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“You asked for someone to come up?”

I thrust the envelope to the hotel attendant. He was young, his grin fading when he took in my expression. Ali, I think his name was. “Deliverthis to the telegraph office.” I was surprised I could still speak coherently. That wouldn’t do.

“The address?”

“Don’t you know it already?” I asked bitterly. “I’ve sent several of these over the past few days.”

Ali blinked. “I don’t recall the address, sir.”

“The ninth circle of hell, England.”

“Sorry?”

I leaned against the frame and sighed. “It’s in there.”

“Very good, sir. It will be sent first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Brilliant.”

“Would that be all?”

I glanced down at the bottle, and nodded. There were still several inches of the amber liquid. Plenty. Ali scurried down the hall.

“Shokran,” I muttered, and slammed the door. I took a long pull, barely tasting the rich smoke of the liquor.

It was done.

CAPÍTULO TREINTA Y OCHO

I woke up the next morning, furious. My uncle had effectively cut me off, had reduced me to begging. My mother was going to get away with murder, and one day soon, I’d have to face my aunt and explain to her how it was all my fault. I stared at my wan face in the mirror hanging above the basin in the water closet. Mamá’s scarf with its brightly woven flowers seemed to mock me. I had kept it as a reminder for what she had done to me. It was around my neck as a battle flag and I would not take it off until I found her.

I tore my gaze away, anger simmering in my veins, as I slammed the door to the water closet behind me. Without ceremony, I opened my luggage and began throwing everything I had into it. Trust my uncle to book me passage for the first boat leaving Egypt and heading straight to Argentina.

A sudden knock disrupted my furious thoughts.

I crossed the room and opened the door. “It’s you.”

“Well observed.” Whit sagged against the doorframe at the sight of me. Until I saw his face, I hadn’t realized that I was waiting for him. We hadn’t spoken about our time in the cave, and what it meant.

“Can I come in?”

I opened the door wider to let him pass. He brushed past, his familiar scent wrapping around me, but mixed with something else. My nose wrinkled as the smell of whiskey wafted in the air. It clung to him like a second skin.

“You’ve been drinking.”

He let out a bark of laughter. It didn’t sound remotely friendly. “You’re absolutely brilliant this morning, Olivera.”

Disappointment pressed down onto my shoulders. His walls were up, and I didn’t understand why, and my confusion only made my eyes burn. In no world wouldthisWhit call mesweetheart. I averted my gaze, not wanting him to see how his behavior was affecting me. Tension crackled between us.

“Inez,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

I had to force myself to lift my chin. We stared at each other from across the living space, his hands tucked deep into his pockets.

“Why are you standing all the way over there?” I asked.

Whit visibly weighed his response, his attention flickering across my trunk, and asked carefully, “What are you doing?”

I didn’t like the stonelike quality to his face. Closed off and remote. It reminded me of a fortress. The person who had held me in the darkness was long gone. That person who had comforted me, kissed me desperately, saved my life.