Page 102 of I’m The Worst

It doesn’t matter.

It stops here.

“I haven’t seen you since you were nineteen.” Miranda keeps fucking talking, her Czech coming faster now. “And even then, you were already on every damn watchlist in Eastern Europe.”

My shoulders tense. I swallow roughly.

“And then you vanish, like you never even existed.” Her jaw sets. “Next thing I hear? The Sovereign has you. The worst kind of evil on this fucking planet.” Her eyes lock onto mine. “You’re not like them, Dylan. You never were. Don’t sit there and act like you belong with them.”

Fuck this.

I shove the passports back into the envelope and slide it into my jacket, standing.

Miranda doesn’t move. “I don’t know what the hell you’re mixed up in, but she looks terrified.” Her eyes narrow on AJ. “And the Nightshades are targeting everything between here and the border. Flights are being grounded. Roadblocks getting paid off. Half the crossings in this region are compromised.” Shaking her head, her gaze locks onto mine. “Is she the reason for that?”

I keep moving.

“I’m your sister. Whatever this is…whatever you need⁠—”

I grab AJ’s wrist and pull her out of the seat. She stumbles after me, eyes wide, quiet for once.

“Dylan—”

I don’t look back.

Cold air hits my face as I shove through the door, but it doesn’t cut through the fucking noise in my head.

You’re not like them.

She doesn’t know a fucking thing.

Dylan.

My teeth grind hard enough that my jaw aches. That name is fucking dead. Whatever she thinks she remembers—some weak, starving kid who didn’t speak—that wasn’t me.

That was a mistake that lived too long.

I was already hurting people by then. Already chasing that second where they stop fighting, stop breathing, stop being anything at all. The Sovereign didn’t make me into this. They found it. Recognized me for what I am. They gave a monster a purpose.

My grip tightens on AJ’s wrist as I drag her down the street, her steps uneven behind me.

You’re not like them.

Yes, I fucking am.

I’m exactly what they are. Exactly what they need. A killer. A bastard who gets hard when he feels bones break under his hands. A piece of shit who enjoys the moment the light goes out in their eyes.

If she had any idea what I’ve done—what I’ll keep doing—she wouldn’t be sitting there, trying to tell me I’m something better.

I’m not better.

I’m the worst.

Always have been.

Wolff’s eyes are locked on the road. He hasn’t said a word since we left the café.

I don’t know what that woman said to him or who she was. But whatever it was, he’s pissed and not normal pissed. He left so fast, he nearly yanked my arm out of its socket.