The image hit hard.
Étienne’s relief collapsing into fresh panic.
Hope yanked away.
I swallowed.
“He deserves to know,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Kane said softly. “He does. And he will.”
A beat.
“But not until we’re certain.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Every instinct in me wanted to dial. To relieve someone else’s suffering for even a second. To give him something solid to hold onto.
I wanted that for him.
I wanted that for all of us.
But Kane was right.
I didn’t know what was happening inside that apartment.
I didn’t know what state Sabine was in.
“Five minutes,” I said, more to myself than to Kane. “We’ll know in five minutes.”
Kane nodded once.
“Then, you call.”
The rain fell against the hood of the SUV behind us. The street remained still, like it was holding its breath.
My heart was doing the opposite.
It was racing toward the door, toward whatever waited on the other side.
I slid my phone into my coat pocket.
Kane stepped closer, his body angled slightly in front of mine without making it obvious. Protective without spectacle.
“You ready?” he asked quietly.
No.
But I nodded, anyway.
30
KANE
We walked purposefully toward the building entrance through rain that hammered down with punishing, violent, unrelenting intensity.
Within seconds, we were both completely soaked through to the skin.
