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A silence. Leo looks at the person who asked with cold resolve. “That I won’t stop looking until I find her.”
The broadcast cuts back to the anchor, who describes a reward that would be life-changing for most people in the country.
There it is. The amount people will be paid to hunt me.
My phone rings in my hands. It’s Will.
“What the actual fuck, Emerson?” This, as soon as the call connects. “Sin told me it was you.”
“That’s inconvenient for me.”
“He thought I wouldn’t say anything about it.” Will laughs. “Are you fucking kidding me? I should call the cops. No—I should call the Morellis and tell them exactly where she is.”
“Are you hard up for cash?”
“No, Em, I’m not. Dad is, though. He’s been up my ass about it for days now.”
“Is that all you called to tell me?”
“No.” He’s walking somewhere. Snow crunches in the background. “I called to tell you not to do this, but it’s already too late, isn’t it? You really think you can keep her there. She’s a Morelli. Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Surviving,” I say.
“What the fuck,” he mutters.
Texts are coming in now, too. I take the phone from my ear to check them.
Alert: Motion detected front door
Alert: Motion detected front door
Daphne’s painting from the charity auction is being delivered. I look in on Daphne—still in the living room. Still staring out at the ocean. Then I go to the door. The auction included installation, so I wave the team through and point them to one of my galleries. The one that holds Daphne’s pieces. It will take them no time.
The goddamn door won’t shut up.
Alert: Motion detected front door
Alert: Motion detected side door
I was correct. Half a minute and they’re on the way out.
Alert: Motion detected front door
Alert: Front gate approach
Alert: Front gate exit
“Are you sure about this?” Will asks. The boiling water—fuck. I go back to the kitchen and pull the pot off the stove before it spills over. Tip it into a colander in the sink. Steam hisses from the noodles left behind.
“I’m sure.”
Daphne’s already here. If I let her go now, she won’t come back.
“You’re just like him,” Will says softly, and it hurts. A ridiculous amount, even though it’s true. Perhaps especially because it’s true.
“Fuck off,” I tell him, and hang up the phone.
If I’m just like my father, then I may as well lean into it. Will’s accusation divides and flattens, but it won’t hide its face. Won’t get out of my head. Those thin slivers of light around a closed door only lead to this. The monster outside is only myself. Daphne knows it already. So do Will, and Sin. Who cares, then?
