That’s why we split up. Hamid and Aunt Vesa led the organization from Shkodër, while I, with my newly acquired knowledge of explosives and ammunition—becoming Hamid’s student had felt like getting closer to Dad—would travel to Sweden and solve the mystery of the hidden weapons. I changed my name, again—Zana Lilaj became Hannah Ohlsson became Amelia Schmidt—and with my new name, I applied to the police academy. That seemed like the best way to complete my three objectives. First, I needed to get access to the police investigation into the murders of my family, specifically the address of an apartment with a small square hole in its floor. Secondly, to get the names of the men who were arrested and interrogated at the time, but never locked up. And finally so I’d get the best cover in the world—someone in a police uniform running the Swedish illegal arms trade.

—

She asked Zofia and the boys to take Luiza to the sofa in the living room and wait there until Superintendent Grens arrived, while she went and got them some water and a bag of buns that was sitting on the kitchen counter. A few minutes to herself before the apartment filled up with voices and energy. And then it just happened. It wasn’t anything she was planning, but her legs carried her to the two men in the bedroom, and she did the same thing she’d done in Albania when they were lying on the floor after a professional hit: she kicked them. Hard. Again, again. Kicked them even though she knew they couldn’t feel it.

—

Hamid and Aunt Vesa rebuilt the Balkan route and made it even better. More weapons than ever were smuggled to northern Europe and, above all, to Sweden where gang activity had increased the most. Meanwhile, the police academy was just a long wait for that fifth semester—my training period and the access I’d come here for. To be able, from the inside, to find the key to the weapons stash and then finally destroy those who had destroyed my world.

The first burglary in the police station was also the easiest.