Page 129 of Forbidden Fate

Not my brother spiraling so badly that his old demons dragged him back under.

Staged.

And Cruz was the one who did it.

I look at his hands.

Blood stains his knuckles, his palms, the creases of his fingers. Zabala’s blood. Señora Valentina’s blood. Maybe his own.

And now, in my mind, Eagle’s blood too.

Not literal blood.

Worse.

The invisible kind.

“How?” I finally ask.

“Robin, we need to leave.”

“How?”

He flicks his gaze toward the stairs.

“How did you do it?”

Cruz looks down at my hands on his shirt. “It was simple mathematics,” he says.

He says it so coldly that I almost slap him.

Simple mathematics. As if he’s talking about balancing a checkbook.

“You determined what?” I ask. “How much it would take to kill him?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” His voice hardens, but not with anger. “How much to not kill him. I told you. Vega was very clear about that.”

I kick at the floor. “Congratulations.”

“I mean that.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I determined how much it would take to make it look like what Vega wanted it to look like.”

“A drug overdose.”

“Yes.”

I hold on to his shirt because if I let go, I might fall. “Keep going.”

“I watched him for days,” he says. “Tracked his movements. His routines. He was erratic. Agitated.”

“Where?” I ask.