Lance couldn’t talk to Chris unless he shouted. Chris had built some sort of mental barrier, and trying to talk through it was like whispering at a closed door. He figured Chris must have reasons, secrets he didn’t want to share yet, or ever, and it was strange and normal at the same time.

Joey chattered all the time in his head, like he didn’t know how to turn his brain off. Lance blocked him most times but not right now. Now they were on Joey’s street, where he’d been when they found him, when JC saved him.

This is where, filtered through Joey’s mind, along with dark pictures and a hot, piercing ache.

Stop, Lance said, It’s over now.

Joey nodded and Lance could see pictures of himself in Joey’s head, the way Joey must see him.

Better.

Chris jerked his head towards a dark alley and Lance turned to follow him. He held onto Joey’s hand because he couldn’t let go. He’d tried, tried to pull his hand away, unclench the fingers wrapped tightly around Joey’s, so tightly the knuckles were white and aching, and he eventually stopped trying.

He didn’t think Joey wanted him to anyway.

Lance almost stumbled across JC as they moved into the main room. He’d curled up under a blanket, only his hair sticking out. He might have been snoring, but Lance couldn’t tell.

Wake him up, Chris said. Where’s Justin?

Lance bent to shake JC’s arm. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll ask.”

Joey took over getting JC up and Lance stood to the side, eyes open and alert as he called to Justin. Main room, J.

But Justin had walls like Chris did, and he wasn’t sure how Justin knew to do that. He shouted at the walls, pushing against them and he could feel Justin jump, startled, wherever he was.

Main room, he said again.

Coming.

Chris used Lance to communicate this time, but he didn’t lower his walls so much as talk over them, which made the whole process slower.

Your skills make you useful to the resistance, Chris said, and Lance repeated for him. But before we send you out there anymore, you need to know.

He stopped there and Lance pushed further. Know what? he asked. Chris didn’t answer and didn’t lower his walls and Lance pushed further against them. What is it?

Chris’s shields dropped suddenly and a name burst through, dragging pictures and colors and feelings with it. Steve, it said, and the accompanying pictures were dark and ugly and painful.

What do you mean? Lance could feel Joey’s hand on his wrist, knew Joey wanted to know what they were saying, but he shook Joey off and turned to Chris. Chris?

He works for them. It was him, that night, he said, and Lance could see Steve’s face and a dark alley behind him. He knew, because Chris knew, that Leon was at his back, that Leon had no reason not to trust Steve. Chris followed.

I can’t tell him that, Lance said. His eyes met Chris’s and Chris shook his head.

You have to, he has to know. What if he runs into him out on a sweep? Steve works for them, Steve hates us. All those years of fucking hand outs, and he hates us. Joey too. He has to know.

Lance pulled his gaze from Chris’s and turned to Joey, met his eyes and took his hand and he could hear Joey questioning in his head, trying to reach out.

It’ll crush him.

He has to know.

“Joey.”

Lance felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. Chris stood over him, eyes shadowed and mind quiet again. He okay?

Lance looked down again. Joey had finally fallen asleep a few minutes ago, his face pressed against Lance’s stomach.

He will be, Lance said.

Chris nodded sadly and walked away. Lance watched him go and wondered if he’d been lying.