“When are you going to tell the family what happened to Octavia?”
My head snaps up.
“Arlo knows something is wrong,” he continues evenly. “And Adelaide is pressing me. She can’t keep replying from Octavia’s phone much longer. It won’t hold. Ophelia and her mother want to video call her. They want to see her in person.”
“I don’t care what anyone wants,” I snap. “You’re not saying a fucking word.”
“They need to know.”
“I know!” I roar, the sound ripping out of me. “But the moment they do, they’ll want a funeral. And I’m not ready for that.”
Isaak exhales sharply, still watching me closely, though he says nothing.
I meet his eyes head on. “There will be no funeral for her,” I say evenly. “You’ll wait. You’ll have two at the same time.”
He recoils. “You’re talking about suicide. Stop this. It’s twisted, even for you.”
I step into his space.
“You know what’s twisted?” I snarl. “Losing the person who meant everything to you. Trying to live in a world where she no longer exists.”
My chest burns, and my vision blurs.
“You don’t understand,” I continue, my voice roughening. “You go home to Adelaide every night. Imagine losing your reason for breathing. Imagine never seeing her face again. Never kissing her. Never touching her. Never hearing her voice.”
I shake my head.
“It’s unbearable,” I say, the word scraping out of me. “She’s gone. What would you be then? You wouldn’t be living. You’d just be existing in a world you don’t even want.”
He opens his mouth, but I shut him down.
“No. Save it. Help me get my revenge, or don’t. Either way, my mind is made up, and you won’t change it.”
My voice hardens, though my lungs refuse a full inhale.
“I have no purpose now. I’m not going to torture myself pretending it’s manageable. Every second I’m here and she’s not feels like suffocation.”
I hold his stare.
“And don’t worry,” I add. “I’m not planning anything dramatic. But missions go wrong. Accidents happen. A bullet to the head isn’t exactly rare in our line of work.”
My phone vibrates, and my fingers close around it as I look at the display.
Unknown number.
I narrow my eyes at the screen before answering, hoping for a lead.
I don’t speak.
All I hear is fast, uneven breathing on the other end, as if whoever is there is running.
“Milo.”
I stop moving altogether.
I don’t answer.
I don’t even breathe.
