Page 213 of The Encore’s Crown

“What the fuck, Rith?”

He smirks up at me. A laugh escapes before I can stop it. I knock the ash away with the side of my other foot.

“Why are you like this?”

He exhales smoke through his nose. “I think half the answer is inside sobbing over her potential murderer, and the other half is finally rotting somewhere.”

I nod because there’s nothing to argue with in that. Rithy crosses one leg over the other and takes another slow drag.

“I don’t take it back.”

I raise an eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes. “Well, most of it.”

I crouch in front of him until we’re eye level. He immediately turns his face toward the sky.

“You know I agree with you,” I say. “You know I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Do I?” He studies the burning end of the cigarette. “You’re famously stoic and rarely voice the dreaded feelings, brother.”

I scoff, but he isn’t wrong. Keeping everything locked inside has always felt easier than trusting what might happen if I let any of it out.

“It’s part of the job when I’m busy looking after a baby brother loud enough for both of us.”

He straightens and tosses his hair back from his face. “It’s a talent of mine. I get paid a lot of money for it.”

My knees start complaining, so I give up and sit beside him.

“Yeah, and I get paid to pluck strings in your shadow.”

He turns toward me looking genuinely horrified.

“You did not just say that.”

“What?”

“That might be the most insecure bullshit I’ve ever heard leave your mouth.”

He flicks more ash onto the pavement between us. The wind immediately lifts it and carries it across my shoe.

Rithy laughs. So do I.

“Even the wind is on my side,” he says.

His laughter fades first. He takes another drag and looks out across the road, where headlights slide through the evening traffic. He still doesn’t look at me when he speaks.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“I don’t know. I think spite and tequila did a pretty good—”

“I’m serious, Kiri.”

Something in his voice stops me. When he finally looks over, there are tears in his eyes. Not the furious ones from Ma’s room. These are quieter and more frightening.

“I had a whole plan of how to do it,” he says. “For years.”

My stomach turns cold. He looks away again, jaw tightening.