It was going to be so difficult to do this alone. To take from the Moderators the one supernatural tool they had in their arsenal: Liliana. To leave them blind to trust herself instead.

But Farooq-Lane’s voice didn’t waver as she replied, “Save the world.”

Chapter 21

A boat ride.

Jordan supposed she could do a boat ride, although she had to admit she was disappointed. It was very civilized. Very pretty. They’d gotten to Boston Harbor an hour or so before dark, as the sky glowed orange behind the Boston skyline of skyscrapers and clock towers. The icy water lapped darkly against tour boats drowsing at the wharf. The sailboats that were still out this late in the year lay gracefully on the water, their plumage lowered and only bones remaining.

As habit, Jordan thought about how she would paint her surroundings, which brush she would use to draw those fine, fine hairs of rigging etched delicately against the sky, but it was a bit of a dull exercise. It was too obvious a scene, chosen by too many artists and photographers over the years. Because it was pretty.

Pretty was good, she told herself. Nice was good.

Just a little disappointing.

“Matthew, actually buckle that life vest. Actually. Buckle. It,” Declan Lynch said. He looked quite at home here on the water, quite at home here in Boston altogether, a handsome Irish American fellow with a head of tamed curls and those narrow, squinted eyes of a Celt. Collared shirt, nice sweater, good jacket, all of a piece with the pretty skyline and the boat and the water. Hennessy would hate him so much, Jordan thought. Congratulations, she’d say, you’ve found Boring White Man #314.

A date in Boston Harbor would only underline Hennessy’s point. Because it was nice. Because it was pretty. Because you could read about it on the tourism site and purchase tickets. Because it was a thing everyone might like.

How romantic. Hennessy’s voice would drip with judgment.

Jordan had to make do with imagining Hennessy’s voice since she hadn’t called. Why hadn’t she called? Jordan knew she was alive and well, because Ronan had called Declan. Well, and because Jordan was still standing.

Silence from Hennessy was as worrisome as words.

“How do you know I wasn’t made to float?” Matthew was saying petulantly.

“Mother Mary,” Declan said with exasperation. “Do we have to do this every day? Just say you want a therapist for your birthday.”

“Do you still call it a birthday if it’s the day you just, like, appeared?” Matthew asked.

Jordan contemplated inserting herself into this discussion but decided it was more about brothers than it was about the dreaming. She knew more about one of these things than the other.

“Everyone just appears at some point, Matthew,” Declan said, removing the last of the lines securing them to the pier. “Jordan, are you tied down?”

She saluted him.