“Why did nobody notify you?”
“Because my father erased every trace in the system of me being his daughter. Some higher-ups in the government protected him.”
“I understand. Let me ask you this, did you find anything in that wreckage?” Josh’s tone is no longer detached, now it’s curious.
“Josh, careful,” M warns him. I put my hand on his shoulder and give him a reassuring smile.
“It’s okay, M.” He nods at me. “When I walked up to the debris, there was only one thing still intact, our water well. As I took a look around it, there was a note pinned to the bucket.” They are all waiting for what I’m about to tell them.
“Hum for me.”
This isn’t just a quiet innuendo; this is a moment when trained assassins consider every single possibility. It’s the kind of silence that feels like the air has suddenly solidified. No one is breathing or blinking. Every heartbeat is too loud, and every tiny sound feels magnified. Eyes dart from one face to another, searching for someone else to speak first. A weird pressure builds in the room, like everyone collectively forgot how to react.
“M.” Hana turns her attention to him. “He is trying to lure you out of your hiding place so he can get to her.” M’s gaze goes unfocused for a moment, like he’s replaying the words in his head, checking if they actually heard right. A small exhale escapes them, almost a laugh, but not quite.
“Let him come.” I detect no hesitation in M’s voice, and that’s scary. Hana shakes her head in disbelief and scoffs.
“You will be putting her in danger, asshole.”
“Hana, nobody will be able to come into my home. You know that, you made sure that the software system is up to date with my demands.”
“M.” Hana composes herself before she addresses him. “I know that, but this doesn’t feel right. Something is seriously wrong, and I can’t put my finger on it.”
“How can you be so sure about everything? Are you one hundred percent sure it’s Lana’s father causing all these accidents?” Sara asks M, and I answer for him.
“It’s him, all right. Because his call-out sign ishum for me.”
“Maybe it’s a copycat?” Oliver asks me.
“No, that’s his sign, and nobody would be stupid enough to go after my father. Let me ask you this, Oliver, does anybody else use your call-off sign?”
“Absolutely not. It’s a rule within our community never to copy someone’s call-off sign because killing someone is personal. And people need to be able to identify who made the hit.”
“Mine isM was hereand the carving of M into the chest.”
“Didn’t you ever feel guilty about killing those people?” My question catches him off guard, yet he quickly regains some control.
“No.”
“How about the hits you did for your father?”
“Well, there is one.” M takes a long sip of his drink, and everybody purses their lips. I silently pray that he will be honest. “My last hit under my father’s rule turned out awful. I slipped into the man’s home and shot him, point-blank.” I nod at him to continue, as I can see that this particular hit was brutal for him.
“The man was heinous, but this small puppy watched as I killed the man. I didn’t even know the sweetest pet was there. I felt so fucking awful that I almost didn’t use my call-off sign, but I had to do it to prove legitimacy that he was my kill.”
My mouth hangs open, and I want to start laughing, but I don’t do it. I feel like I gained the most vital piece of information about M.
When I look at him, I regain composure and kiss him on the cheek. This is my M, the man I have been looking for.
“You did what you had to do, my love.” My hand feels cool against his rosy cheek, and he looks adorable as he is relieved that I didn’t judge him. Every day, this man amazes me—he can kill someone brutally, but he has a heart buried inside of him.
“So, Lana, do you feel welcomed at all by all this fuckery?” Oliver asks me.
1."My love" in the Bosnian language.
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MMy little hummingbird relaxes in my arms at Oliver’s question. My friends have welcomed her with open arms, and she has been a force to be reckoned with. She answered all their questions with ease, as if she had always belonged in our little group.
