The knife pressed deeper.
"Please—I'm telling you everything—please don't—"
I killed him.
Clean. Efficient.
The way Gabriel had taught me.
Or maybe the way I'd always known.
I couldn't remember.
I never could.
"If anything happens to me, follow the money."
The memory came without warning.
Gabriel was standing in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes the color of winter storms.
"The Institute is connected to a transport company. Mercy Logistics. They handle the movement of assets."
"Assets?"
"People. Girls. Products."
"Where are they based?"
"I don't know. I never needed to know. But if something happens to me—if I disappear—you follow the money. You find Mercy. And you find the people who run it."
"Why would I need to find them?"
"Because they're the ones who will come for you. They're the ones who will try to take you back."
"Take me back where?"
"To the Institute. To the program. To whatever comes next."
"I don't understand."
"You will."
He kissed my forehead.
"You're ready."
I blinked.
The warehouse came back.
The bodies were cooling on the floor. The blood was drying on my hands. The boxes were stacked against the wall, waiting to be shipped, waiting to be delivered, waiting to become someone else's nightmare.
Had Gabriel said that?
Or had I invented it?
I didn't know.
