“We’ll think of another plan. We’ll find another way to prevent INHUP from making your information public.”

There were other INHUP agents Nita could contact, but unlike Kovit’s sister, they wouldn’t have altruistic motives for helping him. No, for them she’d need proper leverage.

Her mind began spinning plots, a spider in her web of lies and blackmail, trying to figure out a route that would tangle up INHUP and protect Kovit from harm. There were options—especially if she tied it into her plans for Fabricio. But they would be difficult. The timeline would be tight.

Even if Kovit had agreed to meet his sister, they probably would have needed to make backup plans like this anyway. Just in case.

Kovit rose, pulling away from her. He took a few steps back toward Fabricio’s room, toward comfort and pain, familiarity and control. He stopped in the doorway and closed his eyes, leaning his head on the frame.

“I’m being really stupid, aren’t I?” he asked.

Nita tilted her head. “No.”

“She could save me. She could go in and delete everything.”

“Maybe.” Nita shrugged. “Or maybe she’d turn us both in. There’s no way to know.”

He turned to face her, and then pressed his back against the wall. He looked down at his hands. “Do you know what Songkran is?”

Nita shook her head.

“It’s Thai new year. It’s in April.” A smile flickered across his face. “We used to have big water fights as kids during Songkran. It was a thing. One year, Patchaya—my sister—and I got water guns from our parents. Mine was neon green and white, and hers was baby blue.” He laughed softly. “I can’t believe I still remember what color they were. Of all the random details. I must have been . . . eight? Which means Pat was thirteen.

“We filled our water guns with water and din sor pong—a white powder.” His eyes were sly. “We used to try and find businessmen, really put-together-looking people, and get them absolutely soaked until they looked like ghosts. When we had the water guns, we were practically unstoppable.”

His gaze was far away. “I remember, it was near the end of the day. We were tired and heading home. Our plastic guns were empty, and we were as covered in water and white powder as our victims. We were walking along the river, and I felt it. Some man had fallen down a stairwell in the building next to us, and the pain . . . I still remember it. His, ah, scrotum, caught on a nail as he was going down and got . . . stretched. He’d cracked something in his spine, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, but he could feel everything.” Kovit shivered softly at the memory. “The pain was exquisite.”