Page 37

Delamar gestured a set of Elliott’s notes closer toward himself, then enhanced them so the words were magnified and filling half the room.

A sour scowl crossed his features like he’d just unexpectedly bitten into something gone rancid.

“You know, you have the shittiest handwriting I’ve ever seen.

” Elliott scowled back, but Delamar continued on, regardless.

“They invented typing for assholes like you. Come here.”

He hesitated.

“I’m seriously not going to fucking bite you. Or shoot.”

Elliott reluctantly sank down into the chair nearest Delamar. He folded his arms tightly across his chest, as though trying to keep his wildly racing heart trapped inside.

“This,” Delamar said, circling an entire paragraph. “What the actual fuck does any of this say?”

Elliott huffed out a sigh. It was obvious what it said, if anyone knew how to read. Niko never seemed to have a problem with it. “It’s details of Iincha’cul’s schedule. He goes to visit his second family, every Monday. He never skips it.”

“Why even write any of this down? You were aiming to take them all out at big events, right?”

“It’s good to have a backup plan. And I knew they’d eventually get smart about it.”

“Yeah? Like Seiiren and Alexopoulos.”

“Precisely, yes.”

He wondered if Delamar knew that Giannis Alexopoulos had been intentionally left by Niko to die, rather than Elliott’s own doing. And even before they’d technically partnered up. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he stayed silent.

“You know,” Delamar began. He leaned back in his chair, swiveling it back and forth in the same obnoxious way he had on Niko’s ship.

His eyes met Elliott’s own, and for a moment, both men stared at each other, gazes locked intensely.

Elliott felt a chill creep up his spine, the hair on his arms rising. “You’re right.”

He nearly choked. “What?”

Elliott hadn’t expected that.

“Yeah, you heard me. Every one of these fucks? They have what’s coming to them, and have for a long time.”

Elliott said nothing.

“I just think you went about it in the worst way possible,” Delamar continued. “You went and made enemies of everyone.”

“Niko said you’d had a similar situation, once.”

“Yeah. But we were smart about it.”

Frustration crested in Elliott, his mind swimming to keep up as he fought back an awkward, ill-timed yawn. “I wanted everyone to know. To see. I wanted to—”

“Send a message. Yeah, I know.” They stared at each other. “But to who? Not the countless people who were witness to the violence and had no idea why it was happening. Honeybliss would still have figured it out if their numbers started thinning.”

“I wanted—” Elliott started. “I wanted to show the ones who could get away with these things—who have always been untouchable—that they’re actually small.

So small that they’re nothing. Their fame is their shield and their power.

So, I’m taking them down in their own public, adoring eye.

Right where they feel safest. I want them to know, this time, that there’s no way out of it.

Not even for them. That, just like all the people they’ve killed, they can die too.

I want them to feel despair. To feel it. ”

“Like they made you feel,” Delamar said.

Elliott looked away. “Like they made Cleo feel.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and full of ghosts. Shared research looked back upon them from every angle in hologram blue. Something in Elliott had cracked a little. He was letting his guard down.

Probably, he was just slipping up from exhaustion.

He leaned back in his chair, blinking against the bleary text.

Staring endlessly at the glow of holographic data had made the perpetual tension headache he’d been nursing since their broadcast worsen.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying in vain to work out some of the pressure.

When he looked back at the text, it was in a blur.

Too many countless hours staring through a rifle scope, staring at hologram text.

Squinting at the fine details of blueprints.

If he survived this whole ordeal somehow, he would probably need glasses. Did Lady Death peddle in those, too?

Delamar was watching him. He always was. He opened his mouth to speak. Here it comes. “You look like shit. Not used to pulling all-nighters, huh?”

I’m fine was on Elliott’s tongue, vying to get out. He clamped down on it and swallowed. It was no use denying it. Station Twelve’s lead investigator clearly saw the clues of fatigue and struggle written all over him.

“No, I am,” he admitted. “But I didn’t sleep much the night before, either.” Nor the one before that.

“Coffee?”

“I—” Elliott glanced around. “I don’t have—”

Delamar raised his eyebrows. “I mean, do you want to go get some? From the cafeteria? You do have coffee there, right?”

“Oh.” Elliott felt himself flushing with embarrassment at being so daft. Don’t show him how much you’re lagging. You need to keep a clear head.

Caffeine would help that.

“Yes. Sure.”

It felt good to move around, to stretch his muscles.

Once they were back in the kitchen, with a packet of instant coffee warmed for both of them, Elliott took a long drink of the rich liquid.

It was bitter and bright on his tongue. He hoped it worked quickly.

He gazed out the narrow serving window, into the empty cafeteria beyond, some part of him hoping to see Niko there.

Beside him, Delamar sipped from his own cup, leaning back languorously against the counter. He seemed to be hesitating, working out something he wanted to say.

“Just say it,” Elliott said.

“Hey, look. I’m sorry I shot you. That was pretty fucked up.”

“It was a tense situation. You were just trying to protect your brother. I understand.”

“Still. Doesn’t make it better.”

“It makes it understandable.”

“Eh,” Delamar grunted.

“I never wanted your family to be caught up in this and hurt, either. Or Niko.” After a moment, Elliott added, “I’m so sorry.”

“So, do you actually give a shit about him?”

“Would you even believe me if I said I did?”

“I’m listening.” Delamar looked over at him.

Elliott hesitated. He could barely think straight, his thoughts a tangled mess of ephemeral, illogical fragments that led to nowhere, then looped back around again.

He was long past needing sleep. Wherever this conversation was heading, he knew he should be having it with a clear head.

But instead, he found himself speaking. “He— Niko means more to me than anything.”

“Yeah?” Delamar probed. “Even more than this whole murder spree mission of yours? More than your revenge? Your message?”

