This time it was Flynn who leaned in. “He is a thirteen-year-old responsible for the death of more than seven hundred people in the metro area before we took him underground. I ask you again: are you sure—”

“Open the door.”

Flynn reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a badge, swiping it.

A light flashed beside the door, which responded with a loud release of internal locks.

“Good luck,” he said.

Kate opened the door, struggling at first with its weight. As she closed it behind her, she heard the jarring sound of the locks sealing her in.

The cavernous room reminded her immediately of the arcades from her youth, complete with the sounds of video games. Everything a teenage boy could ever ask for was crammed into the space. Two large-screen TVs were mounted on the wall, one displaying a violent game with people firing guns from tricked-out cars, the other showing The Godfather. Alongside a king-sized bed was a hot tub, against which two guitars leaned. Mounds of books lay everywhere, along with scattered magazines. Posters of naked women hung in glass frames.

And like a throne in the midst of the debauchery stood a dark blue La-Z-Boy recliner, in which sat a boy with an Xbox controller in his hands.

The smiled he flashed as she approached confirmed he was no child; she’d seen the same grin on the faces of senators and congressmen who would rather have her in their bed than on their committees. A smattering of pimples lined a face that one day might be considered enticing to women who liked reckless men. Gangly legs, hair in desperate need of a cut.

He opened to mouth to speak, but Kate beat him to the punch. “Ryan, I am Senator Kate Roseworth—”

“I know who you are.” He rapidly punched the controller, hissing a “yes!” under his breath as the screen exploded in a torrent of blood and bullets.

“I’d like to talk—”

“You took your dad’s senate seat when he retired,” he said, almost slamming the controller with his left thumb. “You’re William Roseworth’s aunt, but you don’t talk to your family because your mom believes in aliens.”

He paused the game and chuckled. “How are you feelin’ about that now?”

She’d been warned not to underestimate him. Brilliant, off-the-charts smart. Photographic memory. Spent entire days reading, and remembered every sentence.

“Ryan, you shouldn’t be down here. I’m going to change that—”