I squeeze my eyes shut.

Anger explodes in the blackness behind my eyelids, fireworks building and breaking me down.

My head is spinning.

My heart is spinning.

A bead of sweat travels down my back and I shiver, involuntarily.

“Fine,” I snap, opening my eyes. “I apologize for my disrespectful behavior. But I’m only going to ask this question one more time before I go and get her myself: Why the hell isn’t Juliette here right now?”

Their collective silence is the only answer I need.

“What is really going on?” I say angrily. “Why are you doing this? Why are you letting her sleep and rest and recover so much? What aren’t you telling m—”

“Kenji.” Castle sounds suddenly different. His eyes are pulled together, his forehead creased in concern. “Are you feeling all right?”

I blink. Take a sudden, steadying breath. “I’m fine,” I say, but for a second the words sound strange, like I got caught in an echo.

“Bro, you don’t look okay.”

Who said that?

Ian?

I turn toward his voice, but everything seems to warp as I move, sounds bending in half.

“Yeah, maybe you should get some sleep.”

Winston?

I turn again, and this time all the sounds speed up, fast-forwarding until they collide in real time. My ears start ringing. And then I look down, realizing too late that my hands are shaking. My teeth are shaking. Chattering. I’m freezing. “Why is it so cold in here?” I ask.

Brendan is suddenly standing next to me. “Let me take you back to your room,” he says. “Maybe y—”

“I’m fine,” I lie, lurching away from him. I can feel my heart racing too fast, the movement so quick it’s a blur, practically a vibration.

It freaks me out.

I need to calm down. I need to catch my breath. I need to sit—or lean against something—

Exhaustion hits me like a bullet between the eyes. Suddenly, ferociously, digging its claws into my chest and dragging me down. I stumble over to a chair, blinking slowly. My arms feel heavy. My heart rate begins to slow. I’m liquid.

My eyes fall closed.

Instantly, an image of James materializes in my mind: hungry, bruised, beaten. Alone and terrified.

Horror sends an electric shock to my heart, brings me back to life.

My eyes fly open.

“Listen.” My throat is dry. I swallow, hard. “Listen,” I say again, “if this is true, if James and Adam are really being held hostage by Anderson right now, then we have to go. We have to go right now. Right the hell now—”

“Kenji, we can’t,” Sam says. She’s standing in front of me, which surprises me. “We can’t do anything right now.” She’s pronouncing the words slowly. Carefully, like she’s talking to a child.

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t know yet exactly where they are.” Nouria, this time. “And because you’re right: this whole thing is some kind of a trap.”

She’s looking at me like she feels sorry for me, and it sends another shot of anger through my blood. “We can’t go into this unprepared,” she says. “We need more time. More information.”

“We’re going to get them back,” Castle says, stepping forward. He drops his hands on my shoulders, peers into my face. “I swear to you we’ll get them back. James and Adam are going to be fine. We just need to form a plan first.”

“No,” I say angrily, breaking away. “None of this makes sense. Juliette needs to be here. This whole situation is fucked.”

“Kenji—”

I storm out of the room.

Six

I must be out of my mind.

That’s got to be it. There’s no other reason why I’d swear in Castle’s face, scream at his daughter, fight my own friends, and still be standing here at dawn, pressing this doorbell for the third time. It’s like I’m asking to be murdered. It’s like I want Warner to just punch me in the face or something. Even now, through the thick, dumb fog of my head, I know I shouldn’t be here. I know it’s not right.

But I’m either (a) too stupid, (b) too tired, (c) too angry, or (d) all of the above, to give a proper shit about their personal space or their privacy. And then, as if on cue, I hear his muffled, angry voice through the door.

“Please, love. Just ignore it.”

“What if something’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he says. “It’s just Kenji.”

“Kenji?” I hear some kind of shuffle, and my heart picks up. J always comes through. She always comes through. “How do you know it’s Kenji?”

“Call it a wild guess,” Warner says.

I ring the doorbell again.

“Coming!” J. Finally.

“She’s not coming,” Warner shouts. “Go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I shout back. “I want to talk to Juliette. Ella. Jella. Jello. Whatever.”

“Ella, love, please—let me kill him.”

I hear J laugh, which is sweet, actually, because it’s clear she thinks Warner’s joking. Me, on the other hand—I’m pretty sure he’s not.