The beauty of not sending you these emails is they allow me to shout from the rooftops all the things I normally would dilute and couch in compliments and empathy. Here, that’s unnecessary. Here, I can say exactly what I should have, and should have kept saying, knowing you deluded yourself into believing otherwise.

If you ever begin to read this letter, you’ll have stopped somewhere around “forbade,” but in case your eyes scan down, I’ll write this big:

YOU ARE NOT SOME VICTIM, SHAYNA.

You are no one’s victim. And least of all mine.

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Sunrise is still a solid hour away. I can barely see straight in the semidarkness, despite roaming to and from this corner all week. Sleeping bodies line the doorways of the block. Mathieu’s cab is nowhere in sight. The glossy corners of the photograph are stiff in my hand, and I press the flesh of my thumb pad to each until a dull prick registers. This is not a dream.

My family and I stood beside the World’s Ugliest Moose at the San Diego Zoo when Angela and I were eight. Out of frame and to the side was a wooden cutout of the animal (with warts, bald spots, malformed vertebrae, and all) for zoo goers to stick their faces into round holes with antlers. A banner above read A FACE ONLY A MOTHER COULD LOVE! When we finished laughing through a dozen pictures, my mother took Angela and me aside; she said, “Don’t let anyone tell you you’re unlovable.” Holding the four of us in my palm recalls everything that was lost. And leaves me guessing when exactly I forgot those words.

In my other hand, a folded square of paper weighs like a brick—a scrawled note from Valentin I found wedged underneath the apartment door. He must have come by sometime while I was passed out. Yellow lights approach in the distance. I clamp my arms to my sides for warmth.

Bonjour, Miss Darby.

Apologies to reveal this info in a note, however, I did not want to wake you. A sixth body was found. Confirmed presence of series murderer in Paris, first in almost thirty years. City lockdown from now to sunrise for safety—no one wants additional death as their legacy. Check the news at 7:00 a.m., and get home to USA in one piece on Sunday, Shayna.

Best of luck.

Valentin

PS The body you found in Emmanuelle Wood’s apartment, sadly, is her. Thank you for alerting the police.

Bright beams pierce my blurry sight. A taxi rolls to a stop beside me as Chang steps from the building’s main door. She changed into cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt and shoulders a canvas backpack. “Is this our trusty steed?” she asks.