Into the Blue Beam

EIGHT - SIX DAYS AGO

What am I doing?

The thought kept running through Keefe's head like an angry mastadon. What am I doing?

"Leaving." Saying it aloud made it all feel more real, and Keefe's stomach clenched with the word—his first in a while. His heart pulsed beneath his chest furiously, giving him the same high he got whenever he made what Forkle would call "an unfortunate decision."

Foster would only think it was stupid. Reckless.

That was what everyone thought of him anyway, and even if a deep part of him wanted to prove them wrong, wanted to make everyone happy, the bigger part had to keep everyone safe.

They don't understand, he thought. They never would—and the point of it wasn't to make them understand. It was to play on their lack of it, make them hate him so much they wouldn't go searching after him.

Dex will know. He's too smart.

Keefe took a tiny step onto the back patio of the Shores of Solace. The sandy wood creaked beneath him, and for a moment his brain threw forth scattered curses.

Until he remembered the peace. It was the first time since he'd woken up that he couldn't feel someone's emotions. The Keefeing had dulled a little over the past few days, but if he strained, he could tell if someone was nearby.

But here, there was nothing.

No Lord Cassius.

Keefe didn't know how to feel about that. For years he'd always imagined some final showdown between him and his father, but the reality was much more... mundane.

Or secretive.

He flinched as an image of Foster, perfectly detailed thanks to his photographic memory, throbbed behind his eyes. Her brows were drawn together, as if she were disappointed in him.

Keefe blinked quickly. If he was going to ask Sophie to forget about him, he'd need to forget about her too.

If that was even possible.

These were the kinds of thoughts Keefe kept on thinking, and they were the ones that had planted his feet even deeper into the ground, ensuring he would stay exactly where he was.

But Keefe Sencen didn't like feeling trapped.

He had to do something—they had to understand that. He was fixing everything his mom had done by eliminating the leverage she had over the Black Swan: him. And maybe with him gone, the Neverseen could finally be defeated.

Maybe.

If—if he decided to do this.

I will.

Even if I don't know what it is I'm doing.

It's going to be okay.

The reassurance was one only he'd ever given himself. There had never been comforting words from Mommy or Daddy, only expectations and disappointment. The reminder only made him more determined to move forward.

With his decision made, Keefe lurched forward and yanked the door open. The unmistakable scent of his dad's cologne washed over him, reminding him he'd never fully be free of his parents—Dad or Mom—if he stayed in the Lost Cities. That realization was numb. There was no joy or sadness, just... nothing.

It didn't matter anyway. Anything to do with his parents had long stopped surprising him.

Keefe pushed through the heady aroma, toward his room. Now this place, he would miss. He opened the door, and a whiff of Keefeness blew into his nostrils. He sucked in as much breath as he could, searching through his drawers extra carefully until he found his prank stash. Throwing a few bottles that looked promising onto his bed, he then got out his notebooks and hid them in a shadowy corner of the room where he'd pulled a loose board up. Wiring a simple—but effective—booby trap was easy.