Painter actually flinched at the words. Maybe he’d been expecting Wren to try to convince him not to leave, or just to say a better goodbye.
“No, Wren,” Painter said. “I appreciate the thought, but I can’t l-l-let you do that.”
“You’re not letting me do anything, Painter. I have to go back. Because of Asher.”
“What are you tuh, talking about?”
“It’s my dad’s machine. I have to get back to it.”
Painter’s expression changed at the mention of the machine, and Wren couldn’t blame him. The memories of that machine, that room, were still too fresh and far too vivid for Wren’s liking. He could only imagine how Painter must’ve felt.
“Your mmmm-mom is going to freak out.”
“That’s why I have to go alone,” Wren said. “Or with you.” Painter shook his head slowly. Wren felt something rising up within him, born of frustration. “I’m going, no matter what. I know the way. You can come too, or you can go on your own. But don’t get in my way. There’s too much at stake.” His voice came out louder than he meant for it to, but it seemed to have the effect he wanted. Painter stopped shaking his head.
“They’re gonna come after us,” he said.
“I know.”
“Your mom will k-k-kuh… she’ll kill me.”
“I won’t let her.”
Painter looked at Wren for a long moment, and then finally nodded. “OK.”
They both shouldered their packs, and Wren led the way cautiously towards the front entry. It was darker there. The lights were off, and the morning light was weak and pale through the high grated windows. Wren didn’t know how Painter had been planning to get out on his own, but he felt pretty sure that he’d be able to unlock the door and gates himself. Hopefully there weren’t any alarms on any of them. They crept through the front room.
“You boys are up early,” came a voice from one corner behind them. They froze in place. Swoop. Wren turned around slowly, and saw him sitting there, propped against the far wall. “Goin’ somewhere?”
Wren’s mind went completely blank, and all the bravery he thought he had leaked right out. It seemed like the kind of time that a brain might go into overdrive and come up with a good excuse, or even a bad one. But in this case, Wren couldn’t think of a single thing, couldn’t even think of thinking. He just stared.
“We’re g-g-going back,” Painter said. “And you can’t do anything to ssss, to stop us.” Wren was surprised at the edge in Painter’s voice. He actually sounded like he meant it.
Swoop chuckled. “That’s probably not true.” He got to his feet. He seemed bigger than usual. “Today’s not the day, buddy. We’ll get back to Morningside eventually.”
“We’re going now,” Painter said. Swoop’s expression changed. He’d seemed amused before. Not so much now.
“You sound pretty sure.”
“I am.”
Swoop just stared Painter down with that look of his, the one that kind of made you feel like you were lucky that he was still allowing you to live. And then his eyes slid over to Wren, like Painter wasn’t even part of the conversation anymore. Or even in the room.
“What’s going on?”
Painter had already blown any chance they had of convincing Swoop they weren’t really planning to go anywhere further than the gate. And there was no way Wren could come up with a lie that Swoop would believe. So Wren sighed and did the thing he didn’t want to do. He told the truth.
Wren did his best to explain what he believed was happening with Asher and Underdown’s machine, the path he planned to take, and why he didn’t want the others to try to come back with him. If everyone returned, Wren was sure there’d be a fight. The guards might even attack them on sight. But if it was just him, he felt sure that they wouldn’t do anything worse than lock him up somewhere, probably in the governor’s compound. And maybe once he explained what was happening to the Weir, they’d understand their own danger. If not, well, at least he’d be close enough to the machine to try to do what he needed to. And if Asher came for him, at least Mama would be safe.
Swoop listened to everything Wren had to say without any noticeable emotion. When he was finished, Swoop continued to look at him for a long moment.
Then, “You really think there’s something you can do.” It sounded like a statement, but it was a question. Wren nodded. “It’s a terrible plan.”
“Wick says a plan is just a list of stuff that never happens anyway.”