Page 60 of These Tears

‘Water.’ The word tastes sour.

The stewardess hesitates. Her face falls, eyes narrowing as she scans me from hairline to chin. Her gaze moves to our joined hands, then returns to my face.

‘Are you alright, miss?’ she asks cautiously, voice a few notes lower to accommodate the quiet of the cabin. ‘Would you like something for travel sickness?’

I open my mouth, but Elias cuts in. ‘Fear of flying.’ His thumb rubs once over my knuckles. ‘Isn’t it, elskling?’

The attendant’s gaze shifts to me again.

I move my head without thinking. ‘Just… flying.’

‘Do you serve spirits?’ Elias drags back her attention.

The stewardess arches an unimpressed brow. ‘Not from the trolley, sir.’

‘For her nerves?’ he says, and then he gives her the Elias Crane smile.

That. Fucking. Smile.

Polished. Persuasive.

Dirty.

Her suspicion falters at once. Enough for him to know he’s got her.

I nearly groan aloud when she retreats to the back and returns a moment later with two small plastic tumblers filled with something amber.

Handing over a note, he tells her to keep the ten pounds of change. A small bribe with another flash of pearly whites. And just like that, the incident evaporates.

He holds both tumblers out, one in each hand, and turns his gaze on me.

‘Take it,’ he says. The command snaps like a belt even though it comes out on a whisper.

I do as he says. He lifts his own in salute. ‘To something new.’

Our eyes meet over the plastic rim. The air thickens. A beat passes. ‘Drink,’ he growls.

And I tip the contents into my mouth.

It burns all the way down. Like swallowing Ilford fixer. I hope I’ll wake up when it’s done scouring me from the inside out.

Coughing lightly, I blink through the bitterness of the damned brandy before setting the container down with shaky fingers.

‘May I have my phone back?’

‘No.’

‘What happened to you, Elias?’ I ask.

‘Besides being the prime suspect in the murder of my half-brother and his darling wife, you mean?’

I take in a slow breath, hold it, and let it out like it might steady my spine enough to ask the question.

‘Did you do it?’

His jaw realigns. A shadow flits across his expression, but it’s gone too fast to make out. He scrapes a rough palm over his chin, as if trying to rub away the answer that nearly makes it to his mouth.

The silence he gives me is one he’s introduced to me before. Expected and final.