"Go sleep." Brendan says it like it's sold, but Trueman's dogs are sniffing and there's a lot that's starting to smell. Brain figures it won't be long until they're on him - on them both - and that needs to happen here, on his own ground, not at home where his mom will only give them more questions to ask.
So he goes back to the stacks, where what's real comes in black and white and he knows exactly how to read between the lines.
He's not surprised when someone finds him; he is surprised it's Kara and the c-click c-click of her heels. He doesn't look up when she sits in the chair across his table, plans on keeping his peace.
Trouble is, she's better at silence than he is, better than everyone; it's all that practice, waiting in the wings for her cue.
"You want something?" he asks, because the best questions are the ones you already know the answer to. Brendan never does understand that, no matter how burned he gets. And he gets crispy.
"We never talk," she says, her smile red and plump and glossy. "We should talk."
Brain smiles back. "Lady, you don't even know my name."
"Then we should get to know each other better." Her nails are as red as her lips and they tap-tap-tap on the table. "We could be good together."
"Brendan," he starts. Stops. He wants to hear her play.
"Brendan," she dismisses. "Brendan is gone. You know it, I know it and the bull knows it. Think about the future. Your future."
"We crossed Trueman's palm with silver: future's coming. If Brendan goes down, I go with him - there's no line to cut."
"Sweetheart, there's always a line." She leans forward and her eyes widen, just a little. A shimmer pools on the lower lids, but the tears never fall. "He was with me the whole time, Officer."
"That's good, there should be some kind of award," he says, unmoved. "What's in it for you?"
"We're the only ones left standing, shouldn't we do it together?" She touches his arm; her fingers do the walking. "And ... other things?"
Brendan said it wouldn't be clean, he knew this was coming – this or something like it: something they'd never soak out. Brain could turn, Brendan's not a hypocrite, he'd understand - maybe even stretch out a hand and give his blessing.
But Brain isn't Laura; isn't Kara; isn't Brendan. He keeps his head down and his stories straight and, one day, he's taking the fifteen out of this place.
When he does, he's doing it right; he's not leaving bad history lying in the gutter behind him.
"No," he says, shaking her off. "Take it on the road."
Her head jerks back; the lips thin, the nostrils flare. Drama. "You're making a mistake."
He nods; she's probably right. "They say that's how you learn."
When she's gone, Brain looks at the shadows covering the back of the stacks. "You think I'm making a mistake?"
"I think you'd be good at it." Brendan has found another coat. It's darker than his other one, but pulled just as tight over hunched up shoulders. "Better than her. Better than Jerr."
"Maybe." Brain spins his pen in his fingers and misses his cube; misses the easy puzzle to solve. "So was The Pin."
Brendan slumps in Kara's seat; his eyes are bright, feverish. "We should talk," he says.
"We could be good together?" Brain asks. He's disappointed, and he's disappointed he's disappointed. "Leave the echo on your way out."
Brendan smirks and for him, that's laughing. "Dial it down, I'm talking other business, out of the white stuff. Take this somewhere over the rainbow." He coughs raggedly and for now, that's everything else.
In the distance the door of the library slams open by way of a hello, and Brain can hear them, barking directions at each other.
"Tomorrow," Brendan says, like he thinks it's really coming. "Play dumb, I've got words for this."
"Tomorrow," Brain agrees as the voices come closer.
When they get there, he lets Brendan do the talking.