I don’t like this,” Grayson said darkly. “They should have the power back up by now.”
“Thinking of breaking a window, Mr. Hawthorne?” Odette’s voice was dry.
No, Lyra thought reflexively. He’s not.
“If there’s a threat out there,” Grayson said, “we’re safer in here. This house is highly secure.”
Secure. Lyra’s heart rate ticked up. A threat.
Odette was silent for a moment before she spoke again. “We aren’t safer locked in if there’s a fire.”
Another fire. Lyra thought about her first impression of Hawthorne Island—the charred trees, the ghosts of the past.
“Do you have reason to believe that there is going to be a fire?” Grayson demanded.
“Perhaps old age is making me paranoid.” Odette paused. “Or perhaps it’s what I see when I look at the two of you. The right kind of disaster just waiting to happen. A Hawthorne and a girl who has every reason to stay away from Hawthornes.”
She’s talking about omega. Lyra felt that in the pit of her stomach. About my father’s death. About Tobias Hawthorne.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind elaborating,” Grayson said, his tone pure steel.
Odette chose utter silence instead.
“A Hawthorne did this,” Lyra said hoarsely. “That’s what she’s talking about. That’s what my father said, right before the riddle, right before he killed himself. That’s why I have every reason to stay away from Hawthornes.”
“A Hawthorne did this,” Odette repeated. “Lyra, your father—he said those exact words?”
“He did.”
“I know,” Grayson said, “that my grandfather could very easily cross the line into viewing people as cogs in a machine, as levers to be pulled, a means to his ends.”
“Neither one of you knows what you think you know.” Odette’s voice was sharp. “The tr—” Her voice cut off mid-word. There was a thud—a loud one. Her body, hitting the floor.
Lyra rushed forward, ignoring the darkness, but somehow Grayson reached Odette first. “She’s having a seizure,” Grayson’s voice cut through the dark. “I’m turning her on her side. I’ve got you, Ms. Morales.”
The sound of the old woman’s body jerking against the floor suddenly stopped, leaving an awful silence. Lyra held her breath.
“I’ve got you,” Grayson repeated.
“You would think so, Mr. Hawthorne.” Odette’s voice was hoarse, and relief surged through Lyra.
An instant later, the lights flickered back on.
“Sorry ’bout that, folks,” Nash Hawthorne’s Texas drawl came from hidden speakers. “Brief technical snafu on our end, but we’re back. You still have sixty-three minutes until dawn. As long as at least one team makes it down to the dock by the deadline, the rules stand.”
Make it out by dawn or leave the competition.
“Lyra,” Grayson said. “The emergency button. We need—”
“Nothing.” Odette pushed herself up to a sitting position and fixed Grayson with a determined stare. “You heard your brother. The show goes on.”
Whatever Odette had been about to say before her seizure, she showed no signs of revealing it now. She seemed intent on playing and winning—nothing else mattered.
Neither one of you knows what you think you know. Lyra closed her eyes and calmed herself. The right kind of disaster just waiting to happen.
Lyra opened her eyes, her mind focused on the moment and identifying the most logical path forward. To the dock. To answers. “I say we take our hint.”
