“I still want to find the other cells,” Wyatt says. “See if we can help each other.”

“I don’t care about other people,” Tanq says. “And even if I did, traveling is dangerous. Why risk it? I say we find a mansion and hunker down. Live like royals for the rest of our short, terrified lives.”

“Traveling would be safer without those dragonflies,” Trey points out. “We take out the tower, and we could travel halfway across the country before finding another dragonfly.”

“Makes sense,” Wyatt concedes. “Plus we buy ourselves some time with that whole methane thing.”

Our score is tied. I consider missing another shot on purpose, which isn’t like me at all. I’ve always been the most competitive person I know. But something about this moment is different. I want to put Wyatt at ease. Make him part of the team.

It’s not your job to put men at ease, Paul used to say. Not about your height, not about your ambitions, not about anything.

I aim for the hole and give the bag a soft underhand toss. It flies right in, barely scraping the edge.

“Nice,” Trey says. “I think that means we win.”

“You two are pretty used to winning, yeah?” says Wyatt, a slight edge to his voice.

“You’ll get us next time,” Trey says.

I barely refrain from rolling my eyes.

“Maybe next time we’ll change up the teams,” Wyatt says. “Not fair to have two pro-level athletes on the same team.”

“Hey, Tanq was pretty good,” I point out.

“I was awesome, actually,” Tanq says. “I used to play cornhole all the time with the boys. There was already a set in the backyard when we rented the apartment. It didn’t cost anything. Got me out of the house.” She turns to Wyatt. “Even if you change teams, you’ll still be the weak link.”

He recoils like he’s been struck, and his giant pit bull jaw clenches so hard I expect teeth to come shooting out of his mouth. I can’t imagine why Tanq’s words have wounded him so deeply. It’s just cornhole.

Trey claps him on the back, grinning like it’s no big deal, because, truly, it’s no big deal. “Trash talk is half the fun, right?” he says.

Wyatt noticeably gets ahold of himself. “Yeah, sure,” he says with a weak smile. “All in good fun.”

“Wyatt, I’m happy to play cornhole with you anytime,” Tanq says with a roguish grin that would make me hide my valuables if I had any.

The effect on Wyatt is immediate. His return grin is sloppy and unsuspecting. “Okay.”

“Wyatt, did you bring a gun?” I ask, to distract his attention from Tanq. “You’re a gun type.”