Reveal Me (Shatter Me #5.5)(13)

I can’t believe I forgot.

We were celebrating Warner’s birthday a little prematurely last night. Today is his proper birthday. Today. Right now. This morning.

Shit.

I dragged J out of bed on the morning of his birthday.

Wow, I really am an asshole.

When they break apart, Warner makes a sudden, almost imperceptible motion with his head and Nazeera, Stephan, and Haider make their way over to the table, taking their seats alongside Ian and Lily and Brendan and Winston. A little battalion ready for war. Sometimes it’s hard to believe we’re all just a bunch of kids. It definitely doesn’t feel like it. But these four, in particular—they look pretty damn striking.

Warner is wearing a leather jacket. I’ve never seen him wear a leather jacket before, and I don’t know why. It suits him. It has an interesting, complicated collar, and the black of the leather is stark against his gold hair. But the more I think about it, the more I doubt the jacket belongs to him. We had no possessions when we landed here, so I’m guessing Warner borrowed it from Haider. Haider, who’s wearing one of his signature chain-mail shirts under a heavy wool coat. But all of that is nothing compared to Stephan, who’s wearing a gold field jacket that looks like snakeskin.

It’s wild.

These guys look almost like aliens here, among the normals of the world who don’t wear chain mail to breakfast. But even I can tell that Haider looks like some kind of warrior with all that metal draped across his chest, and that the gold jacket really pops against the brown of Stephan’s skin. But who sells shit like that? They’re like outer-space clothes or something. I have no idea where these guys do their shopping, but I think they might be going to the wrong stores. Then again, what the hell would I know. I’ve been wearing the same ripped pants and shirts for years. Everything I once owned was faded and poorly mended and a little too tight, if I’m being honest. I considered myself lucky to have one good winter coat and a decent pair of boots. That’s it.

“Kenji?”

I startle, realizing too late that I got lost in my head again. Someone is talking to me. Someone said my name. Right? I glance at their faces, hoping for recognition, but I get nothing.

I look to J for help, and she smiles. “Nazeera,” she explains, “just asked you a question.”

Shit.

I was ignoring Nazeera. On purpose. I thought that was obvious. I thought she and I had an understanding—I thought we’d entered into a silent agreement to ignore each other forever, to never acknowledge the dumb shit I said last night, and to pretend that I can’t feel the blood rush to all the wrong places in my body when she touches me.

No?

Okay then.

Shit.

Reluctantly, I turn to look at her. She’s wearing that leather hood of hers again, which means I can see only her lips, which seems really, really unfair. She has a gorgeous mouth. Full. Sweet. Damn. I don’t want to stare at her mouth. I mean, I do, obviously. But I also definitely don’t. Anyway, it’s hard enough to have to keep staring at her mouth, but her hood is hiding her eyes, which means I have no idea what she’s thinking right now, or if she’s still mad at me for what I said last night.

Then—

“I was asking if you’d suspected anything,” Nazeera says. “About James. And Adam.”

How did I miss that? How long did I spend staring into space thinking about where Haider does his shopping?

Jesus.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I give my head a slight shake, hoping to clear it. “Yeah,” I say. “I kind of freaked out about it when we showed up here and I didn’t see Adam and James. I told everyone, too,” I say, shooting individual glares at my useless friends, “but no one listened to me. Everyone thought I was crazy.”

Nazeera pulls back her hood, and for the first time this morning, I can see her face. I search her eyes, but I get nothing. Her expression is clear. There’s nothing in her tone or posture to tell me what she’s really thinking.

Nothing.

And then her eyes narrow, just a tiny bit. “You told everyone.”

“I mean”—I blink, hesitate—“I told some people. Yeah.”

“You didn’t tell any of us, though.” She gestures at the little group of mercenaries. “You didn’t tell Ella or Warner. Or the rest of us.”

“Castle said I wasn’t supposed to tell you guys,” I say, glancing between J and Warner. “He wanted you to be able to have a nice evening together.”

J is about to say something, but Nazeera cuts her off.

“Yes, I understand that,” she says, “but did he also tell you not to say anything to Haider and Stephan? To me? Castle didn’t say that you had to withhold your suspicions from the rest of us, did he?”

There’s no inflection in her voice. No anger, not even a hint of irritation—but everyone turns suddenly to look at her. Haider’s eyebrows are raised. Even Warner looks curious.

Apparently, Nazeera is being weird.

But exhaustion has crashed into me again.

Somehow, I know this is the end. I’m out of lives. No more power-ups. There won’t be any more bursts of anger or adrenaline to push me through another minute. I try to speak, but the wires in my brain have been disconnected, rerouted.

My mouth opens. Closes.