Page 89 of Queen of Nothing

This time, he doesn’t look at James.

Oliver says, “The Home for the Misplaced will take good care of the boy.”

Serena whips around to face him. But she says nothing. It’s just a silent, wild stare that could turn violent any second.

Then Dray offers, in that cold, distant tone, “You have been granted a krum life. Your father has decided that you are too great of a shame to bring home. However, this freedom was not offered to the boy—as your father did not know about the boy when he wrote that letter.”

A breath is pushed out of Serena.

Father, still perched on the windowsill, looks as stiff as a statue, brimmed with tension.

And I realise what’s happening.

They will keep Sal a secret from Mr Vasile, they will leave Sal with Serena…

If they get me.

“Now.” My father’s question is direct, “where is my daughter?”

Serena doesn’t hesitate.

Doesn’t struggle with the decision.

She just turns—and looks right at me.

At the phone.

But I turned the camera off on my end.

The screen will be blank to them.

So they can’t see that my mouth twists, that my cheeks are slick with tears, or that I wipe away snot with my sleeve.

Every gaze in the loft latches onto the phone, and I suspect that whatever illusion Serena put on it is fading away now to reveal the call.

But not my face.

Not until I reach out for the screen, my finger trembling—and I tap the button.

I reveal myself to all those stares on the screen.

Dray’s face shutters.

Father pushes off the windowsill.

Oliver softens.

Only Mr Younge and James are unchanging. The latter doesn’t even look up from the floor.

I slide my trembling finger to the unmute button. And I press it.

Serena looks right at me, and I see the plea in her eyes, in the way she holds her hands in prayer to her twisted mouth.

“I’ll do it.” The sound of my own voice is an echo, and it’s quick to be overwhelmed by the choked cry that rips out of Serena, pure raw relief. “I’ll come home—if you leave them alone.”

Serena’s face twists with a fresh surge of tears. But she hides that crushing relief—buries her face in her hands and slumps against the window.

My voice is weak, strained with tears I swallow back, “I’ll be there in two minutes.”