The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(36)

Ames seemed to believe he was doing Dara a favor, but Noam had been around Dara long enough now to realize this was probably the worst outcome Dara could imagine. Dara’s face could have been carved from stone.

Noam felt sick too as he fell in step beside him, Ames leading them both down the hall and into his office. Whether or not they’d trace the hack back to him, whether or not it was even his hack that had set off the alarms, Lehrer would immediately suspect Noam. It would be a pretty huge coincidence otherwise. A technopath in the building while someone else fucked around on the MoD servers?

He and Dara sat side by side on one of General Ames’s plush burgundy sofas while the general dialed a number on his desk phone.

“Minister? It’s Gordon Ames. I found Dara wandering around the third floor. I’ve got him up here in my office now. He was with another student.” A beat. “No, sir, I haven’t told anyone else. I thought you should be the one to handle this. Considering how it might look . . . right. Yes, sir. I’ll be here.”

He hung up. Neither Noam nor Dara moved, both frozen in place. Dara was pale, his fingers digging into his thighs. Of course he was nervous—he’d hacked the MoD. He was the one they were searching for. And Noam or no Noam, Dara must think there was a good chance Lehrer would figure that out, too, or else he wouldn’t look like he was about to throw up.

What was he doing? Dara had no reason to hack the MoD. The minister of defense was basically his father. Why would he . . .

An idea splintered through Noam’s mind, cold and terrifying—an idea that united Dara’s presence here, the hack, Dara’s obvious fear.

What if Dara is working against Lehrer?

“It’ll be a spell before Minister Lehrer gets here,” Ames told them, taking a seat in his desk chair and gazing at them like a benevolent god, oblivious to both of their discomfort. “I’m not sure what else he’s got to do given the situation, so y’all go on and get comfortable.”

But it was no time at all before Lehrer showed up. He shook Ames’s hand at the door, thanked him for looking after Dara and Noam, and barely spared the slightest glance at either boy until he gestured for them to follow him out into the hall.

The electricity hadn’t been fixed yet, the emergency lights nauseatingly green on Dara’s skin as they followed Lehrer in silence. Lehrer didn’t say a word either. His disapproval wound out behind him like a thread that wrapped around Noam, around Dara, tight and digging into flesh.

Lehrer took them to the study. There were no emergency lights here. Lehrer waved his hand, and flame lit the wicks of several lamps and candles scattered throughout the room, cutting the darkness with an incongruous warmth.

He turned to look at Noam and Dara, silhouetted black against the window. “Sit.”

They sat.

Lehrer observed them wordlessly for a moment, and although Noam couldn’t see his face, he could imagine the look on it. The flopcell in his bag burned in his awareness like a magnesium flare.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Noam said at last. Better to seize control of the conversation early before Lehrer could start in on his interrogation. With the way Dara looked right now, Noam didn’t trust him to avoid implicating himself. “This is all my fault.”

“Your fault?” Lehrer said. His voice was dangerously soft. “Explain.”

Noam managed a weak smile, trying to look self-deprecating. “I wanted to see what the government complex looked like inside. Atlantians usually aren’t allowed in without a cleaner’s uniform, you know.”

Okay, that last part wasn’t so self-deprecating.

Next to him, Dara stared at Noam like he’d never seen him before, his gaze boring a hole in the side of Noam’s neck.

Noam kept going. “I kind of talked Dara into coming with me. I was sick of Dara being . . . being Dara, so I told him if he didn’t sneak into the government building with me, it meant he was a coward.” The lie came easier now, pouring out of him like water from a faucet. Noam shrugged, dedicated to the cocky act now. “Didn’t use that exact word, though.”

Lehrer moved closer, away from the window. Noam could see his face now, Lehrer examining him as if he could peel apart the layers of Noam’s skin and peer into his core. “Is that true, Dara?” he said. He still watched Noam.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm.”

Noam had no idea if Lehrer believed them. He didn’t seem angry anymore. More . . . bemused. Pinned by his gaze, Noam felt not unlike a butterfly affixed on velvet.

“Very well. Dara, wait for me in the other room. We’ll discuss this later. Noam, stay here.”

Noam hadn’t even realized there was another room, but Dara rose to unsteady feet all the same, crossing over to one of the bookcases. He did something complicated with his hand, and magic rippled through the air. The bookcase swung inward like a door, exposing a short hall carpeted in blue and leading to another shut door. Dara looked back over his shoulder at Noam like he wanted to say something, eyes wide, but then he stepped inside and the bookcase shut behind him seamlessly.

It was just Noam and Lehrer now.

“Empty your satchel,” Lehrer said. Noam’s bag lifted itself off the floor and deposited itself in his lap.

Noam undid the buckles with shaking hands, his fingers fumbling the clasps twice before he got them open. He drew out the book he was reading, his black notebook, pens. His empty wallet. A pocket-size Ursascript reference book. And, at last, when the bag was completely empty and Noam didn’t have any excuses left to delay, he took out his holoreader and flopcells and set them on the coffee table with the rest.