A/N: You guys, I am so glad you are on board so far. Thank you a million for still coming around to read. Much love.

Warning: Drug use in this chapter.

Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us.

M

Getting home feels like the longest journey ever. I had tried to keep my pace steady, because even though I wanted to rush home I wasn't sure they were up for the pace. After two of them had called me out for being "leisurely," I realized we all were on the same page. The faster we would reach home, the better.

Now, walking up to the back porch from landing in our own backyard, I don't feel home. I'm not sure why—this place has been home for a few years, the longest stint of ours in one home since...

I huff, moving up to the porch, unlocking the door and stepping in to disable the alarms. I know why I feel off. We all feel it. Nothing feels right. I don't know why I expected it would.

The Gasman bounds into the house behind me, flicking on the lights and throwing down his pack.

"Thank God," he groans, flopping down onto the couch. Iggy moves in past me, nearly tripping on Gazzy's discarded bag.

"Gaz, don't be a dick," Iggy says harshly, picking up the bag and throwing it, hard, in his general direction. Gazzy pales a little at Iggy's tone and grabs the bag as it nearly flies past his face and into the bookshelves.

"Iggy, don't throw shit," I say carefully. "Gaz, you know you can't leave things lying around the house. Go unpack."

He gives me a silent look before dropping the remote on the arm of the couch and heading upstairs with his backpack.

Iggy follows him without a word. Nudge is next to come in the door, probably the most surprising mood I've seen yet. She looks up at me from her phone, looking at me pleasantly.

"I'm going out."

I make an incredulous face at her and look past her at the clock hanging over the kitchen sink.

"It's ten thirty, on a Sunday. Where are you going?"

Fang and Angel finally make it inside, and Fang closes and locks the door. He steps behind me to reset the security alarms and I move out of the way. I head to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle from the door.

"I had to miss my date yesterday," Nudge levels with me, making it clear this is another one of those decisions she does not want to budge on. Too fucking bad.

"Doesn't mean you reschedule for the moment you get home on a Sunday night."

"Max, please do not—"

"Where are you going?"

Nudge looks at me with sincere incredulity. "Are you serious right now? Is it your turn to be the protective parent? It's Fang's night off from thinking either of you have any actual say in what I do?"

Maybe I would've bitten, if this was years ago. But she's honestly right, and trying to micromanage any of them right now will only cause more of an explosion. The one thing none of us react well to is having our options taken away. I don't want to take her freedom, but I also don't want to let her do anything stupid.

"I'm not doing this with you," I say finally, glancing up at Fang, who's the only one still in the room. Everyone else has disappeared upstairs already. "Be careful."

Nudge relaxes a little once I wave the white flag, and her shoulders lower as she sighs. "We're just going to go to a movie," she says finally. "I'll be home in a few hours."

"Okay," I say quietly. She nods at me, and turns to head upstairs to get ready. I let my eyes slide over to Fang. He asks me without asking: What is going on in your head?

I take a second, trying to collect my thoughts, and be honest here. Honesty, lately, is exhausting.

"I don't really want to talk about it anymore," I start. He thinks I'm avoiding, and opens his mouth to challenge me, so I finish hastily. "I'm trying to support your decision because I do understand, but I'm scared and I don't want to think about what doing this without you is going to look like."

Fang leans against the wall, crossing his arms. It takes him a moment to say anything to me, which is infuriating and making me more and more anxious. Everyone feels one word away from blowing up right now. I successfully navigated Nudge, and I hope to God I can navigate Fang right now, too.

"Why do you call it doing it without me?" he asks finally.

I look at him skeptically. "Are you kidding?"

"I'm still here."

"Oh, God, bravo, Fang!" I say, being a shithead, but the way he hints at his point like this makes me want to punch him. "I forgot we live together. Now I don't just have to go through it all on my own, I also have to resist the urge to talk to you about it!" I huff, take a second, and bring my voice down.

"You know," I say, quieter and calmer, "I will only want to talk to you about it. Discovering it without you right there with me won't be the hard part, I can open sketchy files on my own and I have before. But not being able to tell you or talk to you about it? I don't know how we're supposed to do it."

Fang watches me. I fiddle with my water bottle, waiting for him to tell me how we're going to do this without someone, any one of us, falling to pieces.

"Max, I can't...I can't willingly put myself there anymore," he says, looking away from me. I remember the Fang I used to know, the running-to-survive Fang. The one who wanted to say fuck it to the mission and run off to an island when we were fourteen. And that was back when we believed in the mission, at least somewhat.

He never wanted this. He kept doing it, kept living the life he hated, to be by my side.

He clears his throat. "This is not going to be my entire story," he says. "It's not yours either, or any of us. And some of us," he gestures to me once before tucking his hand back into his arm across his chest, "we have to know. Never stop wondering. I get that. But I can stop wondering." His eyes finally slide up to find mine.

