Page 77 of Their Will be Done

“Apollo, take the laptop with you. Go through it today and make sure. Check every fucking cluster on that hard drive.”

He mutters something sarcastic about “clusters” and snaps the laptop closed with ill grace. “Sure thing, Captain.” He stands as he slings the backpack over his shoulder again. “But on the off chance I’m right—” a glare for Cass “—what the fuck do we do? If it’s not on here, then he’s keeping it someplace else.”

I study him for a second, and then shrug. But before I can open my mouth, Cass cuts in. “We tell her it didn’t copy anything. Tell her she has to do it again.”

“I don’t know if she can,” I say.

Cass turns his glare on me. “Does it look like I give a fuck?”

“Dude, seriously, what’s your deal?” Apollo demands, his hand tightening on the backpack’s strap. “You have another wet dream about Zach and wake up with a sore ass?”

Cass rushes so fast to his feet, I’m already reaching to stop him going for Apollo. But he doesn’t rush him—he just stands there, chin up and shoulders back, as if waiting for Apollo to throw the first punch.

Then he grabs the neck of his sweater and tugs it down.

I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s instinct, something I’ve always done when I’m suddenly faced with a sight I can’t—or won’t—process.

But then I force my eyes open. Force myself to see.

I force myself to become awitness.

It’ll come down to us versus them, if I get my way. My brothers feel different, of course. They don’t want any of this shit going to trial. Their definition of justice is biblical.

An eye for an eye. A life for a life.

And they’re convinced that each and every Ghost took a life.

The marks around Cass’s neck are swollen and bruised. But he always bruised easily. The Ghosts liked that about him.

Easily damaged, but impossible to break.

Apollo gapes at Cass’s neck, the unspoken question writ large in his wide eyes.

“She’s going back, and she’s getting what we need,” Cass says through his teeth. “And this time, there won’t be a fucking noose around my neck.”

“I hear you, man,” Apollo says, putting out a hand as he immediately switches into conflict resolution mode. “But don’t you think we’re putting a lot of shit on her shoulders? What if she can’t do it?”

“She’s a smart girl, isn’t she? I’m sure she’ll figure it out. She just needs the right motivation.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence before Cass pushes past me. Apollo watches him leave and then turns angry eyes on me.

“What the fuck happened?”

I hold my tongue. I’d been about to spout a whole monologue about how shit got fucked up and it shouldn’t have gone down like it did. But none of that matters anymore, does it?

“I fucked up.” I take my seat again. I study the glass in my hand and then toss everything into the back of my throat. “I fucked up, and Cass got hurt.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Apollo sinks down on the edge of the armchair. “Is he okay, though? Like, mentally?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t had a chance to talk.”

I’d gone to his room last night. He hadn’t been there. I’d eventually tracked him down in the infirmary, where a grim-faced Timothy was filling up an orange prescription bottle for him.

When I’d tried to catch up to Cass in the hallway, he’d shoved me out of the way without saying a word. I know when I’m not wanted. I didn’t try and go to him again. I was hoping he’d have cooled off by now. Guess I was wrong.

I’ve been getting a lot of shit wrong lately.

“Does Reuben know?” Apollo asks quietly.

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