Her lips tremble, the tears pooling in her eyes before spilling over. “I know, Julian…” Her fingers curl around my palm, squeezing it tightly. “I know, because it’s the same for me. When I thought your plane went down—” she swallows, her voice breaking, “—and then afterwards, when I heard the gunshots during our call…”

I draw in a breath, her distress making my chest hurt. “Don’t, baby…” I bring her hand up to my lips and kiss the inside of her palm. “Don’t think about it anymore. It’s over—there’s nothing more to fear. Majid is gone, and we’re on the verge of completely eradicating Al-Quadar…”

As I speak, I see her expression flattening, her gaze growing strangely shuttered. It’s as if she’s trying to pull back her emotions, to build some kind of a mental wall to protect herself. “I know,” she says, and her lips stretch into the kind of empty smile I’ve often seen her wear since our rescue. “It’s done. He’s dead.”

“Are you sorry about that?” I ask, lowering her hand. I need to understand the source of her withdrawal, to get to the bottom of whatever is causing her to shut down like this. “Are you sorry you killed him, baby? Is that why you’ve been upset the last few days?”

She blinks, as if startled by my question. “I’m not upset.”

“Don’t lie to me, my pet.” Releasing her hand, I gently grasp her chin and look into her shadowed eyes. “Do you think I don’t know you by now? I can see that you’ve been different since Tajikistan, and I want to understand why.”

“Julian…” Her voice holds a pleading note. “Please, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Why not? Do you think I don’t get it? Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to kill for the first time and live with the knowledge that you took a human life?” I pause, watching for a reaction. When I see none, I continue, “We both know that Majid deserved it, but it’s normal to feel like shit afterwards. You need to talk about it, so you can begin to come to terms with everything that happened—”

“No, Julian,” she interrupts, the careful blankness of her gaze giving way to a sudden flare of anger. “You don’t get it. I know Majid deserved to die, and I’m not sorry that I killed him. I have no doubt that the world is a better place without him.”

“So what is it then?” I’m beginning to suspect where this is heading, but I want to hear her say it.

“I killed him,” she says quietly, looking at me. “I stood next to him, looked him in the eye, and pulled the trigger. I didn’t kill him to protect you, or because I had no other choice. I killed him because I wanted to.” She pauses, then adds, her eyes glittering, “I killed him because I wanted to see him die.”

30

Nora