“Why? Why did you do it?”

“She was unstable and unquantifiable, a danger to everyone in her path.”

The way he talked about her, about everything, as if they were just factors in an equation.

But Serena wasn’t a factor. A problem to be solved.

“She was my sister.”

“She would have killed you.”

“No,” whispered Syd.

“If I hadn’t killed her, the cops would still be under her control. Eli would never have been caught. He’d still be free.”

Sydney shivered, the gun trembling in her grip. “Why did you burn her body?”

“I couldn’t risk you bringing her back.” Victor’s hand drifted up to the gun. He wrapped his fingers loosely around the barrel, not tight enough to stop the action if she pulled the trigger, just enough to keep the weapon steady. “Is this what you want? Killing me won’t bring her back either. Will you feel safer if I’m dead? Think hard, Sydney. We all have to live with our choices.”

Sydney shuddered.

And then she let go of the gun.

Victor caught the weapon before it hit the ground. He ejected the clip, and then knelt so they were eye to eye.

“Look at me,” he said coldly, catching Sydney’s chin in his hand.

“The next time you point a gun at someone, make sure you’re ready to pull the trigger.”

He straightened, set the weapon on a nearby crate, and walked away.

Sydney wrapped her arms around her ribs and sank to her knees on the pavement.

She didn’t know how long she sat there before her phone finally rang. She drew the cell from her pocket with shaking hands and answered.

“Hey, kiddo,” said June, sounding breathless. “Sorry, I was finishing a job. What’s up?”

* * *

TEN minutes later, Sydney was sitting in a diner—the kind that stayed open all night—clutching a cup of black tea.

It had been June’s idea.

The seat across from Syd was empty, but if she kept her eyes on her tea, and her ear to the cell phone, she could imagine the other girl sitting in the booth across from her. The sounds of another diner in another city—the bell of an order ready for pickup, a spoon stirring sugar in a cup—made a soft curtain of noise on the line.

“You said you were working,” said Syd, making small talk. “What do you do?”

A pause on the line. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

“I kill people.”

Sydney swallowed. “Bad people?”

“Sure, most of the time.”

“Do you like your job?”

A soft sound, somewhere between an exhale and a laugh. “What would you think of me if I said yes?”

Syd looked up at the empty booth. “I’d think at least you were being honest.”

“What happened tonight?” asked June. “Talk to me.”

And Sydney did. The words just spilled out. She couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to June, how good it felt, amid so many secrets, to share some truth. She hadn’t felt that ease with someone, not since Serena died. It was like taking a deep breath after being underwater.