Chapter Sixteen: Breathe in, Breathe out (Thomas)

                                        

                                              

Today is the day.
I didn't sleep. Not even a little. I just lay there all night with my eyes wide open, my thoughts sprinting in circles—every outcome, every word that could be misheard, every twitch that could blow the whole thing sky-high. I thought about the plane, the car ride, the moment the sirens would start. I thought about October. Her silence. Her eyes. Her disappointment. I thought about how this might be the last thing I ever do with my father—and that, for once, it would actually mean something.
It's done. The groundwork is solid. The lawyer has every document, every thread of evidence. The police chief has the arrest warrants, the surveillance. Everything's in place. Every piece has been laid out like a chessboard before the final blow.
I'm just the bait.
I was pretending to work—staring at spreadsheets I couldn't see—when his voice cut through the room like a scalpel. "Are you done scribbling? Let's go. We've got a plane to catch."
I looked up slowly. He didn't wait. He never does. Just turned on his heel, walking out like he always owned the air between us. A man so smug he couldn't smell the gasoline soaking the floor under his shoes.
"Yes, Father," I muttered, so quietly it felt like praying.
He didn't look back. Just called over his shoulder, "Ride with Laura. She's already waiting in the car." Of course. One last ride with the accessory to my downfall. The ghost of every mistake I made in the shape of a woman who once made me feel  useful. Or flattered. Or something else I now hate myself for needing.
I grunted, jaw tight. Yes, Father.
I stepped outside, and there she was—Laura, lounging against the car like she was posing for a magazine shoot. Hair just right. Designer bag dangling from one wrist. Those sunglasses she wore like armor against reality. She smiled when she saw me. Smug. Like we were co-conspirators, and not moments away from the fallout of a war she didn't know she'd already lost.
"Oh good, you didn't chicken out," she said. "I had a bet going with myself."
I didn't respond. Just opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. My hands were slick with sweat, knuckles white where I gripped my knee. The air felt too thin.
My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket.
 "Ready."
 From the lawyer.
 Then another:
 "Wait for the signal. When we move, we move fast."
 From the police chief.
My heart thudded once, hard enough I thought she might hear it.
She started talking the second we pulled away. "I'm honestly so glad we get this time in Portugal. You and me, relaxed, out of the city. It's going to be great. We both deserve it, don't you think?"
I stared straight ahead, willing my pulse to slow. Say nothing. Breathe. Just a few more minutes. She leaned in slightly. "You're quiet. Is this about your father-in-law yesterday? Honestly, what a drama queen."
I snapped. "Stop."
She blinked. "What?"
"Stop talking about my family. Don't say their names. Don't make jokes. Just—stop."
Her tone shifted. "What's gotten into you?"
I clenched my jaw, forced my voice to stay level. "Nothing."
She gave a short laugh. "Oh god, are you going to be like this the whole trip? Brooding in paradise?"
I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them. One breath. Then another. Almost there.
 "No. I'm just... stressed."