This is how it started: When Dao was a child, his mother told him he had to be the best at everything to make it in this country that took them in. Their new, very cold home. It was a lot because he was just a child. Turns out he wasn’t good at much. And she didn’t exactly set a decent example herself. She was always too overworked, too tired to give anything her all. So she wasn’t especially good at anything, either. In fact, his first memory, when he was four years old—

No, wait. That’s too far back. If he’s going to give this a go, collect his thoughts for what they’re worth, he should start with more current events.

First, some courage.

He crushes up the last of his oxycodone hydrochloride and snorts it off his dresser. Makes a mental note to buy some more. Down here, the pills are easy to get and cost almost nothing.

Now he’s flying. On top of the world. Feeling so good—so euphoric, in fact—that he’s ready to think about those current events.

Before he can get started, the call he’s been waiting for comes through.

“Is it done?” he asks.

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, which worries him. It’s always bad news when there’s a dramatic pause. What his contact says next confirms it. “Nora Watts got away. I don’t know how. And she knows about the hit now.”

It takes him a moment to process the sheer incompetence at work here. “I thought the people you hired were professionals. I paid them for a job.”

“We thought so, too.”

He can feel his euphoria deflating. “Is she still in Detroit?”

“We don’t think so. Look, Detroit was a fuckup, and we’re obviously not going to give them the other part of the payment.”

No shit. He doesn’t actually care about the money. It’s chump change, and turns out, he’s the chump. “Where is she now?”

“She hasn’t turned up back in Vancouver yet, but—”

“So you botched it, spooked her, and now she’s on the run. That it?”

“We’ll find her.”

“You sure about that?” Dao asks softly. It’s not that he’s being unreasonable. This is what he pays them for.

What follows is a series of useless promises and excuses from his guy. Dao hangs up in the middle of it.

He flings open the windows of the bedroom that has become his entire world. A rush of cool sea air blows past him. It’s raining, and that’s depressing, too.

Rain makes him think of Vancouver, that godforsaken city he’s always hated.

He goes down to the gym and works out until he’s lathered with sweat. Even that can’t help his anger from building.