Page 107 of Runaways

I follow him out the door, where Silas sits on the top step with his hood up. He quietly stands as we step out, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and when I look at him, he lowers his gaze.

"Do you have a car?" I ask.

"We have a car," Tate answers. "But we don't need it right now."

Tate descends the staircase first, and I follow, linking my arm with Silas's.

"You're upset," I say, my tone hushed.

"I'm fine," he says.

"I know you." Leaning in, I press my lips to his shoulder, and then close my eyes, inhaling. When I open them again, Tate glares at me.

Silas shrugs and doesn't answer, keeping his eyes forward as we follow Tate around the side of the garage and stop in front of Jodie's front door.

"Open it," Tate says.

"What?"

"Use your key; I know you have one."

I do have one. Jodie lets me use her washer and dryer, and I feed her cats and water the plants whenever she asks. Still…

"Why?" I ask. "What are you going to do to her?"

"We're not doing anything to her—she's not here. We're looking for something."

"Well, what are you looking for?"

"Unlock the damn door, Noah, before someone sees us standing out here."

Reluctantly, I take out my keys, flipping through them until I find Jodie's, and unlock the door.

"She's been really good to me," I tell them as we step inside and close the door behind us. "I'd be in prison if it weren't for her."

"Yeah, you're really thriving," Tate says. "Do you know where the guns are?"

"What? What guns?"

"Apparently, she's got a shit ton of guns," he says. "According to her social media history, she collects them."

"Well…why do you need them? Silas?"

"We should look upstairs," Silas says. He starts up the staircase, still refusing to look at me. "I don't think they'd be down here."

"Come on," Tate says to me, inclining his head toward the staircase.

"I don't want to. Can't I just go?"

"Thanks for asking, but no."

I sigh, my shoulders slumping as I follow him up the staircase.

"I'm not going to shoot you, if that's what you're worried about. I wouldn't do that—it's too impersonal."

"Thanks for clearing that up," I reply dully.

He laughs a little. "Guns are easy to sell. It's fast money."

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