I ignore him.
“No, seriously,” he says, “like, is this what that is? Because I’ve never been in love before, so I don’t know if this is love or if I just have, like, food poisoning?”
“You don’t even know her,” I say, rolling my eyes, “so I’m guessing it’s probably food poisoning.”
“You think so?”
I glance up at him, eyes narrowed, but one look is all it takes to lose my thread of anger. His expression is so weird and silly—so slap-happy—I almost feel bad for him.
I sigh, shoving him forward. He keeps stopping in place for no reason. “I don’t know. I think maybe you’re just, you know—attracted to her? God, Kenji, you gave me so much crap for acting like this over Adam and Warner and now here you are, being all hormonal—”
“Whatever. You owe me.”
I frown at him.
He shrugs, still beaming. “I mean, I know she’s probably a sociopath. And, like, would definitely murder me in my sleep. But damn she’s, wow,” he says. “She’s, like, batshit pretty. The kind of pretty that makes a man think getting murdered in his sleep might not be a bad way to go.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I say it quietly.
“Right?”
“I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess? I wasn’t asking a question. That girl is objectively beautiful.”
“Sure.”
Kenji stops, takes my shoulders in his hands. “What is your deal, J?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Oh my God,” he says, stunned. “Are you jealous?”
“No,” I say, but I practically yell the word at him.
He’s laughing now. “That’s crazy. Why are you jealous?”
I shrug, mumble something.
“Wait, what’s that?” He cups his hand over his ear. “You’re worried I’m going to leave you for another woman?”
“Shut up, Kenji. I’m not jealous.”
“Aw, J.”
“I’m not. I swear. I’m not jealous. I’m just—I’m just . . .”
I’m having a hard time.
But I never have a chance to say the words. Kenji suddenly picks me up, spins me around and says, “Aw, you’re so cute when you’re jealous—”
And I kick him in the knee. Hard.
He drops me to the floor, grabs his leg, and shouts words so foul I don’t even recognize half of them. I sprint away, half guilty, half pleased, his promises to kick my ass in the morning echoing after me as I go.
WARNER
I’ve joined Juliette on her morning walk today.
She seems deeply nervous now, more so than ever before, and I blame myself for not better preparing her for what she might face as supreme commander. She came back to our room last night in a panic, said something about wishing she spoke more languages, and then refused to talk about it.
I feel like she’s hiding from me.
Or maybe I’ve been hiding from her.
I’ve been so absorbed in my own head, in my own issues, that I haven’t had much of a chance to speak with her, at length, about how she’s doing lately. Yesterday was the first time she’d ever brought up her worries about being a good leader, and it makes me wonder how long these fears have been wearing away at her. How long she’s been bottling everything up. We have to find more time to talk this all through; but I worry we might both be drowning in revelations.
I’m certain I am.
My mind is still full of Castle’s nonsense. I’m fairly certain he’ll be proven misinformed, that he’s misunderstood some crucial detail. Still, I’m desperate for real answers, and I haven’t yet had a chance to go through my father’s files.
So I remain here, in this uncertain state.
I’d been hoping to find some time today, but I don’t trust Haider and Nazeera to be alone with Juliette. I gave her the space she needed when she first met Haider, but leaving her alone with them now would just be irresponsible. Our visitors are here for all the wrong reasons and likely looking for any reason to play cruel mental Olympics with her emotions. I’d be surprised if they didn’t want to terrify and confuse her. To bully her into cowardice. And I’m beginning to worry.
There’s so much Juliette doesn’t know.
I think I’ve not made enough of an effort to imagine how she must be feeling. I take too much for granted in this military life, and things that seem obvious to me are still brand-new to her. I need to remember that. I need to tell her that she has her own armory. That she has a fleet of private cars; a personal chauffeur. Several private jets and pilots at her disposal. And then I wonder, suddenly, whether she’s ever been on a plane.
I stop, suspended in thought.
Of course she hasn’t. She has no recollection of a life lived anywhere but in Sector 45. I doubt she’s ever gone for a swim, much less sailed on a ship in the middle of the ocean. She’s never lived anywhere but in books and memories.
There’s still so much she has to learn. So much to overcome. And while I sympathize deeply with her struggles, I really do not envy her in this, the enormity of the task ahead. After all, there’s a simple reason I never wanted the job of supreme commander myself—
I never wanted the responsibility.
It’s a tremendous amount of work with far less freedom than one might expect; worse, it’s a position that requires a great deal of people skills. The kind of people skills that include both killing and charming a person at a moment’s notice. Two things I detest.
I tried to convince Juliette that she was perfectly capable of stepping into my father’s shoes, but she doesn’t seem at all persuaded. And with Haider and Nazeera now here, I understand why she seems more uncertain than ever. The two of them—well, it was only Haider, really—asked to join Juliette on her morning walk to the water this morning. She and Kenji had been discussing the matter under their breaths, but Haider has sharper hearing than we suspected. So here we are, the five of us walking along the beach in an awkward silence. Haider and Juliette and I have unintentionally formed a group. Nazeera and Kenji follow some paces behind.
No one is speaking.
Still, the beach isn’t a terrible place to spend a morning, despite the strange stench arising from the water. It’s actually rather peaceful. The sounds of the breaking waves make for a soothing backdrop against the otherwise already-stressful day.
“So,” Haider finally says to me, “will you be attending the Continental Symposium this year?”
“Of course,” I answer quietly. “I will attend as I always have.” A pause. “Will you be returning home to attend your own event?”
“Unfortunately not. Nazeera and I were hoping to accompany you to the North American arm, but of course—I wasn’t sure if Supreme Commander Ferrars”—he glances at Juliette—“would be making an appearance, so—”
She leans in, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, what are we talking about?”
Haider frowns only a little in response, but I can feel the depth of his surprise. “The Continental Symposium,” he says. “Surely you’ve heard of it?”