Chapter 7 — The Song in the Smoke

“I don’t remember all of it.”

Vale moved the gun closer to Sebastian.

“Then start with what you do remember.”

Sebastian sat against the wall, his injured arm held close to his body. His other hand pressed against his side.

He was watching me.

Not the keypad.

Not the gun.

Me.

“Olivia,” he said. “You don’t have to—”

Vale struck him across the face with the pistol.

I stepped forward before I could stop myself.

“Don’t touch him again.”

Sebastian’s head rested against the stone. A thin line of blood appeared at his mouth.

Vale looked at me.

“Then stop wasting time.”

I turned back to the desk.

The words on the screen hadn’t changed.

VOICE VERIFICATION REQUIRED.

“What happens if I get it wrong?”

“Try not to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You have your mother’s talent for making simple things difficult.”

Behind him, Marta stood between the two armed men.

Her gaze met mine.

Something in it made me hesitate.

She wasn’t shaking her head anymore.

She looked frightened, but beneath that fear was an urgency I couldn’t understand.

Vale noticed me looking.

“Keep your eyes on the screen.”

I lowered my gaze.

The tune was there.

It had been there all my life, buried beneath the sound of other people telling me what had happened.

My mother had sung it when I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes she hummed it while washing dishes. I used to complain when she stopped before the end.

But the last time she sang it, she had been crying.

I remembered that now.

Not the whole night.

Only her voice trying to remain steady.

I drew a breath.

“Sleep, little star.”

The screen changed.

PHRASE INCOMPLETE.

Vale leaned toward it.

“Continue.”

I closed my eyes.

The chamber smelled of old metal and gunpowder.

For a moment, it became hot plastic.

A seat belt cut into my shoulder.

My mother’s arm reached between the front seats.

She had pushed the brass key into my hand.

Hold on to this.

I opened my eyes.

“You know what happened on the bridge,” I said.

Vale’s expression sharpened.

“Everyone knows what happened.”

“No. Everyone knows there was an accident.”

He glanced at Sebastian.

“Your friend has been talking.”

“My mother was trying to leave.”

“She was trying to take things that didn’t belong to her.”

“Me?”

“The money.”

His answer came too quickly.

I looked at the screen.

“You killed her over money.”

“She made her choice.”

“What choice?”

Vale pressed the barrel against Sebastian’s wounded shoulder.

Sebastian’s breath caught.

I turned back to the microphone.

“Morning always finds us.”

Another line appeared.

PHRASE INCOMPLETE.

I gripped the desk until my fingers hurt.

There were numbers.

Stars.

Something about a river.

As a child, I had pictured little lights floating on water. My mother had let me draw them across the bottom of her shopping lists.

I whispered the next words.

“Count every light from one to nine.”

Vale’s breathing grew louder beside me.

I remembered him in the photograph, his hand on my mother’s shoulder.

Had she known then?

Had she smiled because she was frightened of what would happen if she didn’t?

“Turn where silver rivers wind.”

A low click sounded inside the vault.

Vale straightened.

For several seconds, nothing moved.

Then a mechanism began turning behind the door.

The man guarding Marta shifted his weight. The other approached the vault and caught its handle.

“Open it,” Vale said.

The man pulled.

The door swung outward, slowly at first, then far enough for us to see inside.

There were no stacks of money.

No gold bars.

No walls of numbered boxes.

A desk stood beneath a narrow ceiling light. On it sat an old tape recorder, a folder, and a framed photograph.

My mother and me.

The same picture I carried in my backpack.

I took a step toward it.

Vale caught my arm.

“Stay there.”

He stared into the room.

His face had changed.

“What is this?”

Sebastian lifted his head.

“What were you expecting?”

Vale ignored him and entered.

The man who had opened the door followed.

I could see a camera above the desk, small enough that I might have missed it if Vale hadn’t looked directly at it.

He inspected the folder without opening it.

Then he glanced at the recorder.

“No.”

The word was quiet.

He looked around the vault again, as though the money might be hidden behind the plain walls.

I pulled my arm free.

He let me.

His attention had narrowed to the desk.

Marta moved closer to me. One guard caught her shoulder, but she stopped without resisting.

“Olivia,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Whatever happens next, stay away from the doorway.”

“Why?”

Vale turned.

“What did you say?”

“She asked if I was hurt,” I said.

Marta’s eyes flicked toward mine.

It was the first lie I had told for someone in this house without knowing whether I should.

Vale came out of the vault.

“How did you know where to send him?” I asked.

He frowned.

“Who?”

“Ethan. How did you know he would take your money?”

“People usually do.”

“How did you know he would make me go?”

“I didn’t. Your boyfriend turned out to be less useful than he claimed.”

There it was.

No arrangement of photographs.

No missing email.

His own voice.

“You paid him.”

“Yes.”

“To bring me to you.”

“To retrieve what should have been returned years ago.”

I glanced toward Sebastian.

He had heard it too.

Vale looked back at the open vault.

“Where is it, Romano?”

Sebastian swallowed.

“I don’t have it.”

“Your father used this room.”

“My father used a great many things badly.”

Vale crouched in front of him.

“Don’t mistake my patience for reluctance.”

“I saw what your patience did upstairs.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

The guard beside Marta tightened his grip.

I held my backpack against my chest.

The key remained in its slot.

I could take it out.

I could close the vault.

I didn’t know what either action would do.

Then I saw Marta watching the ceiling above Vale’s head.

A small panel had begun to glow.

She looked at me and pressed her lips together.

I followed her gaze.

A red light blinked above the vault door.

Below it, white letters appeared.

TRANSMISSION ACTIVE.