Calvin whines from the floor, “You almost broke my arm.”
“You’re right.” Nick does not say that the move would have simply dislocated it. “I almost did. If you have a problem, you come to me. Not my people. Me. Am I clear?”
“Your people,” Calvin spits. He flings a hand at the skeletal pantry. Aisha flinches. “Fuck you. Where the hell is our food?”
Nick’s throat slams shut. Of course it’s about food. When one person finally snaps, it means everyone is thinking it, at least a little bit. Seraph was right; they’re going to starve out by summer if they don’t do something drastic, and soon. The mental image of losing people to a lack of water when the rains stop coming, to heatstroke when summer breaks, to starvation when the animals begin hiding from the heat and the Vanguard turns their back—it hits like an iron pipe to the back of his skull, every time.
But nobody gets to put a hand on his people.
“There is enough,” Nick says. “And we will be getting more.” Every word is careful. Every word is perfect. He doesn’t know if he’s lying, so he has to pretend that he is. Lying keeps Aisha safe—it keeps them all safe. “If you touch her again, we’re going to have a lot more problems than a broken arm.”
Calvin says nothing to that, so Nick turns to Aisha. “Are you okay?”
“I guess,” Aisha manages, which is also a lie, but Nick doesn’t press. He just nods.
“If he does this again, you come tell me immediately.”
Aisha’s voice hitches when she speaks. “Can I go back to my room?”
“Of course. Sadaf, Carly, go with her.”
Then it’s just him and Calvin. Calvin’s face is wrinkled in anger and pain.
“That was a bad decision you just made,” Nick notes. “You won’t make it again.”
That’s when Erin comes running in, still in the silk scarf she sleeps in, her mask lopsided on her face. “I just saw Aisha crying,” she says. “What happened?”
* * *
Nick spends a lot of time being grateful to Erin, and this is why. She sits on the office floor with him, silent and un-pitying, while he pulls himself together.
His lizard isn’t enough, so he digs his palms into the rough carpet until his skin stops trying to crawl off his body. The Vanguard, the Grace, then Calvin. He has to keep it together. His job is to keep it together. He scrapes his palms red on the carpet, shakes them out, and presses them against his temples, right where he can feel the heartbeat pounding in his skull.
“Can you talk?” Erin asks.
Nick shakes his head. He can, technically, but the idea of it, God, the idea of it. He wants to hide his whole face behind a mask, not just everything below the eyes. Cover the eyes too. Cover everything.
Erin says, “Okay.”
It takes a while for the vice to loosen its stranglehold on him. It happens slowly, the threat of a shutdown fading like shadows come noon: still there, technically, but not nearly as noticeable. His breathing slows. He doesn’t feel like he’s drowning anymore. His leg is still bouncing, but it always does that.
Nick says, “All right.”
Erin says, “Aisha’s okay. Faith offered to buddy up for a few days, keep an eye on her. Sadaf offered too, but we’ve been keeping her busy lately.”
That makes sense. Faith has been glued to Aisha’s side since Trevor died. She wouldn’t even leave her long enough to go out to the Vanguard—she had been his first pick, but she refused to budge. A sudden knot presents itself: Are they dating? Not that he particularly cares about the details, but he needs to know for strategic reasons. As soon as he tries to inspect the tangle, though, it fizzles out. It’ll be easier to ask Salvador. Xe knows a lot about these things.