The Countdown (The Taking #3)(55)

Dr. Clarke and Agent Truman had only been gone a few minutes, but already their absence was this thing you could feel, like someone had been sitting on your chest and once they were gone you could catch your breath.

It was like that, like finally breathing again.

Everyone started talking all at once. I asked my dad for a minute alone, and even though I knew he didn’t want to leave me again, he reluctantly let me peel away from him.

Willow was just as bad when it came to Simon, staying glued by his side, which wasn’t a big surprise or anything, except that Griffin stayed there too, the three of them forming an uneasy truce as they hovered near Thom. But at least they were giving him the chance to tell his side of the story.

I needed to talk to Tyler, and when I turned to find him, he was right there, waiting for me.

“This is it, you know?” he said, before I could say anything. “The place I was telling you about back at the diner, before you were . . .” He dropped his gaze and gave a quick shake of his head before meeting my eyes again. “Before you vanished. The place I thought we needed to be.”

“Wait? The one you dreamed about?” I frowned. “How do you know? Are you sure?”

“Jett figured it out—using that map I drew. He used his mad computer skills to trace the coordinates to this exact location.”

I tried to make sense of that. The map, the one Tyler had drawn that night in the desert—on the cliff.

“And that’s how you ended up here?”

“Pretty much. The weirdest part is, that when we showed up, these guys came out and invited us in, showed us around like they’d been expecting us. Like we were guests or something.” He shrugged. “But once I saw that . . . when I saw Adam . . . I don’t know . . . I just felt . . .” His eyes searched mine, looking for an explanation. “Did you feel it?”

I thought about the way I’d wanted to stay there with him. With Adam. I nodded. “I think so.”

“It’s the strangest thing though. It’s not just Adam.” His eyes were so green as they scoured my face, and it was almost as if I could feel his fingers on me. “It’s you too. Before you even walked through that door, I knew you were here.”

I frowned, mesmerized by his voice, his admission. His inspection. “You did?”

He nodded as he contemplated my face. His eyes roving over my nose and each and every one of my freckles.

“Did you tell the others?” I asked quietly.

He shook his head. “I was wrong last time, about the asylum. At least about when you’d be there. I didn’t want to be wrong again. So when I felt you, when I sensed you were here, I thought, What if I’m wrong again? What if it’s not her?” His gaze shifted to my lips. “And then when Thom was standing there instead of you, I was . . .” His face creased. “I was so confused. Until I saw you behind him.”

His hand started to move toward mine, but then he stopped himself, and I realized what I’d seen in his eyes: disillusionment. “So you really did that? Shot Natty and the others?”

I wanted to explain my reasons. How I’d been forced to look someone in the eyes and pull the trigger, again and again and again. But somehow I just couldn’t. Not now. Not when the fate of the planet was at stake.

This . . . us . . . suddenly, it just didn’t matter as much. And maybe he was going through the same thing.

I almost couldn’t speak. When I found my voice it was like rusted metal, crumbling and dry. “I’m sorry.”

His brow crumpled. “For what?” he finally managed in the softest tone known to man. A heartbroken sort of sound. “Because you forgot to tell me how in love I am with you? Or for shooting your best friend?”

My shrug was microscopic. “For everything.”

He waited, thinking it over. “Me too.”

And then he left me standing there.





TYLER


GRIFFIN RAISED ONE EYEBROW. IT WAS THE SAME buck-up-soldier look I’d seen her use a thousand times before. “You okay? I’m happy to knock some sense into her, if you don’t have the heart.” Her tone though was gentler than when she was really giving a get-your-shit-together speech, which meant I must really look bad.

I laughed, or the best I could manage. “I’m fine.” I glanced over to where Kyra was still absorbing our conversation. I wasn’t sure what I felt.

Bad for not absolving her, sure. But after what Truman had said, about Kyra being responsible for that bloodbath at the asylum . . .

It was a lot to take in.

If what he said was true, then Kyra had assassinated those people, one of whom was supposedly her best friend. Shot them point-blank.

Maybe I didn’t know Kyra as well as I thought I did. I definitely didn’t know how I felt about that.

And maybe that was the problem.

I’d stood in front of her telling myself she was a virtual stranger, this girl who could kill in cold blood, and yet, still, I’d wanted her.

I’d wanted to grab her and kiss her and tell her I was the one who was sorry.

How messed up was that?

Super messed up.

Griffin leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s a standing offer. Let me know if you change your mind.” Griffin was a soldier—I knew she’d killed. Griffin never hid that fact. She was a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of girl. So why was I holding Kyra to a different standard? Why couldn’t I forget what I’d seen at the asylum?