Randy’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a snarl. Something unstable in between.
“You,” he said. My name didn’t follow. Just accusation in a single syllable.
The gun trembled in his hand, but it didn’t lower.
Kane stepped slightly in front of me, subtle but deliberate. I could see the line of his arm extended, steady, controlled. His weapon aimed directly at Randy’s chest.
Two men.
Two guns.
One child sitting cross-legged on the floor between them.
“Randy,” I said carefully, forcing my voice to stay level even though my pulse was ricocheting against my ribs. “Put the gun down.”
He laughed.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was soft and hollow, like something had already broken inside him.
“Put the gun down,” he repeated. “That’s what you think this is? That I just—what?—wandered in here confused?”
His eyes flicked to Sabine, then back to me.
“She told me she was traveling for work.”
The words came out strangled.
“Conferences. Corporate trainings. Paris was just a hub. Another stop. Another client.”
He gestured vaguely around the room with the hand holding the gun. Water dripped from his sleeve onto the floor.
“I believed her.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
Sabine had gone back to her toys, humming under her breath. Oblivious. Innocent.
The gun was still pointed down at her.
Randy’s breathing hitched, and something in his face shifted from disbelief to fury.
“For years,” he continued, voice rising. “For years she’d leave for weeks at a time. Sometimes months. I knew we were distant. I knew she wasn’t … affectionate.”
He swallowed hard.
“She said she was tired. Said she was building something. Said she was working.”
His eyes locked onto mine, wild.
“I loved her.”
The declaration landed heavy.
“And you had no idea?” I asked quietly.
His laugh was sharp this time.
“Oh, I knew something was off. I’m not an idiot.” His jaw tightened. “I just thought … I thought it was stress. I thought it was me. I thought she didn’t want me anymore.”
