“No, no, she’s not,” I rush to explain, telling myself to remember to ask Chloe later about what Dr. Bright has told her. “But I’m still, like, totally freaked out. If Adam’s parents see people like me as something to be experimented on, then how can I know he won’t eventually feel the exact same way?”

Even after we got together and things in our relationship shifted, Adam always treated me the same. The thought of him turning on me—of looking at me differently, feeling differently, scares me more than I’m willing to admit. Even to Dr. Bright.

“Have Adam’s parents ever treated you differently?”

“No, not really. But I mean, I’ve barely met them,” I add, thinking that the first and only time I’ve had any signification interaction was Adam’s birthday. “They’re hardly ever around. And I don’t think Adam has told them much about me.”

“That’s good.” She smiles. “I don’t want you to fret too much, Caleb, but it might be good to keep the Hayeses ignorant of your ability. At least until we find out more.”

“Are you—” I have to swallow again, feeling on the verge of tears. “Are you gonna look into it?”

“I’ll make some inquiries,” she says. “Your safety is very important to me.”

And I believe her. I trust her. The calm radiating from her is real now and settles around me like a blanket as we move on to other topics. Maybe I was too caught up in Chloe’s emotions earlier—maybe she was too caught up in some thoughts she misinterpreted. Maybe this was all just a really bad game of telephone and I have no reason to freak out.

Which, of course, is when Adam shows up, freaking out.

“I walked over here from my aunt’s house,” he pants, Dr. Bright still standing with her hand on the doorknob after letting him in. “What the hell happened with Chloe today? She was acting sort of strange when we saw her earlier, but I just kind of thought it was Chloe being Chloe.”

“She saw all this stuff in your parents’ thoughts,” I explain, trying to balance my panic with Adam’s panic with Dr. Bright’s concern. I have terrible whiplash and now I’m going to crack from stress.

“Yeah, that they work for the military?” he scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, where do they work?” I ask.

“They work at a hospital,” he says, barely leaving out the “duh.” “Because they’re doctors.”

“What hospital?” I prod.

“The—the one over on First.” His face creases in a frown, and I feel a drop of uncertainty ripple out from the core of his concern. “I don’t know, does it matter?”

“How do you not know where your parents work?” I push.