“Packing.”
“I can see that. Why?”
She didn’t look at him. “Because my part in this story is over.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m a journalist, not a spy or spec ops.”
North arched a brow.
She stood, hands on her hips. “It means I almost got Skeet killed because I... well, I do that. I run into trouble and I drag people with me. And I know that—knew that. And still...” She shook her head. “This was a bad idea.”
“You didn’t almost get him killed.”
“Didn’t I?” She finally turned to face him. “He said it himself—I make reckless choices that hurt people who care about me. Well, congratulations. He was right.”
North’s expression tightened. “He shouldn’t have said that.”
“But he did. And he meant it. And you know it’s true.” She zipped her bag shut with enough force to jam the zipper. “Which means it’s time for me to take myself out of the equation.”
“Chloe—”
“No.” Her tone was harder than she’d planned, but she couldn’t take it back now. “Tell him goodbye.” She cut her voice down, shouldering her bag. “And tell him... tell him I’m sorry.”
She pushed past North and out into the room.
West had risen too. “I’m not sure it’s safe?—”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t get to pick up where Skeet left off and start bossing me around. I’ll be fine. I’m going... home.”Whatever.
She headed to the door.
The heat of the night slid over her, and within seconds, sweat beaded on her forehead and collected at the base of her neck.
She marched out of the compound, toward the market. She’d find a GrabTaxi there, get to the airport?—
Don’t cry.
She hit the sidewalk, her throat thick. Motorcycle engines revved at traffic lights—high-pitched whines cutting through the cacophony of car horns. As she drew closer to the market, the scent of grilled meat and spices drifted on heavy air.
Her stomach growled.
The market pulsed with life—vendors calling out prices in rapid Thai, the aggressive sizzle of oil in woks sending up clouds of aromatic steam. Overhead, strings of bare bulbs and colored lanterns created a canopy that turned narrow walkways into something almost magical despite the underlying aroma of fish sauce.
Aw,the place only reminded her of Skeet.
Apparently all of Thailand was wrecked for her.
She pulled out her phone and scrolled to Selah’s number. Her sister would be up and making breakfast in Minnesota.
The phone rang twice before Selah answered. “Morning.”
“I wake you?”
“It’s nine in the morning. I’ve been up for hours. And I just got a text from North. Are you okay?”
Perfect.“I’m fine.”