I stop and look at her. “Rosa . . .” How do I explain my concerns to a girl who grew up on the estate and who thinks that this kind of life is normal? That my relationship with Julian is romantic? “It’s not that I don’t want a baby. It’s just that Julian’s world—our world—is too fucked up to bring a child into it. How could somebody like Julian make a good father? How could I make a good mother?”

“What do you mean?” Rosa frowns at me. “Why wouldn’t you make a good mother?”

“I’m in love with a crime lord who abducted me, and who kills and tortures people as part of his business,” I say gently. “That hardly qualifies me to be a good parent. A case study for one of Dr. Wessex’s papers, maybe, but not a good parent.”

“Oh, please.” Rosa rolls her eyes. “A lot of men do bad things. You Americans are so sensitive. Señor Esguerra is far from the worst there is, and you shouldn’t blame yourself for caring about him. That doesn’t make you bad in any way.”

“Rosa, it’s not just that.” I hesitate, but then decide to just say it. “When we were in Tajikistan, I killed a man.” I exhale slowly, reliving the dark thrill of pulling the trigger and watching Majid’s brains splatter all over the wall. “I shot him in cold blood.”

“So what?” She hardly blinks. “I’ve killed too.”

I gape at her, stunned into silence, and she explains, “It was when the estate was attacked. I found a gun, hid in the bushes, and shot at the men attacking us. I wounded one and killed another. I later learned that the wounded one died too.”

“But you were only a child.” I can’t get over my shock. “You’re telling me you killed two people when you were what—ten, eleven?”

“Almost eleven,” she says, shrugging. “And yes, I did.”

“But… but you seem so—”

“Normal?” she supplies, looking at me with a strange smile. “Nice? Of course, why wouldn’t I be? I killed to protect those I care about. I killed men who came here to bring us death and destruction. It’s no different from cutting off the head of the snake that wants to bite you. If I hadn’t killed them, more of our people would’ve died. Maybe they would’ve killed my mother, as well as my father and brother.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I could never have imagined that Rosa—cheerful, round-cheeked Rosa—was capable of something like that. I’ve always thought that evil leaves a trace. I see it in Julian, etched so deeply into his soul that it’s a part of him. I see it in myself now, too. But I don’t see it in Rosa. Not at all.

“How do you not let it affect you?” I ask. How do you retain your innocence?

She looks at me, and for the first time, she appears older than her twenty-one years. “You can choose to let the black stuff tarnish you, Nora, or you can brush it off,” she says quietly. “I chose the latter. I killed, but that’s not who I am. I don’t let that act define me. It happened, and it’s done. It’s in the past. I can’t change the past, so I’m not going to dwell on it. And neither should you. Your present, your future—that’s what matters.”