I stilled. In the sky above, stars seemed to blink out of existence.
And Patrick watched me with unstifled torment. “You think I wouldn’t have made that fuckin’ trade myself if we had him?” he asked. “I’d do it a thousand times over, a million times if it could save my father. Your mother.”
I stumbled back.
“You’re two years too late, Nina.” He looked to the sky. “I put a bullet in Domelius Becker the second he stepped foot in the brink, and I’ve regretted it every day since.”
Pieces of Nina’s hair had become unclasped.
She’d forgotten gloves. A scarf. One boot remained untied. Her cheeks mottled in the cold, her knuckles reddened and cracked. She looked exactly as frayed as she sounded, and Patrick inwardly berated himself for not seeing it sooner—her enduring love for her mother, he
