Chapter 10 · The Empty Cradle

Chapter 10: The Empty Cradle

His hand closes around my wrist before I can slam the safe door shut.

"Explain," Luca says. Just that. One word, flat as a blade laid on a table.

The steel door hangs open behind me, and the shelf inside is bare. No case. No reel. No black box with my mother's handwriting taped to the lid. I checked that safe four days ago and it was heavy enough to need both hands. Now it's air.

"Where is it." My voice comes out thin. Not a question. A demand with no teeth left in it.

"Somewhere you don't get to know yet."

My stomach rolls, sudden and ugly, and for one horrible second I think I'm going to throw up on his shoes. I press my knuckles to my mouth and breathe through it. Two missed weeks. I've been counting since the warehouse glass went through the windshield and I haven't told anyone, not even myself, out loud.

"You're pale," Luca says, and it isn't concern, it's an inventory.

"I'm fine."

"You're lying. You've gotten worse at it.