"Morphine." Victoria's voice is barely above a whisper now. "From the medical kit I'd brought to treat her injuries."
Silence from the interrogation room. Damian gives her space.
"I told her it would help her sleep. That she wouldn't hurt anymore. That I'd stay right there with her." Victoria's hands tremble against the table. "She said thank you. She was so—she thanked me for—"
Her voice breaks. She presses her palms flat, steadying herself.
"I'm sorry." The words slip out, reflexive. "I know that doesn't—I'm sorry."
"I held her hand. Watched her breathe slower. Slower." Victoria looks up, finally meeting Damian's eyes. The glassy sheen is there now. Tears building but not falling. "I was looking at my own face the entire time. And I kept saying it's okay, it's okay, you can rest now. I don't know if I was talking to her or to myself."
The monitor flickers. Nobody speaks.
I have seen men die. Held them while they bled out in places whose names I cannot say. But this, watching a woman describe killing her twin sister with kindness, this is something else. Something that settles in and does not leave.
"I thought—" Angelina's voice is barely a whisper. "I assumed she found her already dead."
I did too.
Damian gives her time. Patient as a grave.
When the sobs slow, he continues. Quiet. Almost gentle.
"What happened after?"
Victoria wipes her face with her cuffed hands. Composing herself piece by piece—but the composure does not reach her voice. That stays gutted.
"A week later, someone contacted me. Said they knew what I'd done. What had been done to Rose." She stares at her hands. "They had names. Judges who'd let traffickers walk. Who'd taken bribes. Who'd looked the other way while girls like Rose disappeared."
"And you believed them."
"They had evidence. Documents. Photos." Victoria looks up. Meets Damian's eyes. "They said Rose didn't have to die for nothing. That I could make sure no other sister had to do what I did."
On the monitor, Damian leans back. The movement deliberate, controlled.
"The handler." That is where it starts.
Victoria's jaw tightens. Then releases. Surrender in the loosening.
"I never met them. Never saw them."
He waits.
"Encrypted app. New one every week." Victoria's voice finds something like professional ground, though the emptiness underneath bleeds through. "They'd send a link through a burner email. I'd download, we'd talk, the app would delete itself. Seven days maximum before the next one."
"Voice," Damian says.
"Distorted. Software modulation. Could have been anyone—man, woman, old, young. No way to tell."
At the console, Vanessa mutters something under her breath. Her fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up file after file.
"Payment."
"Cryptocurrency." Victoria almost laughs. The sound dies in her throat. "Different wallet every time. Untraceable. I thought it was security. For the investigation. To protect witnesses."
"Investigation."
"They showed me files. Sealed court documents. Medical records. Things I couldn't access on my own." Victoria shakes her head slowly. "I assumed it was classified access. That my handler had clearance I didn't. It never occurred to me to question it."