—Head Speaker Ngozi Adamu, 2038 International Climate Conference
I have no idea what’s going on when I walk into the media room for my first Watch meeting.
The media room is crammed with mismatched seats, board games, and a cracked flat-screen TV. One wall is stenciled with a vapid inspirational quote from the Before Times that just feels hollow now, like a smile drawn on a dead body. The Watch itself is sprawled in a haphazard pile across torn couches and ripped seats. There are two empty spots. One has to be Trevor’s. I try to picture him in the room with us, but his face is a void and bones stick out of his chest.
I’m saved from the thought by Aisha raising her voice to cut off Cormac’s sentence, which I’d tuned out as soon as I opened the door.
“It was capitalism,” she says, pointing hard at the ground. Salvador props xyr chin on xyr hand, watching lazily. Nick isn’t here. “It was always capitalism and colonialism, it—what, no, don’t look at me like that, Cormac.”
“Rich bastards need to hush,” Faith interjects when Cormac tries to retort. “Normal people are talking.”
“We weren’t rich!” Cormac snaps. I ease the door shut behind me. “We were comfortable.”
“Your parents owned the Acresfield Country Club,” Salvador groans. “Shut the fuck up. Hey, Ben!”
Everyone turns. Cormac glares.
“Benji, actually,” is the only thing I can think of to say. “What’s, uh, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Faith says. “C’mon, sit.”
I take the spot next to Salvador because it’s as far away from Cormac as I can get. I can’t handle him right now. I barely slept last night, even after Nick and I got back from the rescue mission. I kept having to go out back to throw up, and I saw the Grace every time I closed my eyes, and the prayer for the dead always came back, sacrilege poised on my lips, O Lord…
I’m getting sicker.
“Are we just waiting on Nick?” I ask.
Salvador blows out a breath. “Yep. Some shit went down this morning, so we’re not pressed. He’ll get here when he gets here.”
I frown. “Some shit?”
“Yeah,” Aisha mutters. “Some shit.” Faith skims a hand down her arm the way you’d comfort a little sister. Cormac kicks his feet up on the table and keeps staring at me.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there at breakfast,” Faith whispers to Aisha.
Aisha ducks her eyes. “It’s fine.”
It looks like everyone has let the funeral incident go—Erin made it clear Alex and I had both lost someone and weren’t doing our best—but Cormac. With Seraph getting into my head, making everything burn, it might be best if I just stay away. Even though it would be really satisfying to punch Cormac in the face. Did his parents actually own a country club? Figures.
It doesn’t come to that. Nick walks into the room like he just crawled out of bed. His hair is falling out of its pins, and his knuckles are white around the bead lizard. This is the Nick I saw lowering his head to the Vanguard, whispering, Okay, okay, the one pinned under the Grace—not the Nick that slammed me into the bodega shelves and knocked me to the floor.
We don’t say anything. We just look at him.
He stops in front of us and in a second, he’s back. “Too quiet in here,” he says, rolling beads between his fingers. “What’s wrong.”
Cormac points to me. “I told you, I’m not working with him.”
My face burns, blood rushing to the surface, a Seraph burn. It’s glorious, getting angry so quickly. Maybe the Flood has given me something in return for my body: the anger I never let myself have as a little girl, the rage I swallowed down every day of my life. It feels like it’s slotting into place where it was meant to be all along. Under my mask, I bite down hard on my cheek.