Page 166 of Where the Snakes Sleep

Therefore Alberte’s belongings belong to him.

Alberte’s grandson belongs with him.

The logic is horrifyingly consistent.

“You want me to live with you.”

“Yes.”

“As your… grandson?”

Henri’s expression softens. “As you were meant to.”

Camille whispers, “Jesus Christ.”

I force myself not to look at him.

Henri has leaned even more toward me. Closer than before, but still not close enough.

I need patience.

This whole thing depends on patience.

“So what?” I ask. “I just go with you?”

“Yes.”

“And Camille?”

The warmth disappears from Henri’s face. “He is not your concern.”

I keep my expression neutral. “He seems pretty concerning from where I’m sitting.”

Henri glances down toward him. Camille meets his gaze with pure hatred. “Camille made choices.”

“So did Alberte.”

“Precisely.”

Not the answer I wanted. “What happens to him?” I force myself to ask, though my pulse thunders in my ears.

Henri turns back to me, the polished steel of his cane gleaming as he taps it once on the floor. “That needn’t trouble you.”

“Sounds like murder,” I say, and I can’t keep the accusation out of my voice.

He lifts a single eyebrow. “I said it needn’t trouble you.”

“Usually when someone avoids the word that hard, it’s murder,” I insist, watching his expression for the slightest flinch.

Camille’s voice, ragged with fear and fury, cuts across the stale air. “Ryan, do not bargain with him.”

“I’m not bargaining.” I meet Henri’s gaze.

He studies me in the dim light. “You could come willingly.”

I tilt my head, trying to look casual, though every nerve ends in my fingertips. “And if I don’t?”

His smile collapses into something sad and patient. “I would prefer that you did.”