“No,” said Hunter. “The social worker lady said it’s to prevent a ‘conflict of interest,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

She’d said the same thing to Michael. “It means they’ve had issues with people breaking out—with outside help. Or people breaking in to cause harm.”

“Breaking out?” said Adam. “It’s not prison.”

Michael looked at him. “It’s not home either.” He frowned and admitted a truth he didn’t want to share. “I’m glad they’re locked down. It’ll keep them safer than being with me.”

Hunter and Adam exchanged glances. “What does that mean?” said Adam.

Michael glanced at the hallway, which wasn’t busy, but still had a fair amount of traffic. “Close the door.”

Adam did.

Michael kept his voice low anyway. “It means Friday night was a setup. Whoever started the fires in our neighborhood set that bomb as a trap.”

“For you?” said Hunter. “So you think whoever wanted to meet about that landscaping job was—”

“There was no job, Hunter.” Michael hesitated. “When you guys were sleeping at Adam’s, whoever started the fires in our neighborhood asked me to meet him.” Now he realized the insidious threat behind those text messages. Bring your brothers. Bring the police. Bring anyone that makes you feel comfortable.

It was supposed to be reassuring.

Now, in retrospect, it was terrifying.

What if he’d listened? What if he’d called the police and they’d stormed that bar? How many more people would have been killed?

Hunter folded his arms across his chest. “So you lied.”

“I didn’t lie! I did it to protect you. All of you.”

“Do your brothers know?”

“No.”

Hunter’s expression had turned into a glare. “Everything we’ve been through, and you lied. We could have come with you. We could have helped. Do you have any idea what they’re saying on the news? Do you have any idea?”

“Damn it, Hunter, of course I have an idea! I was there! And you all could have been killed!”

“Easy,” said Adam. He glanced at the door.

Michael sighed and dropped his voice. “It was too dangerous .”

“Fuck dangerous,” said Hunter. “We’ve been through worse. With you. You know that. We could have helped.”

Michael glared back at him. “I’m not apologizing for this. I’m not putting all of you in danger.”

“Too late! You don’t even know where your brothers are, and they have no idea someone could be after them! You didn’t even warn them!”

“I know that! You don’t think I know that?”

“Hey.” Adam got between them, his hands up. “Fighting isn’t going to solve anything.”

Michael didn’t realize he’d swung his legs onto the floor, or that Hunter was on his feet, ready to get into it.

He knew better than this. Michael sat back. “You’re a kid, Hunter. Like it or not, you are. All of you are. I’m not putting you in harm’s way if I can help it.”

“I’m not helpless,” said Hunter, his voice full of acid. “Your brothers aren’t either.”

“I know you’re not—”

“And you’re obviously not doing the greatest job keeping everyone safe, are you?”

Michael flinched.

“Stop,” said Adam. “Both of you. Stop.”

But Hunter’s words lingered in Michael’s head, an arrow of guilt when he least expected it.

Hunter was right. He hadn’t kept them safe. That’s why he’d lost them.

“This isn’t just about you,” Hunter snapped.

“I know that!”

“Fix it,” said Hunter. “Right now. Fix it. Tell us what really happened.”

Michael froze, not wanting to give in. But keeping everything a secret hadn’t kept anyone safe—and in fact, he’d ended up putting more people in danger. With a sigh, he explained everything he knew, from the text messages he’d received while he was sitting on Adam’s porch to the fact that whoever was attacking them had hidden in a tree. He tried to recount the text messages as well as he could, but his phone was still evidence, and he doubted he’d be getting it back anytime soon.

When he was done talking, Hunter still looked pissed—and Adam looked thoughtful.

“How’d he get your number?” said Hunter.

“I have no idea. It’s not like it’s private. I have business cards, a website. . . . He could have gotten it from anywhere.”

“How do you know it’s a he at all?” said Adam.

They booth looked at him, and he shrugged. “Nick said a sixteen-year-old girl was responsible for the last round of arson, right? Could she be responsible now?”

“Yes,” said Michael. “But Calla has fallen off the map again. I tried reaching out to her, but her phone has been disconnected.”

“Was it really a bomb?” said Hunter. “Not a gas line or something?”

“The fire marshal said they’d found fragments,” said Michael. “I don’t have details, but they seem convinced.”

Hunter shrugged. “A bomb would mean some kind of sophistication. I’m not saying a teenager couldn’t have done it, but for the level of damage they showed on the news, especially if it were on some kind of timer or remote control . . ”