“Yep.”
“And I have no idea what to do about it.”
Her sister laughed. “Maybe you don’t have to do anything about it. Maybe you don’t have to fix it or handle it or figure it out. Maybe you just have to be still and let it be what it is.”
Be still.
And just like that, she heard Skeet’s words. Psalm 46. Something about God being our help and refuge when themountains fall into the sea and the oceans roar... and it ended with“Be still, and know that I am God.”
When was the last time she’d been still? When had she ever just accepted a situation without trying to control it or fix it or make it better through sheer force of will?
And as usual, her twin read her mind.
“You don’t have to fix everything, Chloe. You don’t have to save everyone. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is trust someone else to know what they’re doing. Be. Still.”
Around her, the market continued its nighttime rhythm. Sensory overload that somehow felt comforting in its chaos. A vendor called out the price of fresh pineapple, voice mixing with the pop and hiss of frying oil. Somewhere nearby, someone was cooking curry—a rich, complex aroma of coconut milk and lemongrass and chilies that made her mouth water despite her emotional turmoil. The scent was so strong she could almost taste it on her tongue. Could feel the heat and spice warming her sinuses even from a distance.
Curry.
Wait.
Mrs. Pensri’s curry—made using a spice packet from the aid shipments—not her usual mix. Dr. Tobias, who’d been sweating even in the air-conditioned hospital break room. Who’d started showing symptoms—including excessive sweating—while he was still eating, perspiration beading on his forehead despite cool air.
Chloe’s stomach dropped. The spice packet. Tobias had used the entire contents for one bowl of soup. What if that was the source of the poison? What if he overdosed?
Tobias had been poisoned by eating the contaminated curry—he’d been right about that. But he’d been affected immediately, not later.
She looked at a curry vendor whose wok sent up clouds of aromatic steam that rose and dispersed into the humid air like visible heat waves. The smell hit her like a revelation—not just the spices, but the way the heat carried the scent, the way steam rose and dispersed into the air around the stall, carrying particles of whatever was cooking in that oil.
Steam. Hot air. Particles suspended in the heat and carried on the wind to anyone standing nearby.
Wait. What if Tobias had been affected by the fumes? An overdose of fumes from one bowl of soup?
Which meant, what if whoever was behind this found a way to skip the eating entirely? What if they could put the toxin into a form fine enough to breathe?
“They can make it airborne.” Her pulse hammered in her throat.
They’d refined the poison. Fast-acting. The seasoning packets in the villages had been deadly enough when eaten—especially to children. But this was something else entirely.The grinding machine... They were making powder. Refined. Concentrated. Weaponized into dust fine enough to hang in the air. And mixed with hot water, it could be aerosolized. Dispersed through a ventilation system and released into crowded spaces where people would breathe it.
People wouldn’t even know they were being poisoned.
“Selah. I have to go.”
“What? Chloe, what’s wrong?”
“I think I figured it out.” She put her sister on speaker, then pulled up Skeet’s number.
Chloe
I’m sorry, Skeet. I really am. I’m the fool for betraying you. Please meet me at the house?—
A hand clamped down on her shoulder like an iron vise. Before she could turn around, something sharp pressed against her ribs through the thin fabric of her shirt.
“Miss Silver.”
She stilled at the voice, the cultured Eastern European accent.
“I think it’s time you and I have a conversation.”