The kid was topping off a Coke at the soda fountain, and all she could see was the back of his head. Someone in the kitchen called, “Order up!” and he turned his head to look. She studied his profile, his hair, the pull of his shoulders, searching for Taured. Realizing she was paying too much attention to the kid, she looked down at her soggy pancakes. She could get a knife, wait until after his shift, say she needed help...

Oh my God, Rainy, oh my God. It might not even be Taured’s kid. She bit her tongue and flinched: she deserved it. What type of person had thoughts like that?

The sins of the parents will be visited on their children.

“You know him, don’t you?”

Rainy stared at Marvin.

Turning back to his coffee, he said, “You’re not the first who’s come through here looking for a glimpse of him. Must’ve had a dozen kids like you, making the pilgrimage.”

“His children?”

He looked at her hard. “Nah, the ones like you who want something else.”

True that. How many kids had lived at the compound and had been brainwashed into adulthood to do his bidding? When Rainy looked at the pimply kid behind the counter, she realized that some of them could still be there—Sara could still be there. Had she ever considered that? No. She had actively tried not to think about that place. But she was here now, and there was no way around the thoughts.

“What do they want from him?”

Marvin turned his mean, old eyes on her, and she could see his rot in the yolky whites. “Same thing you do, I expect.”

Rainy took a sip of coffee, pressing her lips together as she eyed the bentness of him; he looked like a branch ready to snap.

“I doubt that, Marvin.” He’d lived so long and her mother had lived so briefly. The injustice of the good dying young was especially potent in that moment. Smacking her lips together, she set down her mug. “What’s he up to nowadays?” She didn’t see any point in lying to Marvin, who’d already made up his mind about who she was.

“He’s making money. Still lives up at the prison, but it’s just him and his closest now. He runs a couple online gigs, uses the space as a warehouse.” Marvin laughed. “His slave is the internet, not all those folks he had working for him for free.”