Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 66

Wang

The plane hums low around us, a steady vibration that keeps me awake even though Dre and Ezra are already passed out two rows back. Dre's head lolls against the window; Ezra has a book open but his eyes are shut.

Zhan's next to me, knees pulled close, staring out the small oval window at nothing but darkness. He hasn't said much since we boarded.

I reach over and lace my fingers with his. He doesn't look at me, but I feel the tension ease out of his hand just a little.

After a long silence, he whispers, "How did you know?"

I blink. "Know what?"

He turns, finally meeting my eyes. His voice is softer now, but heavy. "What your mom said to me. You weren't even there, but when I told you, you just... said you knew. How?"

I study him for a moment. There's fear in his eyes, and something else, something like guilt. He thinks he's keeping secrets from me, when really, he's the one being dragged into mine.

"I grew up with my parents," I say finally, voice low so only he hears. "I know my mom better than anyone. She doesn't forgive, she doesn't bend, and she doesn't waste her time unless it's for power. So when you walked into that café with her, I knew exactly what she'd say before you ever opened your mouth."

Zhan swallows hard. "...She offered me money."

"I know."

"She told me to disappear. To let you go back to your daughter and your wife." His voice cracks on the last word, though he tries to hide it.

I squeeze his hand tighter. "And you didn't take it."

He stares at me like he's waiting for me to doubt him, to pull away.

Instead, I lean in, pressing my forehead against his. "I don't care what she offered. The fact that you're here, sitting on this plane with me, tells me everything I need to know."

His breath hitches, and I can feel the war in his chest, the fight between wanting to believe me and all the shadows he still carries.

"Zhan," I whisper, steady, certain. "I'm not her. And I don't need you to choose between me and freedom. We'll take both."

For a moment, he just stares at me, like he's trying to memorize my face in the dim cabin light. Then he nods, and his fingers curl around mine like he's never letting go.

The plane shudders slightly as it climbs higher, but his voice is steady when he finally says, "Then let's hunt."

The flight is long, and none of us sleep much. By the time the plane touches down, the horizon is bleeding orange and gray. A new city. A new battlefield.

Dre stretches the second we're off the plane. "God, I hate sitting still. Let's find these bastards already."

Ezra rolls his eyes, scanning exits and faces like he's playing a chess game only he can see. Always calculating.

Zhan sticks close to me, his bag slung over one shoulder, his face pale but set. He hasn't let go of the folded sheet once. We both know what's inside, and I can see the weight of it dragging at him.

I already booked a ride. Within ten minutes, a spacey shuttle bus rolls up, big enough for four men and the kind of gear my first plan requires.

No one mentions the list, or the hunt, or my mother. Instead, we chatter about nothing. Laugh about nothing. For a few minutes, we almost sound normal.

"This is beautiful," Dre says, leaning back against the wide seat as the bus glides through narrow streets.

"Wait till you see St. Tropez at night," I tell him.