The safehouse in Malta smelled like salt and antiseptic. Jeff’s wound had reopened during extraction, staining the bandages a dark, ugly red. He lay on the narrow bed, jaw clenched against the pain as I pressed fresh gauze to his side."Stop fussing," he muttered, but his hand found mine, fingers threading through my bloodstained ones."You idiot," I whispered. "You should have stayed in Tunis."His thumb brushed my knuckles. "And miss all the fun?"I didn’t laugh. Couldn’t. Not when the drive in my pocket felt like a live grenade. Not when every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father’s skull shatter.Jeff’s grip tightened. "Demi."I shook my head, focusing on rewrapping his bandages. If I spoke now, I’d shatter.He didn’t let me pull away. With a pained grunt, he sat up, ignoring my protest, and cupped my face. His palm was warm, rough with calluses."Look at me."I did.His blue eyes were steady, the way they always were in the middle of a storm. "We’ll burn it all down. Every last
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