Then she realized: Detroit was only a few hours’ drive from Toronto, wasn’t it?
Something squiggly wriggled in her stomach. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
How are you?
How was Nita? A mess. Her father was dead, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to see her mother, and the video of her was still all over the internet, making her more recognizable to all the wrong people by the minute.
She closed her eyes and remembered that moment on the river, both of them covered in blood, where Kovit had asked her to come with him. But she’d gone to INHUP because she wanted a ticket to North America, she wanted to see her father. She didn’t want the anonymity Kovit did.
And she didn’t want to spend her life pretending the screams of the people he tortured didn’t bother her. Because she was frightened that she wouldn’t need to pretend for long. It was already almost truth.
Even though she’d made the right decision at the time—Kovit didn’t have enough money to fly both of them away and get medical help—a part of her regretted it.
Before she could stop herself, she responded, I’m okay. Flying to Toronto tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see you soon?
She pressed Send and shoved the phone in her pocket before she could regret anything.
She let out a long breath, then felt for the Kleenex-wrapped poison in her pocket.
If her plane was tomorrow morning, she had work to do.
Because she wasn’t leaving INHUP without killing Fabricio.
Four
THE SMALL DINING ROOM had been mostly empty the three days Nita had been in INHUP, despite the fact that there were at least a dozen other refugees here. There were a table and chairs and a small kitchen including a fridge stocked with prepared meals. But tonight was different. Fabricio sat at the table, eating a piece of toast with manjar on it. An empty frozen dinner tray sat beside him.
He looked up when she came in, and his shoulders tensed. “Buenas noches.”
“Buenas.” Nita replied. She should have given him a smile, or asked a pointless question like “did you have a good day?” or “are you enjoying your toast?” but she wasn’t a good actor, and it just seemed like a waste of energy.
He gave her a soft smile. “How did you sleep?”
A short smile did curl her mouth then. Pointless question, check.
“Good, thanks.” Nita walked past him to get a frozen dinner. She unboxed it and shoved it in the microwave.
Nita programmed the timer, and the microwave hummed to life. She watched the food heat. Her father once told her not to stare at the microwave while it heated things, but Nita figured she could just heal her eyes if anything went wrong. Her heart tightened a little at the memory.
“I hear you’re leaving soon.” Fabricio’s voice was soft. “Are you going into the UPP?”
“The what?” Nita turned around to look at him.
His blue-gray eyes were steady. “The Unnatural Protection Program.”
Nita shuddered. “No.”
His eyebrows tugged together. “Why not? They can give you a whole new life.”
“I’m good. I can take care of myself.” And they’d probably disapprove of her penchant for dissecting dead bodies. Nita’s fingers tingled, aching for a scalpel.
“Then why are you here?”
Nita shrugged. “They’re flying me home, aren’t they?”
“I guess.”
The timer dinged, and Nita took her dinner out and put it on the table across from Fabricio. “I’m getting a drink, you want something while I’m up?”
He considered. “Can you grab me an orange juice?”
“Sure.”
Nita retrieved the bottles from the fridge. She took them to the counter and cracked the lids on both of them.
“Where will you go now?” asked Nita, turning to look at Fabricio and hiding her arm from him as it dipped into her pocket for the poison. “Will you join the UPP?”
Fabricio shook his head. “They’re going to get me a new identity, and I’ll just . . . start a new life somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Argentina?”
“No.” Something haunted passed across his features. “Not Argentina.”
Behind Fabricio, the door to the kitchen opened and someone walked in. He turned around to look, and Nita seized her chance, sprinkling the powdered flower into his orange juice, twisting her body to block the security camera’s view.
She stared at the poisoned juice for a moment, watching the small powdered petals float into it and mix with the pulp. The bright orange hid any trace of the pink flowers.
She swallowed, throat dry. Was she really sure she wanted to do this?
Heart slamming in her chest, Nita turned to face him, holding a bottle in each hand. The bottles were slippery in her sweaty palms. How easy it would be to drop one, letting the poison spill out and away across the floor.
Her fingers loosened slightly, and the bottle slid.
Then Fabricio was there, taking it from her before it could fall to the ground. For a moment, their fingers almost touched and Nita could feel the warmth of his body. The life of it.
She thought of how Mirella’s blood had spilled across the docks when she was shot, her pink hair spread around her, mixing with the blood. She thought of her own bloody handprints on the glass of her cage, watching as the same man who shot Mirella ate Nita’s toe.
She wiggled her foot. The toe still felt like it was there sometimes, a phantom feeling. But it was gone forever, just like her trust in Fabricio. Her hesitation was just as phantom as the feeling of the toe—it was a remnant of the girl who saved a boy she didn’t know from monsters, not realizing the boy himself was a monster who’d turn on her at the first opportunity.
She knew what she had to do.
Her jaw tightened, her rage at Fabricio’s betrayal rekindling, and she let him take the bottle.
He took a sip and frowned, licking his lips.
Nita had forgotten it might taste funny. She cleared her throat and tried to distract him. “So why don’t you want to go back to Argentina?”
Fabricio shrugged and looked away. “Just not interested in following the family business.”
Then he took a long, deep drink of his juice.
Nita’s smile widened. Gotcha.
“There’s more to Argentina than just your family business.” Nita smiled, trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible. “As far as I know, they only have an office in Buenos Aires, no? Argentina is more than just one city.”
He took another awkward sip, clearly trying to avoid having to answer. “I just don’t want to go back.”
He continued awkwardly drinking to avoid conversation while Nita ate. His eyes were on something in his memory, far away, as he drank. Whatever it was he was thinking about, it was clearly something he didn’t like.
When she finished her meal, she rose and stretched. “I’m going back to my room now.”
He blinked at her and held his head. The empty bottle slid from his fingers and clattered on the table. “Yeah, I think I will too. I feel tired.”
He rose, slightly wobbly, and accompanied her down the hall. Nita snuck glances at him as they walked. His pupils began to dilate, and his breathing changed rhythm.