"Yes, the man has his flaws," Margaret went on. "Like you said, he's flashy, a tad loud. But did you see how he is around her?"
She was right. Jazz filled up Katrina's drink and made sure she always had food and gave her napkins and salt, and she didn't need to ask him for any of that. He volunteered every time.
"Some people can seem strange to the world," Margaret said, her voice low and sure. "But to the ones that matter, that person could be the world."
Later that evening, when everyone was getting ready to leave, I stood on Margaret's back porch, hands deep in my jacket pockets. The world had slipped into a quieter color and the air felt alive, cool, and honest.
I watched the shadows from the trees creep across the backyard and listened to the sounds of the neighborhood. Someone somewhere was grilling—the smell of lighter fluid and sweet smoke wafted over from another block. The neighbor's kid had gone inside along with the dog, but the skateboard sat in the driveway, wheels still spinning just a little.
I closed my eyes. For a few heartbeats, I just breathed.
The feeling from earlier—the one Margaret had created with her half hug—was still there. Not happiness, not exactly, but lightness, a space where happiness might one day grow. I tried to find the flaw, the catch, the hook that would make it vanish.
I couldn't.
Instead, I found myself thinking about the man on the phone.Operative Seven. The way he'd asked, "Are you in danger?" like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like danger could be fixed, like it was a loose tile or a leaky pipe.
His voice had been calm, almost rehearsed. But under that, I thought I heard something else. Like he was annoyed I'd called, but also…surprised? The memory unsettled me, but not in the old dreadful way.
I realized, with a kind of slow shock, that I didn't feel afraid of him. Not even a little.
My phone buzzed. I dug it out of my pocket and thumbed open themessage. Disappointment filled my chest. I wasn't sure what—or whom—I'd expected.
It was Geneva.
Dad's going home! Mom is over the moon. Be back Tuesday. Can you hold the fort a few more days?
I typed out an affirmative.
You're a lifesaver. Love you, Kimmy.
12 seven
I was drowning.
The water was black and thick, crawling into my lungs like oil. I tried to push up but something restrained my arms. Ropes, maybe, or hands with too many fingers. Faces surfaced and vanished, warped by bubbles, their mouths opening in perfect Os. They wanted something I didn't have, or wouldn't give. I kicked, clawed, broke the surface into cold air, and woke up to the taste of blood in my mouth.
It took five slow breaths before I recognized my ceiling.
The room was empty as always. No windows, just the soft blue hum of the light strip running along the upper edge of the wall. I lay flat, hands still balled into fists, sweat slicking my ribs. I waited for the memory of the dream to drain off. It didn't.
I rolled over and checked the time. 03:13 AM. I hadn't been asleep for longer than a couple of hours. My mouth was dry, teeth sticking to the inside of my lips.
I sat up, swinging my feet onto the concrete, put my elbows on my knees, letting my pulse catch up to the fact I wasn't being waterboarded.
After a few minutes, I grabbed my earpiece from the crate, stuffed it into my ear and pinged Viper.
He answered right away, voice a little groggy. "You ever sleep, Seven?"
"If I have time," I said. "What's the latest?"
"You calling for a bedtime story?" He made a fake snoring noise.
"Story on the second target," I said, knowing full well he had five more jokes lined up.
Viper cleared his throat. There was some shuffling on the line. I imagined maybe he was getting out of bed and moving to his computer desk. Again, I had no idea what his workstation looked like and if he even was in the compound. Many of the operatives lived outside. You had to earn it, of course.
"Guy's been busy," Viper started. "He's got a buyer lined up for that Picasso piece we flagged the other day purchased on the black market. The piece is supposed to be off-grid, lost in a war. He'll make it look like he's got it from a private auction. Buyer is a high roller. Dominic Castellano.The Castellano," he stressed the last name like I was supposed to know who it was.
