“I haven’t just been sitting on my hands these past weeks. When your art teacher tried to kill you, I took a deep dive into his background.” He shifts his jaw. “Jesse T. Strauss was born in Richmond, Virginia—and died three months later from an undetected abnormality in his heart. The man who came to Fulton Heights using a deceased infant’s name and social security number, and some expertly forged documents and professional references, was named Kyle Galloway. He was from old money in New England … and he became a Knight with the Brotherhood of Perseus when he was nineteen.”

“That’s … not possible.” It doesn’t even make sense. “If he’d been with the Brotherhood, Daphne would have known! Even if he went rogue and tried to ninja me to death on his own, they would have found out afterward!”

“Maybe they did,” he suggests, too lightly. “Maybe they told her and she kept it from you, because she didn’t want to shake your faith in the Knights’ ability to protect you. But,” Jude adds, his brow tensed, “someone set him up with that ID. The documents, the references, the deep cover … He was here for a year and a half. That would be hard to pull off without support.”

“So what does that mean?” My stomach gurgles some more. “They sent him to watch me, too, and he decided to change the mission?”

Jude looks down at his hands, taking a moment to choose his words—a long moment—which makes what’s left of my stomach curdle into cottage cheese. Finally, “Your tutor’s name wasn’t really Daphne Banks.”

“Okay.” I stay perfectly still, even though the entire mall capsizes.

“I mean, it makes sense,” he adds cautiously, “since the Brotherhood seems to prefer false identities for Knights working undercover—but I couldn’t find a paper trail for her at all. She wasn’t a registered driver in the state of Illinois, she wasn’t enrolled at Northwestern, and the car she was driving belonged to a ninety-six-year-old woman in Skokie who’s been bedridden for three years.” He shrugs in a performance of confusion. “Why would the Knights craft a detailed alter ego for one operative, and send the other out with … literally nothing?”

“Because she wasn’t the one trying to get a job at a public high school.” I can barely breathe the air I need to say the words. “She didn’t need all that stuff.”

“Maybe.” Jude studies my face. “Or maybe Kyle Galloway isn’t the one who went rogue.”

24

It’s the second time I’ve shoved myself up from this table, drawing attention from other people in the food court. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. No matter what her name was, Daphne saved my life!”