"Ivy kissed me at the gala, and then I collapsed," I answer coldly.
He nods, folding his hands across his lap as he considers where to begin. "You were very lucky Dr. Rosseau was in attendance that evening. He heard the commotion when the paramedics were wheeling you away, and he rode to the hospital with you. When he'd heard what happened, he began decontamination right away. They stripped you down, and he cleaned your skin, examining the traces of lipstick. He said it was oily, which, amongst your other symptoms, indicated something quite unexpected."
"What was it?" I ask.
"A chemical nerve agent that has been used in several high-profile assassinations."
"A nerve agent?" I ask incredulously.
It doesn't sound right. How could Ivy possibly get her hands on a nerve agent?
"It's been banned in the US for decades, and by all accounts, the military stockpile destroyed. But like most things, it can be purchased on the black market. It's capable of being delivered as a gas or, in your case, dermally. An innocent touch can be deadly to the recipient since it is rarely tested for unless it is suspected. Fortunately, Dr. Rosseau followed his instincts within moments of your arrival at the hospital, by which time you had already been resuscitated twice. He gave you an atropine injection and an anticonvulsant, and they were able to get your breathing regulated."
Judge's voice becomes uncharacteristically quiet as he dips his head. "You barely scraped through this time, Santiago. If it wasn't for his immediate presence, I have no doubt we'd be planning your funeral. In fact, I was quite certain of it."
His words sink over me like a lead weight. I hung on by the skin of my teeth, narrowly avoiding death for a second time, and I can't help but question why. Why am I still here, trapped in this patchwork frame of flesh and bone and darkness? Because right now, considering the truth I will be forced to endure when I leave, I believe death might be a vacation from this reality.
For a few minutes, neither of us says another word. He allows me to digest the information quietly, processing my questions before I can give voice to them.
"You haven't found an antidote that Ivy may have taken?"
"No." He shakes his head. "She would have had to inject it, likely more than one dose. But there has been no indication where she might have disposed of it. By the time I had her secured at my house, most of her lipstick had been wiped away, which could be intentionally done if she was trying to decontaminate."
"And she has shown no signs of illness since then?"
"No."
I can tell by his tone that he is questioning her guilt, but I cannot. "Then someone helped her dispose of it. Someone helped her access the tools she required."
"It would be the only logical explanation if it is her."
"I need to find out where she has been and who she has had contact with."
"We are already looking into it," he assures me.
"Regardless, I would still like to speak with The Tribunal. And Mercedes."
Judge shifts uncomfortably at the mention of my sister's name, prickling my awareness. "What?"
"Nothing." He scratches over the stubble on his face. "She's at my house. Safe and secure. And pissed as hell that I haven't allowed her to visit."
"You can inform her you were just doing as I instructed," I tell him. "Or I will tell her myself."
"She's been struggling, Santiago," he says carefully. "I know she looks tough, but this week, I saw her crumble. She thought she was going to lose you, and it terrified her."
I draw in a sharp breath and close my eyes. He is right about Mercedes. As tough as she likes to pretend she is, she has made no secret of her terror that she might someday lose me too. Since our parents are both gone, I am the only family she has left. And I have been so focused on Ivy as of late that I have not taken the time to ensure that my sister was okay herself. Sometimes, it is easy to forget with her since she seems so capable. But inside, she is still a scared, broken girl who has been deeply traumatized by the loss of our family.
"I will see to her," I reply gruffly. "Thank you for taking care of her in my absence."
His dark and unwavering gaze meets mine. "I will always take care of her. Never doubt that."
7
Santiago
"Santi." My sister’s eyes fill with tears the moment she enters the room, and there is little time to brace myself before I am enveloped in her arms.
She squeezes the life out of me, and I return her hug awkwardly, uncomfortable with the display of emotion. I am not a man who expresses his feelings well, but my sister is the only reason I understand I am capable of that emotion they call love. For her, I would kill without a second thought. I protect her at all costs, and I would rain down hellfire on anyone who ever dared to hurt her. That is the only explanation of love that makes sense to me.