Deklan

“Seriously, I’m surprised you can even stand, let alone walk straight. I thought by now you’d be curled up in a ball, whimpering in the corner.” He laughs loudly, but I keep my eyes on my feet. “Aw, come on, Dek! Just having a little fun.”

“You wanted me to check on the details of that shipment,” Deklan says, his voice monotone.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sean says quickly. “Everyone’s in the office.”

We follow Sean through the halls to a closed door. When he opens it, I see his sister Teagan and another young man I don’t recognize.

“Hey, Dek!” the young man says.

“Brian, how are ya?” Deklan reaches out and shakes the young man’s hand.

“Better,” he says. “Sorry I couldn’t make the festivities. Is this O’Conner’s girl?”

“Kera”—Deklan tilts his head in my direction—“this is Brian.”

“Good to meet you,” I say quietly.

“You, too.” Brian says as we shake hands briefly. “I would have been at the wedding, but I had a little…mishap.”

He motions to the floor, and I notice the odd way he’s standing and the crutch leaning up against the chair behind him.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Someone needs to do a better job of covering his tracks so he doesn’t get followed,” Sean says. “Next time, instead of a hairline fracture, Dek here can introduce him to Melissa, the Angel of Death.”

Sean laughs, Brian looks nervous, and Deklan stands motionless and unreadable.

“Melissa?” I ask quietly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Deklan says. “Teagan, what do you have?”

Teagan spins the desk chair around to face the group and gestures toward the screen of the laptop.

“Morons,” she says. “That’s what I have.”

“Something wrong with the pickup point?” Deklan takes a step toward Teagan, and I stay close behind him as I keep Sean in my peripheral vision.

“If you can figure out what it is from this message, be my guest.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Well, for starters, they think the wingdings font is the same as encryption,” Teagan says with a huff. “Seriously, these people are idiots.”

“So, what’s in the email?” Deklan asks.

“I have no idea.” Teagan turns the laptop to face everyone, and I lean around Deklan just enough to see a bit of the screen. “I don’t want to just throw it into an online translator. That shit can be tracked.”

“Is that Spanish or something?” Brian asks as he peers at the screen. “Don’t these fuckers know we’re in America?”

“They aren’t in America,” Teagan says, “and this isn’t Spanish.”

“It’s Portuguese,” I say.

Deklan snaps his head in my direction and narrows his eyes. I look back to the floor and position myself behind him again.

“We can wait for Jesus,” Brian says.

“He’s not coming.” Deklan’s voice is sharp and his words are clipped.