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CONOR
A WEEK LATER
"Here’s the latest news about yesterday’s explosion in Petrovsky Park. The Kremlin claims to have made an arrest while eyewitness reports say—"
When the buzzer sounded at the door, I frowned at the TV, turned down the volume, and trudged over to the screen to see who was there, only...
No one was.
Not at the intercom, at any rate.
"Who is it?" I questioned, on edge and not in the mood to be messed around.
Bombs didn’t just go off in one of Moscow’s most popular parks for no reason. Ever since the news had hit, I’d been trying to find more information about who the target had been.
My gut didn’t lie to me, and right now, it was screaming.
I just didn’t knowwhatit was screaming.
Before my temper could blow, a small body jumped into the camera’s spectrum. It reminded me of Tigger fromWinnie the Pooh.
"Conor? Is that you?"
I recognized the voice. "Katina?"
"Yes! It's me! Can I come in?"
My heart tumbled down into my stomach.
"I need to talk to you," she cried as I fell silent, my tongue on lockdown as I tried to figure out how the hell she’d gotten here.
I hit the buzzer and let her in even as I was heading toward the elevator.
Was she alone?
How had she gotten to Manhattan on her own without someone from the Sinners realizing she'd run away?
There were a dozen implications that set my nerves on edge, but I knew she’d only come here for one reason—Star.
As the doors to the elevator opened, she was there, waiting to step in. Only, when she saw me, she did the damnedest thing, and she broke my fucking heart.
She burst into tears.
I wasn't great with tears, but I immediately crouched down onto my knees and held out my arms. She rushed into them, and all the questions I had about how she got here, about what she was doing running away, faded into inconsequence.
She sniffled and sobbed and wept in my embrace as the elevator doors rumbled to a close and I held her through the storm.
Then, in my ear, her cheeks drenched with tears, her nose snotty, she sniffled, "You have to bring her back to me, Conor. You have to. She promised she’d call, she promised. Why didn’t she call me yesterday? Why didn’t she? Star never makes promises she can’t keep."
My stomach twisted.
My palms started sweating.
Coincidences—I didn’t believe in them. And I sure as fuck didn’t when Star was around.
That bomb in Moscow—was that Star’s work?
If it was, she’d have been able to make that call though, wouldn’t she?
