“I can’t ever come back here, do you realize that?”

“Damien, despite how phenomenally stupid that was, we actually got away with it, Owen isn’t—they’re not going to come after us—”

“No, not—well, first of all, the AM can always come after you. Don’t forget that for a second.” He moved toward me like I couldn’t break him apart with my kneading arm, like he still had the power to influence me. Like he wasn’t scared. I didn’t flinch and I knew that bothered him and in that moment I think I hated him.

“You have to protect yourself, Rose.”

“Really?” I laughed, no joy inside of it. “You’re telling me to protect myself after you invited me along on some light crime?”

“I didn’t force you to be here,” he spat, his eyes wild. “You came here all on your own.”

“Because I thought it was important!” I shouted. “I thought that what you needed was going to help you, that it was going to help all the Atypicals that you say are locked up in that basement.”

“I don’t care about them!” he yelled back, but the tears running down his face made me think he was lying.

“How can you not?” I pushed.

“That’s not why I wanted to get back in there and don’t pretend it’s the reason you came either,” he snarled.

“What do you mean?”

“You wanted that!” he shouted, throwing his hand out to gesture at the file on the ground. “To get answers, just like me. To find something that can fix … everything.”

“I’m not going to apologize for doing what I need to for the people I love,” I spat, my mouth feeling like it was full of marbles, my knees hurting from running, my eyes stinging with tears.

“And how did that work out for you, huh?” Damien said, stepping toward me, like he believed himself more menacing than he actually was. “Do you feel fulfilled? Are you happy with this whole errand?”

“Why are you saying it like this was my idea?” I asked. “Damien, this was entirely your plan, I came along to help you—”

“To help yourself, more like.”

“Okay, yes, I had my own reasons!” I shouted. “But, god, has no one ever done a kind thing for you?”

He opened his mouth, fire in his eyes, ready to rebut.

“That’s a rhetorical question,” I snapped. “I know the answer.”

“Oh, you do?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “The answer is yes, people have been kind to you.”

He clenched his jaw.

“You might not want to admit it,” I continued, “but you’ve had people who care. You have people who care.”

“You?” He scoffed.

“To start.”