“But there’s a catch,” Damien said and I didn’t even have the wherewithal to roll my eyes at this expected turn of events. There was always a catch with Damien but this was a chance—a real chance.

“I want to break Blaze out at the same time,” he said. “And everyone else down in that basement. No one should be stuck down there.”

He leaned closer, lowered his voice to a whisper.

“You in?”

I’m on the bus home now, and my mind is racing. I know it’s a long shot, I know that this Dr. Sharpe might not have a cure, but, at the very least, I can help Damien’s friend, and stop the AM from experimenting on him anymore. For once in my life, I can do something right.

LATER

I knew it. I KNEW IT. I knew that Aaron has been reading my thoughts ever since I came back from the AM the last time, because he was always a little too present whenever I was about to go off and do something stupid, like meet with Damien, and now it’s confirmed.

I had been home all of two minutes when Aaron came storming into my room, slamming the door behind him, and launching into an argument like we’d already been having it.

“Are you serious?” Aaron asked, looming over me in his most imposing big brother stance. “Like, really, Rosie?”

“What? Aaron, what the hell—”

“Damien!” he snapped. “You said you were working the late shift—”

“I was—”

“And decided you’d cap it off with a midnight rendezvous with your favorite creep? I thought that guy was out of your life for good!”

“He was,” I said. “He is but it’s just—he knows a lot of stuff that we don’t know, has had a lot more experience than us with Atypical illnesses and the AM and just everything weird that comes with being Atypical and I’m not going to ignore that stuff just because it’s coming from an inconvenient source.”

“An ‘inconvenient source’?” he scoffed. “Come on, Rosie, you’re smarter than this—”

“Don’t patronize me—”

“He’s a kidnapper and a liar by his own admission and now he wants you to break into a government facility with him?”

“Wow, so have you just given up the pretense of not listening in on my thoughts entirely?” I snapped.

“Rose, I’m worried about you—”

“No, stop!” I shouted. “Just stop!”

To his credit, he did. We stood there, in my bedroom, both panting with anger and scowling at each other.

“You don’t get to just decide when you want to be an older brother,” I growled. “You can’t just do it whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“And you can’t just decide what you believe is moral or immoral based on how much it’s going to serve you,” he snapped back.