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I cannot believe Eva did not find Mas. Maybe she really does want to play fair, with everything except my heart.

I have considered the alternatives to killing her, and I mean all of them.

I have considered that we could be together. Team up against the people trying to take us down. But even if I want to, even if I can get over all my fucked-up modes of thinking, I will never know if she truly wants me. I will never know what she is thinking. I have been wrong about her all this time, from the beginning.

She could slit my throat on our honeymoon. Relationships are hard enough without having to worry about whether your partner is trying to kill you.

The truth is, I cannot imagine a world where I am not a killer. No one retires from this job. You end up in jail or in a body bag.

I do not know all the details of who I work for, but I know there is a reason I have never been caught, and it is not just that I am fast and clean. Nobody is that good all the time. These people have power. These people own me and a hell of a lot of other people.

I cannot imagine they would let me go. I cannot imagine they would let her go.

The world is too small for us to ever live in it.

I have no choice. She has no choice.

I walk to Les Puces. I know she will be there. It is like we had this meeting arranged from the very beginning. I just went too soon, and now I am late.

The market creeps up on me with the darkness of nightfall. The street vendors have left. The market stalls are shut, locked and lightless.

The whole city echoes with regret.

I wind through the wreckage.

I know exactly where to find her. The cage is pulled down when I arrive, so I can see her in pieces: one eye, dark hair, white sneaker.

This is it.

The less I think about it, the better. I need to block everything out. Think only of these three things:

Her heart.

Her breath.

Her arteries.