Adela's investigation suddenly having a source.
Beckett compromised.
The footsteps behind me are my mother's. I know them before she speaks.
"Theo."
I don't turn around.
"Come back inside."
"In a minute."
She comes to stand beside me, which I should have anticipated. She doesn't touch me. Just stands close, her voice very quiet. "Talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"You went white in there."
"I'm always pale, Mom. It's winter."
"Theo." Her hand finds my arm. "If you know something about what happened to that boy—"
I turn to face her then.
And I lean in close — close enough that she can't mistake the words, can't soften them in the translation, can't reframe them later into something more manageable — and I say, very quietly so that the hallway cameras can’t hear, "The things you don't know about are the things keeping this family safe. And if you start pulling at threads, you won't just unravel me." I hold her eyes. "You'll unravel Nessa."
The color leaves her face.
I straighten, stepping back. I adjust my jacket.
"I'll be in the car," I say.
I walk down the hallway and push through the door into the cold night air, and I don't look back, and my hands are completely steady, and somewhere across the city, a rich, privileged fuck who was supposed to be dead is awake in a hospital bed.
I get in the car and pull out my phone.
It rings twice before he picks up.
"It's done," the voice says. "Surgery was successful."
I stare through the windshield.
"And?"
A pause.
"He’s awake."
I hang up.
I sit with that for a long moment. The engine off. The city quiet around me. The specific stillness of someone who has just been told that the one thing they needed not to happen has happened.
I wanted him dead.
He's not.
I start the engine.
