His father before him.
Viktor carries it on his left wrist, slightly faded with age.
If I ever have a son, he’ll carry it too.
The thought arrives and with it comes something I don’t invite.
An image of this girl, this furious sharp-edged girl across from me, and she’s softer somehow in the picture my mind constructs without my permission.
Rounded with child, one hand resting low on her stomach, and she’s smiling, actually smiling, at something I’ve said or done, and the expression on her face is so different from the hatred she’s wearing right now that I stand there for one unguarded second just wondering what that would look like.
What she would look like. If she ever smiled at me like that.
I shut it down so fast it almost has a sound.
That is what fucking happens when you let Mike talk to you.Same boat.
Same despair.
I look at her eyes now, past the rage she’s holding up like a shield, and I can see it.
The same thing that’s been living in my chest since Viktor walked through my door.
The thing underneath the anger that is so much worse than the anger.
She is hurting. I am hurting.
But she still needs to tell me where the file is. Then she still needs to die.
“The drive,” I say.
She stops mid-sentence.
A freeze so small most people would miss it.
Her eyes flicker.
Her hands, which had been pulling at the restraints, go still for one betraying beat before she starts up again.
There it is.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You went still.”
“I didn’t?—”
“Your hands stopped.” I walk toward her slowly, watching her track me. “For exactly one second when I said the word drive, every single thing you were doing stopped. Then you remembered to keep moving.” I stop in front of her. “You’re not a good liar.”
“I’m not lying, I don’t have any?—”
“You’re also fidgeting.” I crouch down to her eye level. “Your left thumb. You’ve been rubbing it against your palm since I mentioned it.”
She looks down at her hand then looks back up at me. The fury on her face sharpens into something that wants to be contempt.
“So you’re observant,” she says. “Wonderful. You can watch me not tell you anything.”
I straighten. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you a chance. Because I’m feeling generous this morning.”