“You think I’m just using him.”

“Yeah. Maybe I do,” Delamar said. “Can you blame me?”

“No. But you’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“I—I told Niko to recuse himself from hunting me, and to go live his life. I told him he was only going to get himself hurt if he kept it up, kept insisting on trying to help me get the word out about Honeybliss.”

“Yeah, that’s Niko. He doesn’t listen,” Delamar said, blunt and certain. He gave a loud yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth as he did. Then he eyed Elliott up and down. “So, you care about him. A lot. Would you call it love?”

His heart jolted in his chest as he realized what he was admitting to this dangerous stranger. This was something deeply private. Elliott’s tone quickly pivoted to something cold, closed off. “What does that matter?”

“So, you don’t, then?” Delamar pressed.

“I didn’t say that, either.” Elliott was bristling now.

“You don’t always have to say something to get the idea across.”

“I just don’t know why it matters. In fact, I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.” Finally, he scolded himself. Some sense.

Delamar spread out his hands, coffee cup still clutched in his right. “We’re just talking.”

“You’re interrogating me,” Elliott said flatly.

“You still think I’m a Galapol plant?”

Elliott said nothing, so Delamar continued.

“Look. I know why you’re doing all this.

You made that pretty clear, already. I just want to know where my brother stands in any of it.

” Elliott’s gaze flicked up, meeting the other man in the eyes that were so uncannily familiar, yet those of a stranger.

“Are you using him to keep yourself alive through this?”

Elliott ground his jaw, a pang of white-hot anger lancing through him. It was hard to think straight, hard to keep himself in check. The insinuation that he was merely using Niko, like a tool, insulted him. It was egregious.

And yet. He couldn’t help but see where Delamar was coming from. He probably would have had the same concern about Niko, were the situation flipped.

As the two of them searched each other’s gazes, Elliott found no maliciousness there. He found only, instead, concern.

This was a man genuinely worried for his brother.

If Delamar had wanted to send Galapol after them, he’d be pointlessly wasting his time for not having done it by now.

This wasn’t a trap. This, Elliott was almost loath to admit, wasn’t a ploy to take them down.

He relented, letting out his anger with a long, slow breath, some of the tension slipping out of his shoulders. “Why are you here?” he asked instead, ignoring Delamar’s own question.

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“You want to survive. Of course. But there were other locat—”

“I wanted to see Niko. I wanted to make sure he was alright.”

And not being used by you. The unspoken words hung in the air between them. Elliott raised his mug to his lips, drinking away a few precious seconds to gather his crawling thoughts. The coffee had begun to cool, the liquid tepid and coating his tongue now.

“And he told me you could help me find our dad,” Delamar said.

Elliott paused.

“Look. You were the biggest pain my ass has ever had to suffer,” the other man continued. “For months. ”

“You weren’t my favorite either,” Elliott muttered. “Anyone from Galapol.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can imagine. But we’re both here now, and everything’s fucked. And we both have a chance to try and make it right. So… Maybe we should try to start over, yeah? And make it right.”

Elliott hesitated. “I just have one question.”

“What’s that?”

“Why didn’t they take you, too?”

All expression dropped from Delamar’s face, replaced with something heavy and haunted now.

It was a raw moment of honesty. “I’ve been wondering that since it happened.

It seems too convenient, right? I thought that too.

Is this planned somehow? Was it intentional?

Or did they really just fuck up that badly?

It was just a day. A normal day. I went out to get some fried chicken for us for lunch.

When I came back, he was just…” Delamar waved his hand, his next words coming louder, sharper, a stiletto stabbing into the silence around them. “Fucking gone.

“And then there was that note. And the back door was smashed open. Glass everywhere.” His gaze turned out into the empty cafeteria.

“The fucking TV was still playing. It was a car commercial. I remember it. The stupid one with the… with the— The fucking jingle about ‘journey over destination’ that they play all the time. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do.

The world was falling apart and that fucking jingle was playing—”

“It’s…” Elliott began. “...Alright.”

Delamar looked at him, eyes laden with guilt. If he were an actor, his skills far surpassed even the best movie stars Cleo had once adored.

Elliott knew guilt. He’d made a home in its pain. He hadn’t been able to save Cleo from everything that had happened.

This was real.

“They were supposed to be watching him.” This time, Delamar’s voice came smaller, quieter. They both remained silent for a moment, likely sharing the same unspoken thought: Galapol had never been something to put their trust in.

“It’s alright,” Elliott said again softly, knowing it was anything but alright and that his words would never reach the core of that guilt.

“I don’t know why they picked right then.

I think about it all the fucking time. I can’t sleep because I think about it.

I wish they’d just taken me, and left him the fuck alone.

He’s never hurt anyone. He’s never done anything.

I—” Delamar paused, running a hand over his face.

For the first time that night, he’d begun to look fatigued, worn down to the bone.

“Fuck. I—I hadn’t really been good to him, you know?

I sort of stayed away for a few years and let Niko deal with all the bullshit, instead of manning up. And now he’s... He’s gone. He’s gone.”

“I’ll get your father back,” Elliott said.

“And your friend. Loolae. I won’t let…” What happened to Cleo happen to them.

“Anything happen. We’ll find them before that.

” He swallowed, finally forcing more of the long-held tension out of his body, and set his empty mug down on the counter.

“I have plenty of reasons not to trust you, if we’re being honest. And I know that you don’t trust me, either.

But even if you can’t trust me , please at least trust that I would never do anything to intentionally harm your brother.

” He battled with one last resilient splinter of hesitation, before finally offering his hand out to Delamar. “I’m willing to start over.”

For Niko.

Delamar chewed his lip, before grasping Elliott’s hand in his own and giving it a firm, brief shake. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I’m ready to get back to work now,” Elliott said, “if you are.”