I stay focused on the bomb.
The design is simpler than the bomb in my memory. Almost too simple.
Three wires—red, blue, green—but only one connects to the actual explosive.
The others are decoys, meant to confuse someone trying to defuse it in a panic.
Dad taught me how to find the fake.
“The weight,” I whisper to myself, feeling along the wires with trembling fingers once Mikail has freed them. “The fake ones are lighter.”
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36
“Sophia, don’t move!” Mikhail’s whispered plea cuts through my concentration, sharp with fear.
But I can’t stop now. My fingers find the green wire, and I test its weight against the others.
Lighter.
Definitely lighter.
The blue wire feels the same.
That leaves red.
“She’s trying to be a hero,” a camera speaker fills with Lorenzo’s voice. He wants to watch us explode. “How touching. But you’re running out of time, little Moretti. Better say your goodbyes.”
I look at Tony, still bound to his chair, his eyes wide with regret. I’m not sure he meant this as a trap. Lorenzo followed him somehow.
“Mikhail, Tony,” I hiss. “You need to untie him.”
Mikhail’s green eyes meet mine, and I don’t think he’ll go.
Love, terror, rage, helplessness swirl in his expression, but also determination.
If we’re going to die, at least we’ll die together.
But we’re not lost yet.
“Please.”
“No.” He remains, his determined hands working on cutting me from the vest.
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I grip the red wire with both hands, my fingers slick with sweat.
If I’m wrong, if Dad’s lesson was incomplete or I’m remembering it incorrectly, this ends now.
I die. Mikhail dies. Tony dies.
