For as heavily as he had dozed in the car, sleep mostly evaded Eli that night. It wasn’t that the bed wasn’t comfortable— in fact, he resented how comfortable it was, how clean the sheets and quilt smelled. His lack of sleep was owed to whatever Banneker’s computers would tell him the next morning.

So when he opened the door to find Beake already standing there in the hallway, he wasn’t sure whether to be angry about it or not.

“Sleep well?” Beake asked. Eli stared at him.

“Like shit.”

Beake nodded and started down the hall. “Dawn and Banneker are already working on getting access to the files. Coffee’s ready after.”

After. Eli swallowed, then went after him.

The rest of the team was also awake and in Banneker’s room, despite how late they had been up when Beake and Eli arrived. The morning light made the computer bank no easier to look at, but it did highlight one thing that Eli hadn’t noticed the night before.

Almost every member of the team was wearing flannel. Sherry was in deep orange, leaning against the window. Grim in purple, focused on a laptop of their own in the corner. Even Beake was wearing flannel, in a slim, understated navy.

The only exception was Banneker, who had donned a turquoise Hawaiian shirt that was almost as hard to look at as the computer screens.

“Why’s, uh…” Eli pointed to Banneker, wondering how his life had reached this point, “why’s he not in the flannel brigade?”

“Oh, they tried,” Banneker said cheerfully as Sherry rolled her eyes. “It’s technically a rule. Gotta wear flannel—“

“—At the upstate safehouse,” the rest of the team said with him. Banneker nodded, then spun in his chair to face Eli.

“So naturally, I wore it under my Hawaiian shirt.” He beamed. “Sherry said it was an affront to God.”

Beake pinched the bridge of his nose. “Banneker, if you could please just…”

Adjusting his headphones over his fire-truck red hair, Banneker nodded and swung back around to resume typing. “Yeah, almost got it, Ames.”

Dawn, who was distinctly not part of the flannel brigade either, leaned against the desk as she watched him type. After a murmured back and forth, she straightened and joined Eli.

“If we both turn up dead, I made Grim promise to help us contact our families,” she said. “And a few other things.”

“Always five steps ahead of me, as usual.” Eli nudged her shoulder. “But, uh, how’s Grim going to help?”

Sherry stood up straight to slap Beake on the arm. “Did you not introduce him to anyone?”

Beake, who had been staring off into the middle space in thought, jumped a little. “Apologies, um…” He gestured to Grim in the corner. “Grim is our travel and comm lead. Forged papers, international contacts, that sort of thing. If anyone can get you in touch with your families during all this, it’s them.”

Grim gave a grunt, not looking up from their laptop. Beake nodded to Banneker. “I think you can guess at what he does.”

Banneker patted the nearest computer. “Just me n’ Roxie here, living the dream.”

“And Sherry,” Beake smiled as he pointed to her, “is the team medic and co-scientist.”

Eli looked around. “Who’s the other scientist?”

Beake tilted his head. “Me.”

“Got it!” Banneker called out before Eli could ask any more questions. Eli couldn’t help it—he grabbed Dawn’s hand and looked at her. She squeezed his fingers and nodded.

“Show us,” he said, and Banneker pulled the files up on the center screen.

Dead, both of the images blared. Just like the others.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Even Grim stopped typing and looked up.

Eli was still processing the nauseating chill that had swept over him when Dawn spoke.

“My parents,” she said sharply, looking at Grim. “You’ll get me access to them now.”

“Already on it,” they said. Beake stepped forward from the other side of the room.

“Just because the agency is looking for you doesn’t mean you have to stay here indefinitely,” he said quietly. “We’ll set up paperwork for you to start fresh somewhere else. Identification, housing, everything.” He met Eli’s gaze. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the most we can do at this point.”

Eli didn’t realize what he was doing until his fist had already slammed into Beake’s jaw.

“Not ideal?” He staggered back, the pain in his knuckles not even registering against everything else running through him. He jabbed his red fingers at the console. “That was my life! I don’t have anything else—“

Two arms the width of tree trunks wrapped around him and dragged him backwards. They barely moved an inch as he struggled, but he fought against them anyway.

“Let him go, Grim,” Beake said. Red and purple markings were already blooming across his cheek, but he shrugged off Sherry’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s a fair response.”

Grim’s arms released Eli, and he fell to his knees, scraping his palms against the wood floor.

“You did this,” he muttered, then pushed himself to his feet. Ambrose tracked his every move with his gaze, but otherwise stood his ground.

“All I did was point you to the truth,” he said. “You walked yourself the rest of the way there.”

“Eli, this is pointless.” Dawn grabbed Eli’s wrist before he could make a move he’d regret. “Beake, how long will it take to get to our families?”

“Grim anticipates a few weeks, but you’re welcome to stay here in the meantime.”

“No,” the word escaped Eli’s lips. “No, I’m not—“

He ripped out of Dawn’s grasp and staggered out of the room, down the stairs, out to the porch. His feet carried him well into the driveway before the chill morning air reminded him that he had nowhere to go. What was he going to do? Walk to the highway? Hitch-hike to his sister, who likely had agents on her doorstep, telling her he was…

He turned around to find Beake standing on the porch. Watching him, not saying anything. In the blue light of dawn, he looked like a ghost.

Ironic, because Eli in a sense was one.

“I’m not helping you,” Eli spat.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“And I’m not staying here beyond two weeks—“

“We’ll get your affairs in order by then.”

Eli curled his hand into a fist again. Nothing about Beake matched. The cool tone against the angry bruises, his perfect posture against the hands in his pockets. It felt like a lie, all of it, and Eli hated it.

But then…Beake had never actually lied to him. Not about DuPont, not about the agency. Not about the kidnapping.

While he may have ruined his life in a matter of weeks, he had also saved it. If it weren’t for him, Eli would be dead or in a holding cell right now.

Eli ran a shaky hand through his hair, took one long, cold inhale, and walked back towards the house.

“Sorry,” he mumbled on the porch, then retreated back to his room.