He avoided her eyes. “Because I’m not worthy of anyone’s admiration, or fondness, or kindness. Those people out there? Even the most boring, mundane, mindless worker bee is worth fifty of me. A hundred.”

“You are valuable to the war.”

“The war is the war,” he said, echoing one of Church’s favorite sayings. “Yes. I’m a good killer, so that makes me valuable as a person.”

“We’re both killers, Toys,” said Violin. “And I have considerably more blood on my hands than you do.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“Yes,” she said, “I am.”

He turned to study her.

“That sounds like a longer conversation than we have time for now.”

“Yes, and perhaps it’s one we’ll never have. Time will tell.” She paused. “So where are you going with your self-loathing? I mean … I don’t want to sound callous, but are you going anywhere with this?”

He laughed. “Nowhere of use, that’s for sure.”

Violin folded her arms and leaned against the wall beside the mirror.

“Tell me something…”

“Sure.”

“Would it help if I were to slap the self-pity off you? Or would you prefer to go upstairs and flagellate yourself for a while? I can braid a rope and cake it in rock salt.”

He stared at her for several long seconds.

“Dear god,” he said, “I’m actually whining, aren’t I?”

Violin held her fingers up half an inch a part. “Just a little.”

Toys looked up at the ceiling, and then he burst out laughing. After a moment, Violin joined him. In the kitchen, Harry—who was a good way into burning the eggs—glanced over his shoulder and wondered what the heck was so funny. They were still laughing when the smoke alarm went off.

Which made them laugh even harder.

CHAPTER 122

HOTEL TIMIȘOARA

TIMIȘOARA, ROMANIA

I sat with Ghost all through the day and into the night. Even when, deep inside his drugged sleep, he peed the bed. It got all over me, but I didn’t care. He could bite my face off, and it would be less than I deserved.

And yet, when he finally woke up, he looked up at me with those big, liquid brown eyes and gave a sad, apologetic wag of his tail. He whimpered and pressed his muzzle against me. Asking for my forgiveness for whatever wrong he’d done to deserve what I’d done to him.

I don’t know that I have ever felt more ashamed of anything in my entire life.

I held him and rocked him, and then I carried him into the shower, sat down fully dressed in the stall with him, and let the water rain down. He licked water and tears from my face.

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

And I said it a thousand times.

CHAPTER 123

ARKLIGHT SAFE HOUSE

BERLIN, GERMANY