Repairing a fluctuating ley line is slow-going.

The ground is hot under Adam's hands, alive but...snarled. Stuck on something. Adam closes his eyes, searching out the break in the line.

It's as frustrating as trying to find the broken bulb in a string of old Christmas lights blindfolded. And Persephone's advice is only so helpful. She can show him what to do. She can't do it for him. Adam is Cabeswater's eyes and hands. He's the one who has to fix things.

What do you need me to do? he asks Cabeswater.

He draws two tarot cards and lays them down on the grass, barely needing to glance at them. The answer is instantaneous and fleeting. There are stones lodged under several inches of dirt. They need to be moved.

Adam gets his shovel and begins digging.

His mind drifts.

Kavinsky remains a problem. All the fixing in the world's not going to do any good if Kavinsky's still out there dreaming. Cabeswater and Noah can't manifest the way things are now. They need a permanent solution.

Adam doesn't suppose they can just ask Kavinsky to stop.

He closes his eyes and concentrates on the ley line. There's a crackling across town as another transformer blows. Adam sighs.

How is he supposed to do anything with Kavinsky sucking up all the power? What can he even be dreaming that takes so much energy? It's ludicrous.

And then there's his friends.

Now that he's seen what they can do, Adam is all too aware of Kavinsky's gang. It's not that he's afraid of them. They don't have a monopoly on getting rid of dangerous people. It's more he's never taken the time to properly notice them and, now that he's started, he can't stop.

There has always been something decidedly off about Kavinsky's gang of assholes. Kavinsky will deal to anyone, party with anyone, forge for anyone, but his actual friends are far and few between.

He sees them driving around town, hooting and hollering, and acting like general idiots. They don't care how people see them, don't care that they're running their families' names into the ground. They drink, they smoke, they party.

You would think them capable of many things. Murder isn't one of them.

Adam is trying to reconcile that with these carefree party boys. He's struggling.

He remembers World Hist, watching Swan watch Skov trace vulgar words into his desk, Swan taking sips from his ever-present water bottle, the one everyone knows doesn't contain water.

He remembers Calculus with Jiang, whose presence was always some sort of miracle. He never paid attention, slept through the lessons, and didn't show up for half the tests.

Mostly, Adam remembers a conversation he overheard. A few weeks ago, after Jiang was sent out of class for failing to answer any of the professor's questions correctly, Henry Cheng turned to Brandon Stoley and angrily muttered, "He knows the material, he's smarter than half these idiots. He just doesn't care."

Stoley said, "There's nothing you can do about guys like that."

Adam agrees.

But he remembers, too, Jiang and Swan laughing while the hitman's body burned. He remembers Skov lighting a match and tossing it on a gasoline-soaked body. He remembers Prokopenko being the only one who looked the least bit concerned that a man lay dead.

Is it Kavinsky? Is it his leadership that turns them to such dark things?

And, if they are already so dark, what would it take to turn them against their master?


If Adam bothered to ask, Skov would have told him. Nothing would make them turn on K because K's dreaming isn't a problem. Power outages, diseased plants, disappearing forests- why should they care about these things? They're seventeen and eighteen, wild and free. They won't be weighed down by such petty troubles.

If Adam pressed, Skov might even tell him it didn't matter.

The "problem" would solve itself in due time.


On July 3rd, while K is prepping for the Fourth, Skov goes to his house. Mrs. K lets him in, her eyes that familiar blurry state, and waves him towards the den. She doesn't notice or care about the duffel bag Skov has slung over one shoulder.

He takes what he needs, impossible things that will be inaccessible in a few days' time. Not too many people like delinquents rifling through their dead son's stuff.

If Mrs. K were less drugged out, she might notice her son is standing on the brink of sanctity.

It's too late now. Immortality isn't among this false god's gifts.

Skov shakes his head and continues cramming things into the duffel bag. Drugs, pills, impossible liquids. He takes things he doesn't want Mrs. K to find. No mother should have to know how truly terrible their progeny is.

When Skov's finished, the duffel bag is heavy and there's still so much more to be had. He leaves it. He's got what he came for.

He calls out a farewell to Mrs. K. There's no response. He almost hopes she doesn't love her son. Tomorrow night's going to be terrible for her.

There's a possibility it won't happen tomorrow. There are always changes.

Skov prays it won't happen tomorrow.

A few more days. That's all he's asking for.

They could go up to Atlantic City or down to Myrtle Beach and enjoy the hottest days of the summer. They could go to Six Flags or Busch Gardens, act like normal teenagers. They could pretend self-destruction isn't looming on their horizons. They could dream of a future, any future, so long as it goes past this summer.

They won't, of course. They're not normal. There is no future for some of them. One of them's already dead and others are reaching their expiration dates.

Skov's learned his lesson: he can't change anything. Tomorrow will go down however it goes down. If it doesn't happen tomorrow, it'll be the next day or the next, stretching on and on until this summer ends.

K won't live to see the fall. He never does.

Skov throws the duffel bag in the back of his RX-7. He puts the key in the ignition and looks up at K's house one more time. Then he peels out of the Kavinskys' street.

He has a Lynch brother to go find.