Page 207 of Mile High Ruin

“I’m not asking you to agree.”

“That sounds exactly like deciding.”

I look toward Anton, who has already understood without being told and is speaking quietly into his phone, arranging for the two men on the pavement to be dealt with while keeping enough distance to give us the appearance of privacy.

Sloane follows my gaze and exhales through her nose. “This is insane.”

“Probably.”

“I have spent months trying to get my life back.”

“Go to the hospital, Sloane,” I tell her. “Your brother needs you.”

“You don’t care about my brother,” she scoffs. “So don’t act like you do.”

I do care about him, as I care about everything that concerns her, I think to myself. Despite everything that has happened, she’s still at the center of it all, and I would rather burn down the world around us then hurt her.

“Maybe, but we’re wasting time here.”

Her eyes narrow. “With you following me.”

“With me beside you.”

She looks as though she would like to refuse out of principle, but exhaustion wins before pride does, and a moment later she turns away without another word.

I fall into step beside her. The distance between us is less than a meter, but it feels enormous.

For several blocks we say nothing. Traffic moves around us, people pass on the pavement, somewhere a siren rises and fades again, and every ordinary sound makes the silence between us more obvious. I’m aware of her constantly, of the way she walks more carefully than I remember, of how one hand occasionally moves toward the front of her coat before she catches herself and lets it drop again.

Seven months. I keep seeing the number. I keep refusing to finish the calculation.

By the time the hospital comes into view, I can’t tolerate the silence anymore.

“Where is Mila?”

Sloane’s steps slow. I watch her profile. She keeps looking ahead. “I can’t talk about that.”

My entire body goes rigid. “You can’t?”

“No.”

“That’s not an acceptable answer.”

“It’s the only one I’m giving you.”

I stop walking.

She makes it another step before realizing I’m no longer beside her. Then she turns. There are tears already threatening in her eyes, though whether they are from exhaustion, anger, fear, or everything together, I can’t tell.

“Tell me where my sister is.”

“I can’t.”

“Sloane.”

“I said I can’t.” Her voice shakes this time.

I step closer. “Is she alive?”