"Building the press," Wolfe said.
"Among other things. So have no fear-all the plans are under way for your safe departure. Until then, enjoy the hospitality." Callum picked up a small bell next to his plate and rang it. "Ah. Dessert."
Khalila left the table first, pleading weariness, and she took Thomas, Glain, and Morgan with her. Jess stayed, even though he longed to see Morgan to her room; he wanted to watch Santi and Wolfe and his father. Besides, his twin had stayed, gleefully tucking into the sweet pudding that had been served, and though Jess could barely manage a mouthful, Brendan gestured meaningfully at it. "Go on," he said. "You need some cushion back on those bones. You look half-dead."
Felt it, too, Jess realized; he was aching in every muscle. He forced down three more bites, until Brendan finally sighed and took the rest of it from him to finish.
Wolfe and Santi exchanged a few more words with the elder Brightwells, but not many, before they rose to leave. Jess intended to follow, but Brendan got up with him and said, "We're off to bed, then. Good night."
Callum mumbled the same back, concentrating on his pudding. Their mother looked at them both with distant sadness and nodded.
They hadn't gotten to the stairs before Jess pulled Brendan off into a side room. A dark one, until he dialed the glows up a little. It was cold and damp and was lined with shelves and neatly ordered crates and boxes. Storage, Jess thought. There was a lingering smell of spices, so likely it was for the kitchens.
"What are you not telling me?" Jess asked him. "Come on, Scraps. I know it when you're hiding something."
Brendan tried to look innocent. He failed miserably. "The usual Brightwell intrigue, old son. Nothing out of the ordinary, is it?"
"Brendan."
His twin went quiet, staring at him, and then turned away. Picked at a rough spot on a shelf, winced as he gained a splinter. And finally said, "You know our da. One profit isn't enough. Neither is two. He wants it all, and you've handed it to him on a silver platter, with a gift note."
"We're not guests," Jess said.
"Well, you're not a guest; you belong here."
"You know what I mean! They're not guests!"
His brother's shoulders rose and fell in a faint shrug. "They're fugitives. What exactly do they expect, that everyone will be rushing to join their army? Even us? Come on, Jess. When has Da ever done anything for anyone who isn't family?"
"They're my family."
"They're prisoners," his brother said. "And when they leave, it'll be because Da's made a better deal. You know it. We both know it."
It wasn't anything but confirmation of what Jess had already suspected, but he still felt the trap closing with an almost audible snap. Another set of walls. Another set of cells. Luxurious ones, with soft feather beds and plenty of food to distract them, but Callum Brightwell was no different from Willinger Beck, and never had been, really. For all that he was their father.
"And you're going along with it," Jess said.
Brendan looked at him for a long, telling moment, and then dropped his gaze to his finger. A red dot of blood welled there, and he wiped it away. "I haven't decided," he said. "But I'll let you know. Go on, Jess. Nothing will happen tonight. Da wants that bloody machine of yours. Maybe you can convince him the lot of you are assets worth keeping, not selling."
Jess didn't try to argue with him. He wasn't sure he could even speak. All of the darkness had rolled up inside him, all the rage he'd felt since Philadelphia, all the fury of being trapped and hounded and threatened and helpless.
But he wasn't helpless here. And there was another, darker game to play.
He silently left and went up the stairs to the hall where they all had rooms, intending to knock on Morgan's door, but changed his mind when he heard soft voices and realized that the room at the end of the hall still had its door open. Not fully open, as if inviting others in, but cracked, as if it hadn't been fully latched.
///
Men's voices. Wolfe and Santi. Jess knocked lightly and pushed the door open.
He wasn't surprised to find them standing close, as if they'd been arguing fiercely. There was a strong sense of emotion in the air, something that immediately made Jess wish he'd kept on to his own door, but it was too late now. Without looking at him, Wolfe said, "Well? What?"
He told them about what Brendan had said. Neither of them seemed surprised by the news that Callum Brightwell had plans for them. That they'd escaped Philadelphia only to land in yet another net.