Her tiny hands.
Her bright eyes.
The way she laughed when Ruslan lifted her into the air.
The way she called him “Papa” with trust.
If Ruslan had seen my calls—
Three hundred and nine.
Three hundred and nine times.
Maybe he had answered. Maybe someone had told him.
Maybe he had found Daphne.
The hope was fragile. Almost cruel.
But it was all I had.
Because right now—
I was here. Covered in blood.
Broken.
And changed forever by what I had just done.
Harris moved.
The sound of fabric shifting pulled me slightly out of the spiral.
He tucked his gun back into his holster slowly.
His eyes weren’t mocking anymore.
They weren’t amused.
They were wide. Not with fear.
But with shock. Realization.
I had crossed a line he did not expect me to cross.
He had underestimated how far desperation could push someone.
He swallowed.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.
He didn’t try to restrain me.
He didn’t threaten me.
He simply left.
Minutes passed.
