A Deal with a Demon

My ribs shrunk, squeezing my lungs. My breathing became shallow—too shallow—providing too little oxygen to spread by my hectically pounding heart. I lowered my gaze and stared at my trembling hands. “Do you seriously expect me to look for evidence against my father?” I asked hoarsely.

“I've never said that.” His tone hardened. “I want the truth.”

Slowly, I met his gaze. “Do you? Because I believe there's only one thesis you are willing to accept.”

A cold smirk appeared. “And you don't? Don't you want to find someone guilty—anyone who isn't your father?”

I ground my teeth, slowly processing what he said, before questioning, “Would you accept that someone other than my father was responsible for planting the bomb in your father's plane?”

He leaned back in his seat. “Depends on the evidence.”

I let out a humorless chuckle. “This will get us nowhere.”

“It will.” He locked his eyes on me. “I know it because you want to know for sure. You need the evidence just as much as I need it.”

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