I tracked them down—police records are handy for many things—and executed them. Dejan Pejović. Branko Stojanović. Ermir Shala. In the same way they carried out their executions. I didn’t feel much. I expected happiness, elation, even a sense of closure. But it felt more like this was my right. I had one left. Dusko Zaravic. When Hermansson commanded me to follow Grens to Söderköping. Home. To Thomas and Anette. The place Hannah Ohlsson had left behind. Of course I had an excuse ready, an escape plan, if we ended up going to that brick house that once gave me a sense of security. I never needed to use the excuse. We met the social worker who gave us a name and a place, but from there, Grens chose to go on alone to meet my adoptive parents, while Lucas and I went to dig up my childhood at the local police station. What I didn’t foresee was that Hermansson would arrest Zaravic in the meantime. That they would lock him up, put him away, for three days. Beyond my reach. And when the detective decided to search his apartment to try to find something that they could hold him for, I was forced to break in and clean out a computer, a few illegally obtained guns, and even a few suits I was sure might connect him to a big hit on a wholesaler. It was a surreal moment afterward to stand in the hall of the homicide unit and watch Grens furiously accuse Wilson of having leaked the plan to search Zaravic’s apartment—and a great relief to realize the blood from the window where I cut myself wouldn’t be linked to me, because cadets weren’t expected to contribute to the DNA bank.

We were five, I was the only one left.

They were five, Zaravic was the only one left.

But our two sides wouldn’t remain mirror images much longer.

—

Amelia?”

“Yes?”

“You said Uncle Ewert was coming.”

“He’s coming.”

“When?”

“If you press your ear against the window on the balcony door, Rasmus, you’ll soon hear the sirens. Really loud.”

“Like this?”

“Your whole cheek and ear against the glass.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Soon. Several police cars. First, Ewert, then others.”

“You promise?”

“I promise soon everything will be okay again.”

—

Three days delay. That was that. But if I waited all this time, I could wait until Zaravic was released. I’d confirmed in my family’s autopsy records exactly what the distance should be between the holes in the forehead and the temple—he’d be shot in the same way as the rest.

Then came the moment when I had to change my plan.