Reed thumped him on the shoulder. “Lead with that next time, actually.” He touched me on the shoulder, too. “Let’s go.”
I followed them out, the three of them acting as my bodyguards. There were cameras already on the lawn, reporters with microphones, and I heard the shutters snap as I walked out the door. Blinding flashes went off even though it was midday, and a flurry of questions hit me as I made my way down the path.
“Miss Nealon—”
“Sienna—!”
“Could you—”
“How does it feel—”
“What were you thinking when—”
It all blurred together in one loud jumble of noise, and my three protectors gently pushed through for me. I followed them numbly, probably looking around into the spotlights flashing at me, stunned. We reached the curb and I realized that among the news vans and reporters’ cars, there were two black town cars waiting.
Kurt Hannegan was waiting at one of them for me, door held open. A reporter got too close and he made a menacing move that drove them back a step. “Right this way, Miss Nealon,” he said.
“Thank you, Kurt,” I said, blinking at him in surprise. I glanced back at the house, remembering when he’d last been here and remembered the feelings associated with it. I looked up at the blue sky, so different from the grey days of the past, and slid into the back seat.
“Miss Nealon!” came the voice of one of the reporters over all the others. “How does it feel to be a hero?”
Kurt slammed the door of the car before I could even answer. Reed walked around and got in the front, and Scott slid in next to me. Hannegan slipped into the driver’s seat, and I turned my head to see Janus in the car behind me, sitting next to Zollers. I nodded silent thanks to Dr. Zollers. He nodded back with a graceful smile, and I could hear his words in my head.
You’re welcome.
“So,” Scott said, and he smiled at me from where he sat in the seat next to me. “Miss Nealon, how does it feel to be a hero?”
I looked up at Reed and saw a great big grin on his face as he stared straight ahead. The reporters were clearing the way, a little at a time, and Kurt was easing the car forward. I couldn’t be sure, but I caught sight of the big man’s eyes in the mirror and even he looked a little happy.
I looked at Scott and I smiled, and it felt … right. For the first time in a while. Not a faux smile, not a mean one, just a real, genuine smile born of some happiness I had springing up deep inside like the sun beams poking out from behind dark clouds.
“It feels … good,” I said and meant it, every word. I looked down, and I could still feel them all there. I spared one last look for the house where I’d been raised, the house that had sheltered me for all the years of my childhood, a place of such acute pain and loneliness that had prepared me for everything I’d just faced. “It feels good.”
And I could hear my own voice in my head as we drove away:
It feels like I’m not alone.