When Zeke was a young boy, his mother took him from the city of Minneapolis. She said, "Son, when you grow up, you'll see why this was the best option, and also you can stop reading this to the tune of Welcome to the Black Parade now."

Just kidding. She didn't say that last part. But seriously, you can stop now. It doesn't even fit the melody anymore.

Point is, his parents separated when he was a child, and he moved to a whole new country with his mother while spending summers in his old hometown with his father, and he never enjoyed his jet-setting lifestyle much. To others his age, intercontinental trips might seem exciting and glamorous; but to him they mostly involved a lot of sitting around at airports and waiting. For boarding, takeoff, delayed planes, even more delayed parents, and once he had made it to his destination, even more waiting for his parents. Planes already didn't have the best track record with being punctual. His parents didn't even have a track record in the first place; they had thrown it out at some point when he was about twelve, and after that it had been anyone's guess when they would finally show up and find him.

Now, as an adult, Zeke didn't hate traveling that much anymore. After all, he no longer had to do it alone; he just needed to follow his bandmates around and hope they didn't collectively get lost until he could sit on the plane, cover his eyes and ears and pretend he wasn't on a plane until they landed again. Maybe someday he might even start enjoying the whole jet-setting thing. But…

Maybe it was the thunderstorm's fault, painting eerie pictures on his mind, or else it was brought on by all the stress of the trip after losing all but one of his bandmates at the airport. But tonight, Zeke slept restlessly. His dreams were haunted by endless mazes of airports and pretty girls with cats that were there one second and gone the next, sitting on suitcases at the baggage pick-up but no one coming to claim him. And then he was suddenly back in his hotel room in Chicago, and he was ten again, and for some reason he couldn't reach the covers and no one came to tuck him in.

Shivering, Zeke rolled over, trying to shield himself from the chill. The blanket must've slipped off him, and now he couldn't find it again. At least it wasn't storming anymore. He buried his face in the pillow. Stupid dreams. Couldn't they all just make like a tree and leave?

Something soft landed on his bared shoulders. The blanket, he realized, pulling it tighter around himself. Weird. Moments ago he could've sworn it hadn't been there yet.

Then something—someone—smoothed out the covers over him, a hand briefly brushing through his hair and lingering against his temple. Zeke smiled, melting into the touch and thought nothing more of it until the gears in his brain started turning. Wait a second. He was at a shady hostel somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Someone had definitely just tucked him in. And then that someone had touched him.

"I'm not scared of you!" he burst out, sitting upright and snatching the first hard object within his reach, which was just his phone, but still. "You can't get me, I've got a weapon—huh?"

He looked around. There was no ghost lurking in the corner, no creepy serial killer looming over his bed. There was just Neo, who was staring back at him with wide, startled eyes.

"What the hell," he said, cautiously lowering his phone. "What just—who just touched me?"

Neo hesitated just a second too long before answering, but to Zeke's sleep-addled mind that didn't register. "No one," he said. "You must've dreamed it."

Zeke rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm pretty sure I didn't," he said, looking down at the covers, which had fallen back off him when he had sat up. "Somebody tucked me in, and then they touched my hair. And then I woke up." He squinted around the room, half expecting some stranger to come jumping out of the wall closet at any given second. "But I don't see anybody."

"That's because it was a dream," Neo insisted with a little more force than strictly necessary. "I didn't see anyone in here. Just you."

"And you."

"…yeah."

Sighing, Zeke rubbed his eyes, then flopped back on the mattress, crossing his arms behind his head. "Then it really was a dream," he muttered. "Weird dream, though. Not that I care, but did I wake you up?"

Neo shook his head, still pointedly avoiding his gaze for some reason. "I was just waiting for your lazy ass to wake up."

"Says the guy who overslept yesterday?"

"I had a good excuse."

"Partying all night is not an excuse." Slipping out of bed, Zeke padded over to the door. "Who said that to me again? Anyway, dibs on the bathroom."

Neo didn't try to stop him, which did strike him as a little odd, but then again Neo hadn't been fully himself since the start of this trip. Maybe a hangover.

