"Do you know me?" Nicholas asked.
The question hung in the air. Nicholas leaned forward, his red hair catching the harsh fluorescent light, his eyes fixed on Nicky's face. He wanted to understand. He needed to understand.
"You're part of the Reds," Nicky said.
His voice was barely audible, a thin whisper that seemed to cost him every ounce of strength he had left. He said the word "Reds" like it was a curse, like it was the name of something ancient and terrible.
"The Reds?" Nicholas repeated.
Is this some Power Rangers thing?
Nicholas had to fight to keep his expression neutral. It sounded so ridiculous—so quirky. Like something out of a cheesy action movie, or a high school gang's name chosen by teenagers who thought they were being edgy.
What even were the Reds? Was it some kind of spy group? Or maybe a name for a group of high school gangsters?
It sounded so quirky.
Nicholas wanted to laugh, but he had to pretend to be serious or he was going to screw this up.
