at least.

“Every once in a while, someone tries to snap a photo of me while we’re out to eat, but I don’t really get it. If people want to know how I’m doing, all they have to do is call us and ask. It’d be my pleasure to tell them that, no, I still don’t remember my childhood or what it felt like to be a Green, but I’d be more than happy to read them the thesis I’m working on for school.”

“Yeah,” I said, humoring him. “And what’s that?”

Another too-easy smile. “The Intersection of Faith and Violence in the Early Years of the Plymouth Colony.”

There was a faint twinge of something in my mind. I brushed it aside. I’d have time to analyze his tone and perpetually condescending smile later, when we were way the hell away from here.

“You said Ruby mentioned that we would be coming,” I said. Reaching into the back pocket of my jeans, I pulled out the photo of the four of us, bending it so only Ruby and part of Liam were visible. “Is this the girl you’re talking about?”

“Well, yeah,” Clancy said, resting his hand against the table. I glanced up at Roman, but he was watching the way Clancy was absently stroking the handle of the butter knife. “That’s Ruby. She’s a friend of mine from childhood. The only one who cares enough to still visit. How do you know her?”

Hearing him call Ruby a friend made me want to lean across the table and punch him. As if sensing that, Roman nudged me again with his knuckles. It felt like a question.

I pressed my right hand to my shoulder, disguising the movement as I leaned against the table. “She took care of me for a while,” I said. “When was she last here?”

“Ruby was here about a month ago, but she stops by regularly. About every three months or so, sometimes more frequently,” Clancy said.

That often? My hand slid down my arm. I had no idea she’d ever gone to see the Grays one time, never mind what sounded like a dozen visits. Liam wasn’t controlling, but he could be protective to a fault. Given the direct role Clancy had played in his brother’s death, I’d wager Clancy was the person he hated most in the world. The idea that he’d be fine with Ruby coming down here, where she could be spotted, to spend time with this reformed cockroach…

Unless she didn’t tell him, either.

“You’re worried about her, too, aren’t you?” Clancy leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. “She just seems so…lonely, you know? Exhausted and sad, like the weight of the whole world is on her shoulders and everything has become unbearable. She opens up to me sometimes—about feeling trapped, or alone. It makes me wonder if I’m her only friend.”

“No,” I said, more coldly than I meant to, “you’re not her only friend.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. She so rarely talks about the people in her life, it was a natural conclusion to draw. But to get back to your original question, the last time she visited, she told me she was leaving and wouldn’t be back for a long time. That people might stop here looking for her. Did she really leave in that big of a hurry?”

How stupid was my little heart—of course she hadn’t meant me specifically. She’d been talking about any of us who might notice when she was gone.

“Yeah,” I managed to get out. “She up and vanished. We’re concerned.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said, running a hand back through his hair. “It feels like it was inevitable, somehow. Like what she really wants, more than anything, is to just be alone.”

The static was back, growling in my ears again. “She didn’t tell you where she was going?” I asked, feeling that last bit of hope slip away.

He shook his head. “No—but she did leave me a number, in case of an emergency.”

“You could have started with that,” Roman said.

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t here to hurt her in any way,” Clancy said, giving him a sharp look.

No one has ever hurt her more than you.

But she came here. She turned to him.

“John?” A man’s voice called from inside. “You’re going to be late for class—”

Priyanka’s distraction was over. I pushed up out of the chair, torn between running back for the pathway and gripping Clancy’s shirt, shaking him until he gave me that number.

“Ah, sorry,” Clancy said, rising quickly. “What’s your number? I’ll text you the one she left with me.”

Shit. I didn’t want to give him the number to our only burner, but it would be easy enough to replace. After I rattled it off, Clancy repeated it back to me. “Got it.”

“John!” the man called again, his voice closer. Roman was already at the path, motioning me to follow. Clancy grabbed my arm before I could. It wasn’t a rough touch, but the press of his fingers against my skin made me feel like I was being injected with poison. He stared at me, cocking his head to the side, as if picking up on the scream echoing inside of my head.

“I can’t believe I got to meet you,” he said, with a smile. “You’re famous. It must be difficult, though, to speak on behalf of all Psi. To ask the world to believe things you might not totally believe yourself.”

I stared at him, fighting the need to pull away. The silver thread in my mind coiled. A spark burned across my tongue.

“Do you enjoy the touring?” he asked. “I don’t think I would, were I in your position.”

In my…The words trailed off, replaced by stray memories. Years ago, sitting in the mess of Caledonia at my room’s assigned table, just below the glossy portraits of Clancy and his father high up on the wall. His voice slithering out of the speakers as they played a message from him that served as our “orientation.” My name is Clancy Gray, and I used to be like you….

After he’d manipulated his way out of Thurmond, Clancy’s father had used him as a roving mouthpiece, selling desperate parents on the dream of a future cure at the camps. He was living proof that we could change. That we could be fixed.

The nausea grew so acute, I lifted both hands and crossed my arms over my chest.

That’s not me. That’s not what I do.

“John!”

“Ah, my summons.” Clancy turned back toward the house. “Good luck. It’s always nice to meet another friend of Ruby’s.”

He left the plates, cups, and food on the table as he stood to go inside. Clancy had always had a habit of making everyone else do the dirty work for him.

I sprinted for the pathway, forcing Roman to match my pace. That’s not me. I got three steps into the protective cover of the hedges before my legs turned to sand beneath me. That’s not what I do.

Roman caught me by the arms, holding me upright. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

I shook my head, letting him guide us forward, step by step, moving too quickly for my numb feet. There was a suffocating pressure in my chest as panic stole up on me. I shook hard enough that my teeth chattered. The street blurred in my vision, smearing like wet oil paint.

“Are you all right?” Roman asked, sounding frightened. “Did he do something to you?”

You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re supposed to be okay—

“No,” I whispered. “He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything.”

We stepped into the street and out of the house’s shadow. And as soft and easy as a sigh, the crush of feelings pulled back, and I broke free. Tears flooded my eyes. I couldn’t have stopped them, even if I had wanted to.

“He didn’t do anything,” I said again.

That hadn’t been Clancy. It hadn’t been the monster that had hurt my friends. But he’d still managed to find my softest parts and sink his teeth into them all the same.

“He’s a prick,” Roman said, with as much anger as I’d heard from him. “He was doing everything he could to make you feel bad—”

“No,” I whispered. “I think, for once, he was telling the truth. I think she left us.”