They waited. Through the door to the classroom, Peter could hear the murmur of voices. Peter wanted to ask Ian if he knew anything, but the expression on the man’s face told him not to try. Ian was Theo’s age, part of a group that had come up at around the same time; he and his wife, Hannah, had one young daughter, Kira, in the Sanctuary. So, Peter thought, that explained the look on Ian’s face: it was the look of a parent, a father.

Hollis emerged, briefly meeting Peter’s eyes and giving him a curt nod before retreating down the hall. Peter began to rise but Ian said, “Not you, Jaxon. Lish is next.”

Jaxon? Since when did anybody call him Jaxon—especially someone on the Watch? And why did it sound suddenly different to him, coming from Ian’s mouth?

“It’s all right,” Lish said, and got to her feet wearily. He had never seen her looking so defeated. “I just want to get this over with.”

Then she was gone, leaving Peter and Ian alone. Ian had awkwardly fixed his gaze on the square of wall above Peter’s head.

“It really wasn’t her fault, Ian. It wasn’t anybody’s.”

Ian stiffened but said nothing.

“If you’d been there, you might have done the same thing.”

“Look, save it for Sanjay. I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

By the time Lish appeared, Peter had actually managed to doze off. She stepped from the room with a wordless look he knew: I’ll find you.

Peter felt it the moment he stepped into the room. Whatever was going to happen had already been decided. His appearance, whatever he had to say for himself, would make very little difference. Soo had been asked to recuse herself from the proceedings, leaving only five members of the Household in attendance: Sanjay, who was seated at the center of a long table, and, on either side of him, Old Chou, Jimmy Molyneau, Walter Fisher, and Peter’s cousin Dana, occupying the Jaxon seat. He noted the odd number; Soo’s absence had effectively prevented any kind of deadlock. An empty desk had been positioned to face the table. The tension in the room was palpable; no one was speaking. Only Old Chou seemed willing to meet Peter’s eye; everyone else was looking away, even Dana. Slumped in his chair, Walter Fisher seemed hardly to know where he was, or to care. His clothing seemed unusually filthy and rumpled; Peter could actually smell the shine coming off him.

“Have a seat, Peter,” Sanjay said.

“I’d rather stand, if that’s all right.”