Page 170 of Override

"It's the most accurate answer."

"Taibhse." The warning in her voice almost makes me smile. Almost. Because she has no idea what she's just done to me. I've read that name thousands of times. Watched it appear in message threads. Heard her whisper it into the bathroom microphone when she thought I might never hear her voice again. Something tightens beneath my ribs. I ignore it. Mostly because I don't have the first fucking clue what to do with it.

"We handle problems," I tell her.

Maeve stares at me. I wait. Her eyebrows rise. "That's somehow worse."

"Is it?"

"Yes." She folds her arms across her chest. "You do realize that sounds like something a serial killer would say."

"We don't kill people." Her eyes widen. "Usually."

"Taibhse."

"That was a joke."

"Was it?"

I consider it. "Mostly."

She makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan before pressing her fingers against her forehead. For one brief second, the panic that had been crawling through me eases. Then I remember Bullet's text. They know. Matt knows. Which means my window for figuring out how to explain any of this before they arrive is probably measured in minutes instead of hours.

Maeve lowers her hand. "How many people know I'm here?"

The humor leaves the room. I look at her. "At the moment?"

"Why would you phrase it like that?"

"Because the number is increasing." Her lips part. I immediately regret the answer. "Four," I add.

"Four people know you took me?"

"Three of them know now. One of them knew I needed this house."

Her expression shifts. She looks around the bedroom as though she's only just remembered we're standing in a strange place in the middle of nowhere.

"Whose house is it?"

"Bullet's."

Silence. Her eyes slowly return to mine. "Is that a name?"

"Technically, it's a nickname."

"Of course it is."

The resignation in her voice nearly makes me smile again. She points toward me. "And you're Taibhse."

"To you."

Her hand drops. I watch the question form before she asks it. "What's your actual name?"

There it is. A simple question. One I've answered thousands of times without thought. But standing here, with Maeve watching me and waiting for another piece of the person behind the screen, it doesn't feel simple.

"Keaton."

She repeats it softly. "Keaton."