I answer without saying hello. “What.”
Midnight’s voice slides through the speaker — low, amused, cold enough to frost glass. “That’s not how you answer me, Gator.”
I have to pinch the phone tighter or else I’d throw it. I force my voice into neutral, keep my eyes on the empty street ahead.
“I’m driving.”
“Do you have anything worth telling me, or should I let you listen while I cut your sister’s ear off?”
The way he says it is so casual, so transactional, that it lands too fast. I feel my knuckles pop, white around the wheel.
“I’m making progress,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m begging.
“Oh?” He makes the word a knife. “Tell me about your progress.”
I swallow. “I got her to meet me. Cafe. Studying. She showed up.”
“Studying,” he repeats, and I hear the smile in his voice. “That’s your big move? Fucking studying?”
I take a turn too hard, tires whispering on damp pavement. “She’s guarded. I’m not forcing it.”
Midnight is silent for a breath, and it’s like the world goes on pause. Then a soft laugh, almost gentle, leaks through the speaker.
“You don’t get to decide what you force,” he says. “You do what I say, when I say it. Got it?”
“I’m doing my job.”
“No.” His voice turns sharper. “You’re wasting time. You’re getting distracted. I can smell it.”
I pull into my apartment complex, parking in the dead space at the far edge where the security light flickers and the asphalt is cracked. The apartment windows all look the same from here — rows of rectangles, some glowing orange, some cold and dark. I keep the engine running.
“You know what happens if you disappoint me?” Midnight asks. He almost sounds bored.
I close my eyes for a split second. “Don’t.”
“Oh, I will.” His tone drops, velvet over steel. “You want proof-of-life tonight? You want something sweet to help you sleep?”
“Midnight,” I grind out, “don’t—”
“Hold, please.” His voice is cheerful now, like he’s ordering takeout.
There’s a rustle on the line. A muffled sound. Then, a whimper, so small and broken it doesn't sound like my sister at all; it doesn’t sound human.
I’m upright in my seat now, every muscle locked, my heart a stone bouncing around inside me. “Junebug, I’m here — don’t let go, okay?”
The line goes silent for a second, then there’s a thud, a scrape, and June’s voice comes sharp, “Evan, help me,” she screams before it’s snatched away again. Then there’s a thud, followed by a muffled moan. I want to put my fist through the dashboard.
Midnight comes back on, a calm menace in his voice. “There you go. She’s breathing. For now.”
My hands shake so badly I have to jam my phone against my ear to keep from dropping it. “If you hurt her…”
He cuts me off, laughing a little, like I’m a toddler making demands. “You don’t get to threaten me, Gator. If you could, you wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.”
My throat burns.
“What do you want?” I say, and the words are sandpaper in my throat.
“I want you to stop pretending you’re smarter than me. You are not smarter than me. You are not more ruthless. You are a tool, and you’d better be a sharp one. Tomorrow morning I want something real. Something that gets me inside those walls.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Or I start with her fingers and work my way up.”
