Castle sighs even as he stands, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in his black pants. I glance over at Nazeera’s sleeping figure as I collect my things. I know, rationally, that she’s going to be fine, but she’s recovering from a full blow to the chest—not unlike J once did—and it hurts to see her so vulnerable. Especially for a girl who once laughed in my face at the prospect of ever being overpowered.
It scares me.
“Coming?” Castle says, glancing over his shoulder. He’s already a few steps away, and I have no idea how long I’ve been standing here, staring at Nazeera.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Right behind you.”
The minute we sit down at their table, I know something is off. Brendan and Winston are sitting stiffly, side by side, and Ian doesn’t do more than glance at me when I sit down. I find this reception especially strange, considering the fact that they flagged me down. You’d think they’d be happy to see me.
After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Castle speaks. “I was just telling Kenji,” he says, “that he should be the one to talk to Warner.”
Brendan looks up. “That’s a great idea.”
I shoot him a dark look.
“No, really,” he says, carefully choosing a piece of potato to spear. Wait—where did they get potatoes? All I got was salad. “Someone definitely needs to talk to him.”
“Someone definitely does,” I say, irritated. I narrow my eyes at Brendan’s potatoes. “Where’d you get those?”
“This is just what they gave me,” Brendan says, looking up in surprise. “Of course, I’m happy to share.”
I move quickly, jumping out of my seat to spear a chunk of potato from his bowl. I shove the whole piece in my mouth before I even sit back down, and I’m still chewing when I thank him.
He looks mildly repulsed.
I guess I am a bit of a caveman when Warner isn’t around to keep me decent.
“Anyway, Castle’s right,” Lily says. “You should talk to him, and soon. I think he’s kind of a loose cannon right now.”
I stab a piece of lettuce, roll my eyes. “Can I maybe eat my lunch before everyone starts jumping down my throat? This is the first real meal I’ve had since I got shot.”
“No one is jumping down your throat.” Castle frowns. “And I thought Nouria said the normal dining hours went back into effect yesterday morning.”
“They did,” I say.
“But you were shot three days ago,” Winston says. “Which means—”
“All right, okay, calm down, Detective Winston. Can we change the subject, please?” I take another bite of lettuce. “I don’t like this one.”
Brendan puts down his knife and fork. Hard.
I straighten.
“Go talk to him,” he says again, this time with an air of finality that surprises me.
I swallow my food. Too fast. Nearly choke.
“I’m serious,” Brendan says, frowning as I cough up a lung. “This is a wretched time for all of us, and you’ve more of a connection with him than anyone else here. Which means you have a moral responsibility to find out what he’s thinking.”
“A moral responsibility?” My cough turns into a laugh.
“Yes. A moral responsibility. And Winston agrees with me.”
I look up, raising my eyebrows at Winston. “I bet he does. I bet Winston agrees with you all the time.”
Winston adjusts his glasses. He stabs blindly at his food and mutters, “I hate you,” under his breath.
“Oh yeah?” I gesture between Winston and Brendan with my fork. “What the hell is going on here? This energy is super weird.”
When no one answers me I kick Winston under the table. He turns away, mumbling nonsense before taking a long pull from his water glass.
“Okay,” I say slowly. I pick up my own water glass. Take a sip. “Seriously. What’s going on? You two playing footsie under the table or someshit?”
Winston goes full tomato.
Brendan picks up his utensils and, looking down at his plate, says, “Go ahead. Tell him.”
“Tell me what?” I say, glancing between the two of them. When no one responds, I look over at Ian like, What the hell?
Ian only shrugs.
Ian’s been quieter than usual. He and Lily have been spending a lot more time together lately, which is understandable, but it also means I haven’t really seen him much in the last couple of days.
Castle suddenly stands.
He claps me on the back. “Talk to Mr. Warner,” he says. “He’s vulnerable right now, and he needs his friends.”