"I can stop, finally," he whispers. "This feels like the first and last chance I'm going to get."

I blink, trying to process this, feeling still so frustrated by his resistance to the idea that it's hard for me to empathize. At the same time, it's not, and it's starting to feel like I don't want to do it, either.

But can I stop wondering?

"What about when it goes to trial?" I get out with a struggle. "I mean, you're going to learn some stuff eventually, and I feel like this just pushes that off—"

Fang rolls his eyes. "Everything I already remember and know about Jeb could put him in jail," he retorts. "None of this is necessary."

"Are you insane?" I put my fingers over my eyes because I don't want him to see my face absolutely crumble. His nonchalance about the entire scenario, in stark contrast with my own life-threatening importance surrounding the whole thing—I'm going to explode. It'll either be into immediate, inconsolable tears, or straight out the backdoor into the air.

"From now on, we don't talk about this," I say harshly. "Because I understand being scared and worried, but acting like this isn't necessary—you're either scared, and masking it poorly, or you're being an asshole."

Fang's still watching me, unimpressed. "Fine."

"Fine," I huff, walking past him toward the backdoor. Nudge is coming down the steps, glancing between the two of us before checking her phone.

"He's here, I'll see you later," she says.

"Bye, please be safe," I call out, using up the rest of my Mom energy for the day. I reach for the backdoor knob, and Fang steps toward me.

"Max."

"What, Fang?" I'm being an asshole, now, too. It's contagious.

I look at him when he doesn't say anything right away. His face is still open, expressive. He wants this to not be the end. He wants to help me feel better. He wants to remind me why we even have a chance at making this fucked up situation work in the first place.

"Can I come with you?"

My heart clenches. There's a reason he's my person. Whether it's because he was made for me in a lab, or not. Through the anger and betrayal and fear I feel, still, the ache for his companionship.

"Please," I say, opening the door and pressing a button on the security panel to allow us to leave without setting off our alarms. Fang smiles gently at me and reaches for his coat, then thinks twice and moves back into the kitchen. I hear a drawer pull open and slide shut quickly, and he comes around the corner, slipping a plastic bag into his pocket.

My eyes widen, finally realizing where the stash was. "He keeps it in the kitchen?" I hiss.

"Who else goes in the kitchen except Iggy?"

I roll my eyes. "Oh, my God. Is he gonna be mad you took that?"

Fang gives me a look. "it's fine. Come on."

Once we're outside, I zip up my jacket against the nighttime chill. Fang is already pulling the baggie out of his pocket. I scoff at him as I roll my shoulders, letting my wings extend and stretch behind me.

"We're not going to smoke the whole thing," he says. "And I should put the other half back, because I have a feeling he'll need it in a few hours."

He pulls a tightly rolled joint out of the bag. Iggy's pot-smoking habit has been around for a while, since we last tried going to a normal high school. I've never really enjoyed the state of being high, but for Iggy it helps a lot with his anxiety. I know Fang has never had a complaint about it, either.

And honestly, there are worse things we could be into. I remind myself to tell Iggy to move his stash, though, because I do not want the kids stumbling onto it.

Fang lights it unceremoniously and takes a long pull. He holds it in, looking up at the sky and breathing in, more, holding the smoke. He holds it out to me.

Usually I don't, because it makes me feel like I'm in overdrive. But I'm already in overdrive, and how much worse can it get?

Not the soundest logic, but I think since I'm aware of that, it's okay I let it slide. Anything that will alter reality, at least a little right now, sounds worth it. Again, horrible reasoning.

I take a hit, a quick one, and let it exhale through my nose. I pass it back to him and stretch my wings again, this time forward. I reach up and try to touch the top of my wings, as far as I can reach. This is one of the most delicious stretches for my wings and my back, but usually there's no room inside.

"Keep stretching," Fang murmurs, watching me and taking another drag from the lit joint. I roll my eyes at him, laughing, already feeling looser and higher. He tries to give it back to me, and I shake my head.

"I know my limits," I say. "Any more of that and I'll be paranoid as hell. Sat up all night on the roof one time, listening for threats."

Fang snickers at me, taking one last hit before putting it out on the underside of the porch railing.

"I'm serious!" I insist. "Are you gonna put that inside?"

He nods, and turns to go inside to tuck it back into its hiding place. I keep testing the muscles of my wings and back. First time any of us have done so much long-distance flying in one day. My mind is sharper like this, or at least it feels like it. That's the best part of partaking, for me—usually I get to a place where it is very easy to just exist in the moment. As long as I don't go overboard.

Too much, and I hear things and see things. I've done enough of hearing and seeing unbelievable things today, so it's nice to get away.

Fang comes back out, this time shutting the door gently and zipping his jacket up, too. I check the door one more time and then follow him silently across the yard, leaping into the air behind him and leaving our troubling reality behind for a while.