But lying in the black of the night, all he could think was, My mother will never speak to me again. I’m homeless.
The specter of Glendower and the ley line hung in Adam’s mind. They seemed closer than ever before, but the possibility of a successful outcome also felt more tenuous than ever before. Whelk was out there, and he’d been searching for this for even longer than Gansey. Surely, left to his own devices, he’d find what he wanted sooner than they would.
We need to wake up the ley line.
Adam’s head was a jumble of thoughts: the last time his father had hit him, the Pig pulling up beside him with Gansey inside, Ronan’s doppelganger at the cash register on that day when he decided he must go to Aglionby, Ronan’s fist slamming into his father’s face. He was full of so many wants, too many to prioritize, and so they all felt desperate. To not have to work so many hours, to get into a good college, to look right in a tie, to not still be hungry after eating the thin sandwich he’d brought to work, to drive the shiny Audi that Gansey had stopped to look at with him once after school, to go home, to have hit his father himself, to own an apartment with granite countertops and a television bigger than Gansey’s desk, to belong somewhere, to go home, to go home, to go home.
If they woke the ley line, if they found Glendower, he could still have those things. Most of them.
But again, he saw Gansey’s wounded form, and he saw, too, Gansey’s wounded face from earlier today, when they’d fought. There just wasn’t a way that Adam would put Gansey in peril.
But there also wasn’t any way that he was going to let Whelk slide in and take what they’d worked so hard for. Wait! Gansey could always afford to wait. Adam couldn’t.
He was decided, then. Creeping quietly around the room, Adam put things in his bag. It was hard to predict what he would need. Adam slid the gun from beneath the bed and looked at it for a long moment, a black, sinister shape on the floorboards. Earlier, Gansey had seen him unpacking it.
"What’s that?" he’d demanded, horrified.
"You know what it is," Adam had replied. It was Adam’s father’s gun, and though he wasn’t sure his father would ever use it on his mother, he wasn’t taking the chance.
Gansey’s anxiety over the gun had been palpable. It was possible, Adam thought, that it was because of Whelk sticking one in his face. "I don’t want it in here."
"I can’t sell it," Adam had said. "I already thought of that. But I can’t, legally. It’s registered in his name."
"Surely there’s a way to get rid of it. Bury it."
"And have some kid find it?"
"I don’t want it in here."
"I’ll find a way to get rid of it," Adam had promised. "But I can’t leave it there. Not now."
Adam didn’t want to bring it along with him tonight, not really.
But he didn’t know what he’d need to sacrifice.
He checked the safety and put it in the bag. Climbing to his feet, he turned toward the door and just managed to stifle a sound. Noah stood directly in front of him, hollow eyes on level with Adam’s eyes, smashed cheek on level with Adam’s ruined ear, breathless mouth inches from Adam’s sucked-in breath.
Without Blue there to make him stronger, without Gansey there to make him human, without Ronan there to make him belong, Noah was a frightening thing.
"Don’t throw it away," Noah whispered.
"I’m trying not to," Adam replied, picking up his messenger bag. The gun in it made it feel unnaturally weighted. I checked the safety, didn’t I? I did. I know I did.
When he straightened, Noah was already gone. Adam walked through the black, frigid air where he had just been and opened the door. Gansey was crumpled on his bed, earbuds in, eyes closed. Even with the hearing gone in his left ear, Adam could hear the tinny sound of the music, whatever Gansey had played in order to keep himself company, to lure himself to sleep.
I’m not betraying him, Adam thought. We’re still doing this together. Only, when I come back, we’ll be equals.
His friend didn’t stir as he let himself out of the door. As he left, the only sound he heard was the whisper of the night wind through the trees of Henrietta.
Chapter 42
Gansey woke in the night to find the moon full on his face.
Then, when he opened his eyes again, waking properly, he realized there was no moon — the few lights of Henrietta reflected a dull purple off the low cloud cover and the windows were spattered with raindrops.
There was no moon, but something like a light had woken him. He thought he heard Noah’s voice, distantly. The hairs on his arms slowly prickled.
"I can’t understand you," he whispered. "I’m sorry. Can you say it louder, Noah?"
The hair on the back of his neck rose as well. A cloud of his breath hung in the suddenly cold air in front of his mouth.
Noah’s voice said: "Adam."
Gansey scrambled out of bed, but it was too late. Adam was not in Noah’s old room. His things were scattered about. He’d packed, he’d gone. But no — his clothing stayed behind. He hadn’t meant to leave for good.
"Ronan, get up," Gansey said, shoving open Ronan’s door. Without waiting for a response, he moved to the stairwell and pushed out onto the landing to look out the broken window that overlooked the parking lot. Outside, the rain misted down, a fine spray that just made halos around the distant house lights. Somehow, he already knew what he’d find, but still, the reality was a jolt: The Camaro was missing from the lot. It would’ve been easier for Adam to hot-wire than Ronan’s BMW. The roar of the engine starting was probably what had woken Gansey in the first place, the moonlight merely a memory of the last time he’d been woken.
"Man, Gansey, what?" Ronan asked. He stood in the doorway to the stairwell, scrubbing his hand over the back of his head.
Gansey didn’t want to say it. If he said it out loud, it was real, it had really happened, Adam had really done it. It wouldn’t have hurt if it was Ronan; this was the sort of thing he’d expect from Ronan. But it was Adam. Adam.
I did tell him, right? I did say that we were to wait. It’s not that he didn’t understand me.
Gansey tried several different ways to think of the situation, but there wasn’t any way he could paint it that made it hurt less. Something kept fracturing inside him.
"What’s going on?" The tone of Ronan’s voice had changed.