“We’re always in lockdown,” he said, breaking a smile. “We live in a perpetual state of lockdown around here. It’s all we do anymore.”
“Good,” I said. “We may not have much left, but better safe than—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving me off as he started toward the door. “You should know that I’m ‘all in,’ too.” He paused at the doorway. “In case you didn’t already know.”
“I knew,” I said and felt the hint of a smile grace my lips. That took some doing at the moment, piercing through the shroud of numbness that felt like it had settled on my bones. “But I appreciate you saying it anyway, Hal Jordan.”
Reed’s eyes narrowed and his lips puckered in deepest betrayal. “Green Lantern? You consider me a Green Lantern?”
“You can kinda fly, but you’re no Superman,” I said with a shrug. “Just a touch of arrogance—”
“Ohhh, I am retracting my all-in,” he said and slapped the doorframe with mock irritation. He smiled, rolled his eyes and started to sweep out. “We’ll talk later, right?” His look turned to hesitancy, and I knew what he wanted to talk about—Mom.
“Yeah,” I said and glanced at Zollers. “But I have a feeling I might be all talked out on the subject pretty soon.”
“Maybe I won’t be,” he said quietly.
“Okay,” I said and gave him a nod. He left without another word.
“So …” Dr. Zollers said, completely unreadable.
“So,” I said. “Therapy session, huh?”
“Not necessarily,” he said, edging toward me quietly. His hands were folded in front of him, and he looked solemn. “Seems like everyone wants to talk to you now.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Gotta console the grieving, I suppose.”
“Are you?” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Grieving, I mean?”
I felt that faint smile broaden. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Psychiatrist to the last.”
“Reminds me of a joke I heard,” he said with a faint smile. “How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb?”
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling a hint of impatience.
“Only one. But it has to really want to change.”
I felt an absurd little laugh escape my lips at that. “That’s … terrible.”
“It truly is,” he said, and the familiar light that had always been in his eyes twinkled. “Do you know why so many of them want to have a conversation with you like I am right now?”
“They’re worried about me,” I said. “Worried I’ll … I don’t know, go charging off the edge of a cliff or something. Worried I might drop the ball on running this war.”
“They’re worried about you,” he agreed. “Not the war. I mean, Li is worried about the war. But Scott, Ariadne, Reed—none of them are worried about the war in relation to you. They’re worried about you because … it’s you.”
“And what’s Janus worried about?” I asked.
“No idea,” Zollers said with a shake of his head. “I can’t read him, not even a little. His empath powers blot mine out without him even having to try. I can’t even read the others when he’s around, he’s so strong.”
“To answer your question … I’m fine,” I said without enthusiasm.
“I don’t have to be a telepath to know that’s not true.”
“In relation to what happened with my mom, I’m fine,” I corrected. “For now. It’s not like I feel nothing, I just …” I sighed. “I hate to go all Scarlett O’Hara on this, but I’ll think about it tomorrow.”
He frowned, his lips compressing in a tight line. “If you’ll forgive me for saying so … now that I can read you, mentally, you do not feel fine.” He paused, as if he were stopping to take the temperature of the air, his eyes drifting into open space. “It’s not about your mother, the distress I’m detecting. It’s—”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding, not meeting his eyes. “It’s something else entirely.”
I felt his eyes on me. “What aren’t you telling us?”
I chewed my lower lip. “Things. You’re a mind reader. Why not just take a look?”
“I could do that,” he said, stopping a step away from me, “but …” He squatted down, bringing his eyes level with mine. I avoided his gaze no longer, looking into his deep, mocha-colored eyes. “… I really don’t care to invade your privacy if you don’t want to share it.”