Page 76 of Misery
"He requested transfer here. Specifically. Los Coyotes have chapters all over the Southwest—Phoenix, Albuquerque, Houston—but he fought to come to this one. Turned down a promotion to stay in Phoenix to come here as regular muscle."
"When?"
"Eight months ago."
Right around when I started watching Elfe.
When her name first came across my radar as potential collateral in the brewing war. When Runes first mentioned keeping eyes on vulnerable family members.
No. That can't be coincidence. Nothing with Thiago was ever a coincidence.
"I need everything," I tell Vanir. "Where he lives. Where he goes. Who he talks to. Everything."
"Already on it." His fingers never stop moving. Data streams across multiple windows. "But Oskar... if he's who's been killing for Elfe?—"
"He is."
"Then he's playing some kind of game. Los Coyotes don't kill their own for outsiders. That's not how cartels work. Loyalty is everything."
Unless they're not really Los Coyotes.
Unless they're something else wearing gang colors like camouflage.
Like a wolf in wolf's clothing, hiding among the pack.
The chapel door opens.
Emil walks in, coffee in one hand, phone in the other.
He's got that morning look—hair still messed from sleep, wearing yesterday's shirt.
He looks between me and Vanir, reads the tension immediately.
That brother instinct that knows when something's very wrong.
"What's wrong?"
I turn the laptop toward him without speaking.
Watch his face go through the same progression mine did—confusion, recognition, shock, anger. I watch him recognize the ghost.
"That's not possible," he says finally. "Thiago's dead."
"Apparently not."
"But we... Mom said... The news from Mexico..."
"All lies. He's been here for at least the last 8 months. We heard he died years ago, so my thought process is that he worked his way up with Los Coyotes and then came back." I pull up the flower shop footage on my phone, show him. "He's the one killing for Elfe. Leaving her presents."
Emil sets down his coffee carefully. Too carefully. The control of someone trying not to explode. "Why?"
"Don't know yet."
"Bullshit." His voice is sharp. Accusing. "You know. You always knew him better than me. You two were like shadows of each other. So why?"
The truth sits bitter on my tongue because Thiago always copied me.
He always wanted what I had.
