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“There’s no point in stressing out before we know what’s on here,” she says, the very personification of reason. “Just sit and stop looking like the world is falling apart. You’re freaking me out.”
I swallow my unease and sit down beside her. She inserts the flash drive and a file instantly pops up on the screen.
It’s labeledCELINE.
She doesn’t even hesitate before she opens it. It’s a video, opening zoomed in on a tall, broad-shouldered man standing in front of someone. It doesn’t take me long to recognize who we’re looking at.
“Ilarion,” Celine whispers.
Almost as though he’s heard her say his name, he shifts to the side to reveal the man he’s facing.
“Dad!” I gasp.
The distance of the camera makes it a bit difficult to see details, but it’s obvious that Dad is not okay. He’s strapped in a rickety chair. His head keeps lolling to one side or the other and whatever he’s saying to Ilarion takes great effort.
There’s no one else in the dingy room but the two of them.
“Cee…what are we watching?”
“Shh!”
It’s clear the two of them are talking, but their voices are absent. There’s only a nauseating undercurrent of static. My heart is hammering so hard against my chest that it feels as though it’s going to burst.
My first question is, if this is truly a rescue operation, why is Dad still bound to that chair? Why isn’t Ilarion freeing him?
Dad lifts his eyes to Ilarion. There’s pleading there. Thick depths of desperation. He says something. It looks like he’s begging for his life.
I’m on the verge of collapsing. And then Dad looks down. It’s a split-second moment. But Ilarion moves with the speed and agility of a man who came into this godforsaken room with a purpose.
He raises his hand. Aims. Fires.
I don’t hear the gunshot, but I jump back as though it was aimed at me.
Dad falls back against the chair. His body doesn’t so much as twitch.
Then the feed cuts to black.
I blink several times, but the image of Dad’s pleading face is imprinted against the back of my eyelids. I feel like I’m losing my mind. If there was ever a time for my heart to quit, now would be it. I would actually welcome the relief of a fainting spell.
But it keeps beating, reminding me that even if my personal world is splitting apart, I’m still here.
I turn to the side and catch Celine’s profile. Her eyes are still glued to the empty screen, but her mask of composure is starting to crumble. Her hands, flat on the desk, are trembling like leaves in a strong wind. Her spine is rigid, her jaw tight. Her eyes are filled with tears.
“Cee.”
She blinks once and three fat tears roll down her cheek in quick succession. She sucks in a breath and jolts upright. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real,” she repeats over and over again to herself. “This can’t be real.”
“Celine.”
She leaps to her feet and starts pacing, knocking into the side table next to the sofa when she tries to clear the room. Her fingers are still shaking, and her face has lost all its color.
Seeing her come undone is what forces me to stop my own panic in its tracks.
Both of us can’t fall to pieces. One of us needs to be the voice of reason and Celine has carried that load for far too long.
I step in front of her and force her to a standstill. “Celine,” I say again. “The note. What did the note say?”
She frowns like what happened five minutes ago is now ancient history. “I-I can’t remember.”
