Page 123 of The Final Cut

“Ah.” Isabel’s voice gentles. “Still clinging to defiance. How tiresome.”

“Is there a point to this call?”

“There is. Do not bother trying to contact Sabine again.”

The room goes utterly still. Deacon’s eyes close, and his chest rises and falls in a breath.

Isabel continues, almost lazily. “Such a clever woman. Such poor balance near old stairs. Accidents are tragic in historic buildings. All that stone.”

Delia makes a choking sound.

I move before I think. My hand closes around hers, hard, the way I would grab someone going under water. Her skin is cold. For one second she grips back with enough force to hurt.

Sabine. I watched her on the video feeds we had.

The woman who opened the door. The woman who got Delia out. The woman who told Deacon not to waste what Delia chose. I barely knew her, and still the room loses oxygen.

Deacon says nothing. That scares me.

Isabel seems to savor it. “You take my things, Deacon, and I take yours.”

Delia’s hand trembles in mine, and something in me goes quiet.

I release my sister carefully and cross the room. Deacon does not stop me when I take the phone from his hand. His eyes open as my fingers close around it. There is grief in them, and rage.

I lift the phone.

“Isabel.”

A pause.

Then, softly, “Reva.”

She says my name like she has the right to taste it in her mouth. I smile, though she cannot see it. Maybe because she cannot see it.

“You keep sending other people to bleed for you,” I say. “You should come next time.”

Delia’s breath catches behind me.

Isabel’s voice turns cold. “Careful, child.”

“Why should I be careful for a woman who puts little girls on their knees?” My voice is soft.

“You know nothing about what it takes to lead.”

“I know enough to recognize a coward with clean hands.”

The silence on the line is the first thing all day that feels like victory.

Small. Temporary. Mine.

“I’m coming for you…nana.”

A choked sound of rage emits from the other end. I end the call.

For a moment, nobody moves.

Then Deacon takes the phone from me and crushes it in his hand, hard enough that the casing cracks. He drops the pieces on the table. Ever does not complain about evidence or tracking or the mess. Shiloh does not make a joke. Delia stares at the broken phone as if it is a door that just closed.