The rest of the car ride to the airport was tense and silent, and I found myself glancing at Florian. He was back to blank yet again, his eyes solemn and sleepy, his grip on the steering wheel light.
I swallowed hard as I turned away from him towards the scenery in front of me, a sigh escaping my lips.
My father was now dead. We are heading to Macau. I know Florian will not afford my mother and brother the same grace he afforded my father, of not being the one to kill him with his own hands.
I sighed again, just as we reached the airport. Florian grabbed his phone and made a call, and the sound of the ringing reverberated through the silent car.
"We are here," he said simply. He parked the car and got out, and I turned to open the door when he came around to me, his eyes thin.
He ope
