Page 55 of The Art of Dying

“I’ll have someone call with confirmation of their safety within forty-eight hours. You have my word.”

“But will youwarnthem?”

“What evidence do you have, Naomi?”

“The letter in my hand! How else would I know where they are?”

He was quiet for several seconds. Too many. “I’ll make the call. But it’s not sufficient to abort mission.”

“That’s all I ask. Thank you.”

“I want that letter in my hand at first light.”

“Consider it done, sir.”

Naomi clicked the button, threw her phone, and grabbed the roots of her hair.

“You did good,” I said, feeling tears burn my eyes.

Naomi let her hands fall to her thighs. “Sudan of all fucking places. They’re sitting ducks out there, probably with no QRC.” She looked at Caroline to explain. “Quick Reaction Team… back up if shit hits the fan.”

Caroline nodded. “Okay… well… what can we do?”

Naomi stared off, far beyond the four walls of my bedroom. “I don’t know. But I’m going to think of something.” She looked at me, her features severe. “I’m going to find Mason.”

“This is my fault. Just tell me what you need from me to help,” I said.

“Me, too,” Caroline said.

Naomi and I both shot her a confused look.

Caroline shrugged the shoulder Emily wasn’t sleeping on. “What? I’m sure there’s something I can do to help.”

The wheels in Naomi’s head began to spin. “Let’s just pray they all come home. Because if they don’t, no one will win.”

I walked over to Caroline, reaching for my daughter. “Let me put her to bed. Your arms have to be dead.”

Caroline handed her over, and after kissing her soft, cherubic cheek, I walked Emily down the hall to her room and put her down. I checked on Dylan and then began my walk back to where Naomi and Caroline stood in the bedroom, but I stopped at the sound of a faint knock on the door.

I rushed over, my mind jumping to impossible conclusions, like whoever was on the other side of the door was someone with news. But when the door swung open, my blood went cold. It was Mason—or a version of him. His neck was thicker, he had more muscle, and more tattoos that crept up to the base of his neck and peeked out between the two undone buttons of his white oxford shirt. His hair was slick, his face clean shaven, he was tan and wearing a suit. It was Mason, but it was almost like he’d stepped onto my porch from a parallel universe, someone who’d lived a very different life from the man I knew.

“Mason?” It was all I could manage.

He chuckled at my surprise, looking down and then back up, locking eyes with me and flashing the only thing still familiar about him—his charming, once-irresistible smile.

“I apologize for showing up unannounced. But I have to say, it’s good to hear you say my name again. It’s been too long.”

I was unable to speak. So many words needed to be said, yet nothing came out. But—again, unlike the man I knew—he patiently waited.

I opened my mouth. Still, nothing came.

Moments later, a barrel of the Ruger nine-millimeter I’d seen many times next to me at the gun range appeared, pressing against Mason’s temple.

Despite the surprise and imminent danger, he was unfazed. He simply held up his hands half-heartedly. “You don’t want to do that, Naomi.”

She pressed the barrel of her gun harder against his skin, forcing him to tilt his head away from her.

“Oh… I promise you, I do,” she said, out of sight. Only the hand holding her firearm, her wrist, and part of her forearm were visible.

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