Oh well. If it made him nicer, that was the opposite of a problem. Even if it was still weird. Extremely weird. Suspicious, even.

He supposed he'd just have to keep an eye on him and see that he wasn't up to something.

~ ~ ~

"Any news on the car?" Angelo asked his men without looking up from his phone.

The others took their time to answer, which was already answer enough. "Go on, spill the beans," he snapped. "I promise not to shoot the bearer of bad news, unless you try to test my patience even more."

His men exchanged a glance. Normally Luca would have spoken for them, but Luca was currently in the middle of juggling three different phone calls at once, so that wasn't an option. And none of the others were eager to step up to the role without first getting a chance to re-negotiate their promotion.

"No news," one of the youngsters finally said. He was, as far as Angelo remembered, some kind of distant cousin, no older than twenty; but he had never quite bothered to learn his name. "I've done some calculations on where they should be by now, and Luca's calling every hotel in the area to see if they're there."

"But we haven't found them."

"No, signore."

"Don't call me signore," Angelo answered reflexively, turning back to his phone. Luca was still juggling his phone calls. Adding insult to injury, one of their business partners had also called to ask about the whereabouts of the suitcase, and Angelo had needed to bullshit up an excuse for why the money shipment was slightly delayed. All without making them look suspicious, of course, because the last thing you want is a bunch of high-profile criminals thinking you cheated them out of a substantial amount of money. Let's just say most people who landed themselves in that situation never lived to tell the tale.

Finally Luca put down his phone, groaning in the backseat and burying his head in both hands. "It makes no damn sense!" he said. "Hey, boy!"

The kid sat up straight. "My name is—"

"Don't care, didn't ask, now is not the time." Luca waved a dismissive hand. "Are you sure your calculations are right?"

The boy nodded. "Maybe they didn't get that far after all," he mused, "but otherwise, I factored everything in when I calculated their traveling speed. To get any further they would've had to be…" He paused briefly, calculating again. "Almost as fast as a Formula One driver." He made a face. "On cocaine."

"In bad weather," Luca added, frowning. "Are you sure that's impossible?"

"What kind of car was it again?"

Luca swiped through his phone. "I can't find it for some reason," he muttered. "Signore, you should have it—signore?"

Angelo didn't respond. He was fully immersed in his phone.

"…Signore?"

"What?" Angelo snapped, then he remembered himself and gave his head a small shake. "Right, yes, I do," he said, going through his e-mails again until he found the right documents. "Here. Does that help you?"

The kid leaned forward to skim over them, then he nodded. "Technically it's possible for that car to go that fast," he said, "but it's not safe. Not to mention you'd probably crash."

Luca frowned. "Are you saying we may have passed them because they already crashed?"

"Not impossible, but there hasn't been anything on the road."

"Maybe they took a different route?"

"Don't think so," said the kid. "The GPS should've suggested the same route to all of us."

Luca hit his head against the window and instantly winced in regret. "But if they haven't crashed, and they're on this route, and they're not at any hotels, where the devil are they? It's not like they suddenly developed the ability to fly!"

"Even if they had," Pietro remarked from the driver's seat, "they wouldn't be allowed before the storm is over."

"Pietro, shut up."

Annoyed silence fell. Angelo turned back to his phone and tuned out the rest of the world. Luca threw another glance at his phone, then decided he'd had enough of telecommunication for the day and folded himself up to take a nap.

"Signore?" the kid finally spoke up again.

Angelo didn't react at once. In fact, he didn't react at all. He was still staring at his phone.

"Signore."

"What?" Angelo snapped, turning around in his seat. "Can't you see I'm busy here!"

"Don't mean to interrupt," the kid said at once. "I just wanted to ask if you have any news."

"Would I ask if I had news? No? That's what I thought." Angelo returned to his phone. "Now leave me in peace, the kittens are hungry."

The kid blinked.

"What kittens?" he whispered to Luca. "Is that a code I don't know?"

But Luca didn't answer; he had fallen asleep.