It was a regular Sunday morning when Jacob heard one of the most terrifying things in his life.

He was sitting in his room. Sunday mornings usually consisted of nothing more than sleeping in and eating lunch for breakfast. This Sunday, however, was not usual. This Sunday was rather unusual.

It began with the fact that he awoke at six, which was about five hours earlier than normal. His sleep had been unsettled. His meetings with Neutron had let him with too many questions. They buzzed around in his head, preventing sleep. He had awoken at four and googled the word contingence in order to satisfy his curiosity, but his dad had used up all of the data for the month. He'd have to wait and find another location with Wi-Fi. So then Jacob had fallen back into a restless slumber and was asleep until six.

That was when his advanced hearing picked up on his name being spoken in a conversation in the lower level of his house. It was his father's voice. That was a voice he didn't exactly want to hear first thing in the morning.

"—do to Jacob," said his father's voice.

That caused Jacob to wake up completely. Whenever his father spoke of him, it was usually about something bad. So he listened carefully, straining his ears to hear the voice on the other side of the telephone. It was only a faint murmur, so he silently crept from his bed to the door on the other side of the room. He bent down in order to stick his ear against the crack between the door and the floor. The rough carpet scraped his knees, but he ignored the stinging sensation in order to focus on the conversation occurring below him. Finally, he was able to make out the words. The person on the other end of the phone began to speak.

"He certainly hasn't done his job. I will instruct Sway to finish what he was supposed to do. Jacob, however..." Then the voice trailed off, and Jacob was left hanging.

"What about him?" asked his father.

"I will let you make that decision," said the mysterious voice.

Jacob heard the phone click back onto its receiver, and he slowly dragged himself across the floor of his room to climb back into bed.

And for some reason, Jacob was glad he hadn't heard the whole conversation. He would rather not hear about whatever decision his father was to make concerning his livelihood. He knew, though, that it was most definitely not beneficial to himself.

As he tossed and turned for the umpteenth time that morning, hoping to catch a few more hours of shuteye, he decided that he wouldn't let his father's decisions guide his life (or, he supposed, his lack of one). He knew who he needed to go to to fix all the problems his father had created.

()()()

That is how, six hours later, Jacob found himself standing outside of Larkin's house for the second day in a row. He was pretty sure that Larkin hated him, but he was certain that matters of life and death would be able to overcome her extreme dislike of him.

So Jacob rang the doorbell before he could convince himself otherwise.

Larkin was the one to open the door, and Jacob was not at all surprised to see the look of hostility appear on her face as soon as she laid eyes on him.

"What are you doing here?" questioned Larkin. She jutted out a hip and waited impatiently for a response.

"Well I―" began Jacob. But he cut himself off. What was he supposed to day to her? Hello, sorry I shot your father in the arm a week ago, but can we be friends again? Yes. He was sure Larkin would go for that.

His thinking was interrupted by a series of sneezes from Larkin. Out of habit, he automatically said, "Bless you." He continued in his thoughts. Instead of saying something he would regret later, Jacob stood on the porch of Larkin's house and kept his mouth shut. He pressed his lips together, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't get him killed.

Larkin interrupted his thinking with, "If you aren't going to say anything, I'll just shut the door."

"No!" he practically shouted. "No," Jacob said again, this time quieter, but equally frantic. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, saying the first thing that came to his mind. "Chemistry. We really need to do that project." And that was true; it was due this week.

Larkin closed her eyes and didn't open them for a few seconds. She let out a large exaggerated sigh before opening the door wider and stepping to the side. "I've done half of it, but I guess we can do the last part together." With another sigh, she gestured inside with flourish. "Welcome to my humble abode."

()()()

Two hours and one family size bag of Cheetos later, Larkin and Jacob were in possession of one completed chemistry project and a bucket load of tension.

As politely as Larkin could manage, she said, "You can leave now."

Larkin's terse behavior reminded Jacob of the good old days when they hated each other simply because they could, not because one had shot the other's father and totally betrayed all trust to the enemy. He didn't get up to leave though; Jacob still hadn't said the real reason he showed up on Larkin's doorstep that afternoon.

"Look, I know you kind of hate me," said Jacob. He paused, forming the next sentence in his head.

Larkin butted in. "I don't kind of hate you. I do hate you. You shot at me!"

"Yeah, I know that I― What? I never shot at you. I swear," insisted Jacob.

An expression of pure confusion flitted across Larkin's features. She crossed her arms stubbornly in front of her chest and stood her ground. "You definitely shot at me. Remember that day I went home from school early? Also the same day my dad was shot in the arm? I saw you."

And Jacob was utterly confused as well. He very clearly remembered (and regretted) shooting Larkin's father. He especially remembered the nightmares he'd suffered through in which he was forced to shoot everyone he loved at point blank by a man in a mask. "Larkin. That's impossible. And―I know this doesn't make it any better―I was the one that shot your father that day. I couldn't have been in two places at once."

Larkin considered his words for a moment. He could see the gears turning in her head as she recalled that day. When she spoke again, it was calmer. "You are right. That doesn't make it any better, but it does clear up some confusion."

Jacob nodded. Larkin sneezed again.

"Are you sick?" asked Jacob.

Larkin glared at Jacob and replied with a vehement, "No!"

Jacob shook his head before smirking, and then remembered that this occasion was not one for joking. They had stuff to figure out.

"So who actually shot at me?"

Jacob was just about as clueless as Larkin was, but he had a pretty good guess. "The Imposter, my dad, I guess. He could make himself look like me, and then go after you without making himself known."

Larkin's eyes lit up in realization. "He didn't want you and me to be friends, so he ended it! And it worked." She glanced over at Jacob again.

"Yes. The thing is, though, I really need your help." Jacob hesitated before saying his next sentence. "I know that what happened to that mediator this weekend was murder."

"I knew it!" exclaimed Larkin.

"And whatever happened to the mediator is going to happen to your father if we can't find a way to stop it."

Her face fell, and a look of despair crossed over Larkin's face. "It'll probably happen next weekend, then, at the make-up debate. But even if we know when and where, we still don't know who. And next weekend is that Labor Day camping trip I always go on with my parents. I mean, they weren't going to go this year, but now they definitely can't go."

At that moment, Jacob remembered the other thing that had been nagging him since this morning. Contingence. He still didn't know what it meant, but it must have been important since Neutron had mentioned it to him twice. "Never mind that camping trip, but could you look something up for me, really quickly.

"I guess. What?"

"Contingence."

Jacob watched Larkin type the word into the search bar on her phone. A couple seconds later, they had results. Larkin read the definition out loud to Jacob.

"Um, as a noun, it means touching; contact," said Larkin.

And without either of them saying a word, everything fell into place.