“Calm down,” Nouria says sharply. “You’re losing control.”

“How could you lie to us like that?” I demand, not bothering to keep my voice down. “How could you stand there and smile when you knew our friends were suffering?”

“Because we had to be sure,” Sam says to me. And then she sighs, heavily, pushing wisps of her blond hair out of her face. There are purple smudges under her eyes that tell me I’m not the only one who’s been losing sleep lately. “Anderson had his men feed this information directly underground. He planted it in our networks on purpose, which made me doubt his motives from the start.

“Anderson seems to have figured out that your team took refuge with another rebel group,” she says. “But he doesn’t know which of us is protecting you. I figured he was just trying to lure us out, into the open, so I wanted to verify the information before we spread it any further. We didn’t want to take next steps without being certain, and we didn’t think it would be good for morale to spread hurtful information that might, ultimately, be false.”

“You waited fourteen hours to spread information that might’ve been true,” I cry. “Anderson could’ve decided to kill them off by now!”

Nouria shakes her head. “That’s not how a hostage situation works. He’s made it clear he wants something from us. He wouldn’t kill off his own bargaining chips.”

I go suddenly still. “What do you mean? What does he want from us?” Then, looking around again: “And why the hell isn’t Juliette here right now? She needs to be hearing this.”

“There’s no reason to disturb Ella’s sleep,” Sam says, “because there’s nothing we can do at the moment. We’ll fill her in in the morning.”

“The hell we are,” I say angrily, forgetting myself. “I’m sorry, sir, I know we’re not at Point anymore, but you have to do something. This isn’t okay. J led a goddamn resistance—she doesn’t want to be coddled or protected from this shit. And when she finds out that we didn’t tell her she’s going to be pissed.”

“Kenji—”

“This is all some sort of bullshit, anyway,” I say, my hands caught in my hair. “A bluff. More lies. There’s no way Anderson has all the other kids. He’s obviously trying to mess with our heads—and it’s working—because he knows we could never be sure whether he’s actually taken them hostage. This is all some complicated mind game,” I say. “It’s the perfect play.”

“It’s not,” Brendan says, putting his hand on my shoulder. His eyebrows pull together with concern. “It’s not a mind game.”

“Of course it—”

“Sam saw them,” Nouria says. “We have proof.”

I stiffen. “What?”

“I can see across long distances,” Sam says. She tries to smile, but she just looks tired. “Really, really long distances. We figured if Anderson was going to take the kids anywhere he’d do it somewhere close to his home base, where he has soldiers and resources at his disposal. And when Ella told us Evie was dead, I felt even more certain that he’d head back to North America, where he’d need to do damage control and maintain his power over the continent. In the event that another rebel group tried to take advantage of the sudden upheaval, he’d have to be here, exercise his power, maintain order. So I focused on Sector 45 in my search. It took nearly all fourteen hours to do a proper sweep, but I’m certain I’ve found enough evidence to support his claims.”

“What the hell kind of— You’re certain you’ve found enough evidence? What kind of vague nonsense is that? And why are you the one who gets to decide wh—”

“Watch your tone, Kishimoto,” Nouria says sharply. “Sam has been working nonstop trying to figure this situation out. You will recognize her authority here, where we’ve offered you refuge, and you will give her your gratitude and your respect.”

Sam places a calming hand on Nouria’s arm. “It’s all right,” Sam says, still looking at me. “He’s just overset.”

“We’re all overset,” Nouria says, narrowing her eyes at me. Anger gives her a sudden, ethereal glow that makes her dark skin seem almost bioluminescent. For a moment, I can’t look away.

I give my head a quick shake to clear it.

“I’m not trying to be disrespectful,” I say. “I just don’t understand why we’re buying into this. ‘Enough evidence’ doesn’t sound convincing, especially not when Anderson pulled this exact same shit before. Do you remember how that turned out? If it weren’t for J, who saved all our asses that day, we’d be dead. Ian would definitely be dead right now.”

“Yes,” Castle says patiently, “but you’re forgetting one important detail.”

I tilt my head at him.

“Anderson did indeed have our men. He never lied about that.”

I clench my jaw. My fists. My whole body turns to stone.

“Denial is the first stage of grief, bro.”

“Fuck off, Sanchez.”

“That is enough,” Castle says, standing up with sudden force. He looks livid, the table rattling under his splayed fingers. “What’s the matter with you, son? This isn’t like you—this angry, reckless, disrespectful behavior. Your harsh judgments are doing nothing to help the current situation.”