“Who is asking?” I ask, reading myself for an attack. My muscles tense, senses sharpen.
The woman has long brown hair up in a tight, high ponytail. With her long legs, black functional pants, and strong eyes, she could be anything from an assassin to a federal agent.
“Kat,” she says, and hands me an envelope. There is something heavy in there. I stare bewildered at her.
“Antonella sends her wishes,” she says. “Or shall I say, Sophie?”
Sophie.
She’s alive?—
But it also means the plan?—
She was supposed to come for me?—
I am falling.
Falling, as my past catches up with me. The car drives off, as I try to catch my breath.
She found me.
I am fucked.
I rip open the envelope.
A phone falls into my hand.
Together with a photo.
I stare at the photo.
A photo of Richard Whitney-Morgan.
Hanged.
Dead.
My mouth drops open.
Goosebumps spread over my arms.
“How?” I breathe out.
I don’t know what I feel right now. I wanted his death to mean something. To avenge everything he has done to El. Make him in a way that it would cost him everything. And now, he’s just dead.
“You’re asking the wrong questions,” says the woman named Kat.
“What’s the right question?” I ask, and look at her. Her eyes are strong, but not aggressive.
She leans in.
“He paid for every time he touched her with a knife stabbed in his body,” she says silently.
The hair on my arm stands up.
“El,” I whisper. “She?—”
“Yes,” says Kat, her eyes softening for a moment. “It was the plan all along.”
