Page 178 of Where the Snakes Sleep

Camille swallows. “I know.”

“And you would allow that?”

Camille’s face twists—determination shadowed by pain. “Yes,” he whispers.

This hurts him.

I can see how badly.

Henri watches him closely as he steps closer, standing over the man who has haunted his entire life.

“If you tell me where she is, then I will know. If you refuse, I will continue looking. Perhaps I will find her. Perhaps I never will,” Camille says, forcing his voice to remain steady. “But you do not get to make my mother one more thing I have to purchase from you.”

Henri stares at him. “Camille—”

“No.”

That word is so small, and so powerful.

I think of Alberte writing about staying.

Going back.

Forgiving.

Trying.

Camille stands bleeding in front of the same man and does the one thing my grandfather never learned how to do soon enough.

He says no.

Henri’s face crumples into rage. “You ungrateful little bastard.”

Camille actually smiles. “My mother would be very disappointed to hear you speak to me that way.”

Oh.

Holy shit.

I make a sound that I disguise very poorly as a cough.

Even one of the mercenaries looks away.

Henri points at Camille with a shaking hand. “She trusted me.”

“Not once she discovered what you were.”

“She admired me,” Henri shouts.

“Before she knew the real you.”

“She worked for me.”

“She exposed you.”

“She betrayed me.”

Camille stands tall, and it’s like the ghosts of his youth are holding him up, strengthening him. “And you killed her.”