“At best it was a riddle. It was cruel, Licia. We never knew you were okay.”

This threw her off balance. She stood, swaying slightly, weighing her thoughts.

I held out my hand, which she took. For a moment I thought she might cry.

“Sit with me,” I said.

She began to sit.

“Licia, love, you need to tell the police what you know.”

At the mention of the police her resolve returned. It was instant. She was on her feet again, moving swiftly toward the stairs.

I sprang after her.

Striding toward us along the corridor was Tvist, his dark head glistening, his eyes alive, laughing as he spoke.

“What a momentous day. I am so pleased for you, Cal, my friend. So very, very pleased. Lovely to meet you, Alicia.”

“Licia,” I said, “this is Mr. Tvist. He’s the chief of police.”

Licia stepped past him. The smile froze on his face.

“I’ll explain,” I said. “We’re coming back. Licia!”

She was at the stairs. I followed her down until we were out of sight of Tvist.

I took her wrist, spun her around. “Tell me I’m wrong about the attacks. Licia, please.”

“Why do you think you can make this okay? Dad, I have blood on my hands. I’m non-recuperable.”

“Listen to yourself. Non-recuperable. That’s not your word. You’re following someone else’s script.”

“You never believed I could be something better.” That look in her eye. Utter contempt. She pulled her hand free. She stood, eyes locked onto mine, as if amazed by her own strength. “You’ve always thought I was stupid.”

“No, love. No.”

She set off down the stairs, two at a time. I followed, but she was nimbler than me, her movements efficient and smooth, her left hand skimming the banister on each turn, releasing on the straight.

We were in the main hall, abruptly, where on the weekdays people stood in line for passports. Licia’s leather soles skidded on the polished floor.

Behind glass screens near the exit two uniformed officers smiled pleasantly.

“Stop her!” I shouted. “Please.”

The officers turned uselessly, but we were past them and out in the evening heat.

I was gaining on her. In the park outside, the day was bright. People sunned themselves on benches. Children played in the monumental fountain.

I caught up with her, took her by the wrist, spun her around.

“Did you prepare the attacks?”

“Get off!” she shouted.

People began to turn.

“Get him off me!”

“You were in touch with them for months. The police presented us with evidence and we just didn’t think it could be you. You were too good. Too obedient. You weren’t a rebel. Do you know, at one point we actually started to wonder about Vee being radicalized—”

“Let go.”

“What happened, Licia?”

She was struggling hard. The strength of her was terrifying.

“I’m not your possession. You don’t control the truth.”