Page 92 of The Light Within

“There was someone else on the balcony,” Julien said. “A third man. I think he saw everything.”

Julien untangled himself from Cinn’s embrace, because as much as he needed it, he couldn’t accept the comfort right now. There were dead bodies to be dealt with and such.

He slipped onto the balcony, looking down into the dark abyss of a side alley. There was no ladder left behind, no rope—only a maze of shadows and the faint echo of distant city sounds. The only sign of life was a stray cat slinking between trash cans, its eyes reflecting the meagre light.

What was their assailants’ plan, exactly?

Julien sighed, then went to check over the bodies again. His fingers shook, and acid roiled in his gut, but he forced himself to inspect the bodies of the men he’d murdered. He found no ID cards or any identifying objects on the two men.

Two men, well built, late thirties.

Two men with families they’d never come home to.

They were going to hurt him. And if you had the choice, you’d let it happen all over again.It was the truth. Julien felt it to his core.

But that didn’t change the fact that he had blood on his hands.

Again.

His heart sped, racing as though trying to outrun the guilt and the horror of it all.

Julien was spiralling.

He needed help, quickly.

“I’m ringing Darcy,” Julien said.

If only she was down the corridor, in another room. The simple act of her being there would have calmed him. Between the pair of them, theywould have had it all sorted out in no time. They’d probably still make the hotel breakfast.

Cinn snorted. “Darcy? What’s Darcy going to do?”

“Tell us how to get blood out of the rug, curtains, and furniture for one.”

Julien picked up the phone, input the international code, then dialled the number for her cottage, long since committed to memory.

Darcy answered on the third ring. Julien opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue.

Nothing came out.

“Hello?” Darcy repeated. She sounded far away. So far away.

Cinn gave hima what are you doinglook.

Again, Julien tried to talk, but produced no sound, his eyes glued to the two bodies, their blood pooling on the floor.

What have you done?was what Béatrice never explicitly said, back in the ruined church, when she’d dragged herself on an injured leg towards him and their dead mother. But Julien said it enough times for the both of them. That day, and almost every day that followed.

The phone was snatched out of his fingers. Cinn pressed it to his ear. “Darce? There’s been a bit of a… situation…”

Julien wandered away from him, to sit by the window, staring out at the dark sky that would soon break into dawn.

Their reservation ended today. They had a mere handful of hours to clean up.

Julien didn’t hear Cinn end the call, only felt the press of his hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to the hotel’s kitchen. I’ll be right back. Will you be okay?”

Cinn must have decided Julien’s silence was a good enough response, because the door to their suite opened and closed behind him.

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