Finn shouts, “What?!”
I flinch again but keep going. “…he’d come back covered in blood.”
Finn laughs, delighted. “You know, I originally thought you were his son. The way he was holding you so close, the size, the age difference… like he wasprotectingyou. Thewholetime in that mall I trailed you… he didn’t leave your side once. It was quite fucking annoying, actually.”
I whisper, “So… if you don’t know who I am, then… why did you take me?”
Finn laughs again, louder this time. “I wantedthe girl. Maybe she would’ve been more useful.”
I look back down at the photos.
Finn jabs his finger at the table. “So, you’re telling me… the man who doesn’t give a shit about anyone, who runs his businesses brutal… justhomedyou? For what purpose? Whatusewere you to him?”
I shrug weakly, voice barely there. “He killed my parents.”
Finn tilts his head, curious. “So?”
“He didn’t know they had a kid.”
Finn grins, disbelieving. “You’re not trying to tell me he tookpityon you.”
I lose my temper for a split second and shout, “I don’t know, for fuck’s sake! I don’t know why I’m a part of any of this!”
Finn growls, not in the low, sexual way Soren does, but sharp and ugly. He rounds the table, pulls out his knife, and presses the blade to my throat. “Excuse me?” he hisses. “Did you just fucking raise your voice at me,boy?”
I shiver with fear and swallow. The movement pushes the cold metal harder against my skin.
Finn digs the knife in shallowly. I whimper as it cuts, not deep enough to kill, but enough to sting and draw blood. A few hot tears slip free.
“Behave,” he whispers into my ear, breath hot and sour.
He pulls the knife away. I quickly tug the hem of my top up and press it against the shallow cut, trying to stop the sting and the slow trickle of blood.
Finn taps the photos again. “I’m blowing one of these up. He blew up my garage. This isrepayment. Figure outwhichoneyou think is the most valuable… or I’ll be back to cut your fingers off one by one.”
My eyes go wide. Finn says it so casually, like it’s a normal conversation, before he turns and leaves, locking the three deadbolts behind him with heavy clanks.
I’m left alone again with a fresh cut on my throat, tears running down my face, some scattered photos on the table, and two sad slices of bread in front of me.
???
I’ve been staring at these photos for hours. My eyes sting like they’ve been rubbed with sandpaper, but I can’t stop. I’ve looked at every single grain, every shadow, and every tiny detail until the images feel burned into the back of my eyelids.
I’ve traced the edges of buildings with my fingertip, squinted at reflections in windows, counted the number of visible security cameras I can spot, studied tire tracks in the dirt, noted patches of rust on metal doors, the height of fences, the positioning of lights, and the types of locks I can make out. Anything, everything… I need to give Finn something that looks valuable without actually giving him something that will destroy Soren.
I don’t want to help him; I really don’t. But I also don’t want him to come back down here with that knife again. Thankfully, Finn hasn’t returned yet. He’s somewhere on the upper deck, doing God knows what. Sleeping? Building a bomb? Painting his toenails? With him, any of those options feel equally possible. He’s completely deranged.
I push another photo to the side, one of the larger warehouses that clearly has multiple visible security towers and what looks like armed guards in the background. Too obvious, too well-protected. Finn would love that one, and I can’t let him have it.
My stomach growls again, loud and painful. The two sad slices of bread from earlier are long gone.
I pick up the next photo: a cargo ship at the docks. When I look really close, I can see Soren’s initials stamped on some of the containers, but there are other logos too… different companies, different shipments. That means it’s not just Soren’s stuff. Blowing it up would hurt other people, innocent people. I don’t want that. I also don’t want to give Finn the satisfaction of destroying something that might actually matter to Soren’s legitimate business. So, I slide that one to the “no” pile.
I keep going, heart pounding, guilt twisting tighter with every decision. Finally, I’m left holding one last image… a smaller warehouse right by the docks. It looks unassuming at first glance, but when I squint and tilt the photo toward the light, I can see through one of the windows that the interior is mostly empty. Like whatever is stored there gets moved out quickly. That could mean it’s high turnover, something valuable that doesn’t sit around long. There’s also half a man visible in the corner of the frame, just a shoulder and part of a head, wearing what looks like a security uniform. I can try to convince Finn that’s a guard, that this place is important enough to need protection. The photo was taken in daylight, so I’m hoping things are only stored here overnight and cleared out during the day. I pray I’m right; I pray this won’t actually hurt Soren too badly. I feel so guilty.
My hands are shaking as I set the photo down… the one I’ll have to show Finn. Tears prick at my eyes again, but I blink them back hard. I don’t want to cry anymore; I don’t want Finn to see me cry. I just want to go home. I just want to be anywhere but here, on this rocking boat in the middle of the ocean, trying to play chess with a madman while my stomach eats itself and my throat still stings from when he cut me.
I close my eyes for a second, breathing shallow and fast, and whisper to no one, “I’m sorry…”
