I’m going to fail. For the first time, I won’t deliver what Roman needs. That thought makes my skin crawl.
Easing away from Jordan, I cross the space to the bathroom. The light clicks on, spotlighting everything I’m trying not to see. I stare into the mirror and find that I don’t look the way I should. My face is softer around the edges.
I splash cold water over my cheeks while reminding myself of what’s important.
The job.
That’s what matters.
The water’s still running when I hear her.
“My father was investigating a mafia meeting.”
I go still, my hands dripping over the sink. “What?”
Her voice floats into the bathroom. “Fifteen years ago, he was on Isla de Huesos during a mafia meeting. He’d heard rumors, I guess.”
I turn off the tap and pad over to the doorway.
She’s sitting up in bed with the sheet pulled high, her eyes clear and all trace of sleep gone.
“He died there. Brutally, apparently.” The words come steady. “Burned up. Or shot, then burned. Mom and I never got the full answer. Not enough left to say for sure. I was ten.”
I recline against the wall and listen, hoping she’ll reveal some useful information. She’s never talked about her father before, and I just need one clue.
“I was close to him.” Her fingers trace idle patterns over the sheet. “He called me the Watson to his Sherlock. Showed me how to see between the lines, how to find the hidden thing inside the lie. We had codes. Notes at breakfast, secret games while my mom wasn’t paying attention. They always meant something.”
This version of Jordan is soft. Quiet.
Like another wall has crumbled.
And I didn’t try to pull this one down. At least not on purpose.
I’ll take the unintentional win anyway.
Internally, I insist it’s because I’ll get the intel I need for Roman out of her.
Underneath that lie, I know I just want to hear more about her.
She smiles and pulls her knees to her chest. “Mom hated all of it. She hated the secrets, the danger, the phone calls at night.The way he’d disappear for days to chase a lead.” Her voice chills like shards of ice on the water. “Hated that he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.”
I don’t say anything. Just wait.
“I think Mom was relieved when he died.” No mystic lilt threads through these words. She states them in a flat and empty tone she’s never used in her podcast. “Not happy. Not glad. Just…relieved. Like she’d finally released the breath she’d been holding all those years. Knowing the worst had happened…that she had nothing left to dread.”
Outside, the sun nearly finishes falling beneath the horizon. Long shadows stretch across the bed, climbing up her bare shoulders and transforming the room into the color of an old bruise.
“He lived for his work. And much of his work was stored in his safe.” She watches me, reading every twitch of my face, every slip. “Savlite. Model number 237.”
A spike of adrenaline pierces my chest. My whole body goes cold, and my skin fizzes with recognition. “Safety-237.”
She nods with finality.
The details slam into place. “You knew all along.”
She hesitates, just for a second before offering another tiny nod.
She gives no apology, shows no fear.
