Imagine Me (Shatter Me #6)(14)

“Okay, enough.”

I look up at the sound of Nazeera’s voice. I have no idea when she showed up, but she’s suddenly in front of us, arms crossed against her chest. “We’re not doing this. No side conversations. No subgroups. We all need to talk about the impending shitstorm headed our way, and if we’re going to have any chance of figuring out how to fight it, we have to stick together.”

“Which impending shitstorm?” I ask. “Please be specific.”

“I agree with Nazeera,” Sam says, her eyes narrowing at her wife. “Let’s all go back inside the room and talk. To each other. At the same time.”

“Sam,” Nouria tries again. “I’m not—”

“Bloody hell.” Stephan stops short at the sight of us, his shoes squeaking on the tile. He seems to tower over our group, looking too polished and civilized to belong here. “What on earth are you lot doing out here?”

Then, quietly, to Nazeera: “And why’ve you left us alone with him? He’s being a proper ass. Nearly made Haider cry just now.”

Nazeera sighs, closing her eyes as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Haider does this to himself. I don’t understand why he’s deluded himself into thinking Warner is his best friend.”

“That, he might well be,” Stephan says, frowning. “The bar is quite low, as you know.”

Nazeera sighs again.

“If it makes Haider feel any better, Warner’s being equally horrible to just about everyone,” Sam says. She looks at Nouria. “Amir still won’t tell me what Warner said to him, by the way.”

“Amir?” Castle frowns. “The young man who oversees the patrol unit?”

Sam nods. “He quit this morning.”

“No.” Nouria blinks, stunned. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were. I had to give his job to Jenna.”

“This is crazy.” Nouria shakes her head. “It’s only been three days and already we’re falling apart.”

“Three days?” says Stephan. “Three days since we arrived, is that it? That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“We are not falling apart,” Nazeera says suddenly. Angrily. “We can’t afford to fall apart. Not right now. Not with The Reestablishment about to appear at our doorstep.”

“Wait—what?” Sam frowns. “The Reestablishment has no idea where we—”

“God, this is so depressing,” I groan, running both hands through my hair. “Why are we all at each other’s throats right now? If Juliette were awake, she’d be so pissed at all of us. And she’d be super pissed at Warner for acting like this, for pushing us apart. Doesn’t he realize that?”

“No,” Castle says quietly. “Of course he doesn’t.”

A sharp knock knock—

And we all look up.

Winston and Brendan are peering around the corner at us, Brendan’s closed fist held aloft an inch from the wall. He knocks once more against the plaster.

Nouria exhales loudly. “Can we help you?”

They march over to us, their expressions so different it’s almost—almost—funny. Like light and dark, these two.

“Hello, everyone,” Brendan says, smiling brightly.

Winston yanks the glasses off his face. Glowers. “What the hell is going on? Why are you all having a conference out here on your own? And why did you leave us alone with him?”

“We didn’t,” I try to say.

“We’re not,” Sam and Nazeera say at the same time.

Winston rolls his eyes. Shoves his glasses back on. “I’m getting too fucking old for this.”

“You just need some coffee,” Brendan says, gently patting Winston’s shoulder. “Winston doesn’t sleep very well at night,” he explains to the rest of us.

Winston perks up. Goes instantly pink.

I smile.

I swear, it’s all I do. I just smile, and in a fraction of a second Winston’s locked eyes with me, his death stare screaming, Shut your mouth, Kishimoto, and I don’t even have a chance to be offended before he turns abruptly away, his ears bright red.

An uncomfortable silence descends.

I wonder, for the first time, if it’s really possible that Brendan has no idea how Winston feels about him. He seems oblivious, but who knows. It’s definitely not a secret to the rest of us.

“Well.” Castle takes a sharp breath, claps his hands together. “We were about to go back inside the room to have a proper discussion. So if you gentlemen”—he nods at Winston and Brendan—“wouldn’t mind turning back the way you came? We’re getting a bit cramped in the hall.”

“Right.” Brendan glances quickly behind him. “But, um, do you think we might wait another minute or so? Haider was crying, you see, and I think he’d appreciate the privacy.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” I groan.

“What happened?” Nazeera asks, concern creasing her forehead. “Should I go in there?”

Brendan shrugs, his extremely white face glowing almost neon in this dark corridor. “He said something to Warner in Arabic, I believe. And I don’t know exactly what Warner said back to him, but I’m pretty sure he told Haider to sod off, in one way or another.”