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“I want to know whether he told anyone in person,” I answer.

“Has he?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“He’s scared.”

Mathias says nothing—just that breathing, steady and waiting. I continue before he can read too much into it.

“Scared people make unpredictable decisions. If I move too early and somebody already knows, we create a second problem.”

It is a reasonable argument.

Mathias knows it’s bullshit, but he only sighs and says, “Another day, but that’s it.”

“Fine.”

“Adrien.”

“What?”

A pause.

“Do not fuck me over.”

The call disconnects.

I lower the phone into my palm, fingertips cold against its smooth back. Another day. Fine. By tomorrow, I’ll know enough to do what needs to be done. Except I already know more than enough. The question now isn’t what I know, but what protecting Kamden actually means.

If I kill him, I obey Mathias and betray John. Since the moment the job was assigned to me, I already knew that wouldn’t be an option. But if I let him go, I betray Mathias and leave Kamden exposed to an organization that won’t stop until they’ve torn the boy apart. Also, not an option.

If I tell Mathias the truth upfront, I gamble Kamden’s life on the hope that a promise I made eleven years ago will cause Mathias to shrug and go “okay, sure, he doesn’t need to die.” Mathias trusts me, maybe even loves me in this fractured, brutal way that men like us love. But love won’t stop the Grecos from silencing a witness.

So there’s only one path left. Kamden disappears. Not dies—vanishes. To him, it will feel like every nightmare he’s ever had come alive. He won’t like it. He will be terrified. But it’s either this or death, and I refuse to let anyone kill him. I’ll try my best to keep him comfortable, but it’s plain stupid to think that he’ll just roll over and trust me just because I knew his dad. It’ll be hard, but it needs to happen. He’ll understand eventually that I’m doing it with his best interests in mind.

And I won’t hide him from the Grecos forever. I just need to keep Kamden detained and secluded until I’m confident he can convince the Grecos that he’ll never say a word. The part where I’m his guardian should help.

Mathias is well aware that there are ways other than death to keep someone quiet.

* * *

The information about the hospital arrives at 8:17 that evening, just after I get home.

Home is a two-bedroom bungalow at the very edge of the city I bought six years ago because Mathias said renting indefinitely was a wasted expense, and Quillan spent three months sending me listings until I chose one solely to make him stop.

It’s clean, minimalist—white walls, with a single charcoal sofa, and no clutter beyond a small stack of unread novels.

I have artwork because an interior designer told me that blank walls gave the place a “psychopathic vibe.”

I disagreed, but Mathias agreed with her, and now there are three paintings. I have no idea who painted them or even what style they are, but they’re here, and they don’t bother me enough to take them down.

It might not have all those fancy amenities in the high-rises Quillan kept showing me, but it’s on a semi-quiet street, has a small backyard, and has neighbors who mind their own business. The elderly woman who owns the place next to me feeds a colony of feral cats, and the man on the other side is only there a week out of every month. The most conversation I’ve had with either of them was when I first moved in, and the little old lady knocked on my door, looked me up and down, and said that if anything happens to the cats hanging around, she’ll “make sure” I “have a very unfortunate accident.”

I respected that.

I’m pouring myself a glass of water when my phone buzzes against the granite countertop with a message from an unknown number. I swear I wouldn’t normally click a strange file sent to me without context, but the file is named Kamden Hospital 2017, and I click it immediately, only cringing at the stupidity of that action as it opens.