Page 67 of Serpent King's Revenge

The phone felt like a brick in my hand, heavy with all the things left unsaid. I couldn’t even look at the screen–unanswered calls, unread text messages. I knew I'd have to face the music eventually, explain why his daughter, trained by him to uphold the law, had seemingly turned her back on it. But not now, not while the night was still raw with recent events and my nerves were stripped bare.

"Be careful, Sprout," I could almost hear him say, the same protective phrase he'd utter every time I stepped out of our home. It was meant to comfort me, but in this moment, it only emphasized the peril I was in—a danger he was blissfully unaware of, a situation he couldn't assist with.

My fingers waltzed over the keypad, pausing momentarily before dialing his number.

"Abby, what's happening? Are you alright?" The voice on the other end wasn't the gentle tone of my father; it bore the grit and fatigue of an officer who had spent too many nights submerged in the muck of criminality.

"Dad," I responded, surprised at how stable my voice sounded, "I'm okay."

“Good,” he said. “Now tell me, what the hell is going on?”

"Nothing I can't handle," I lied through my teeth, because the truth felt like a tangled mess I couldn't afford to unravel over an insecure line. My words were swift, clipped with the precision of someone who'd been trained to report just the facts. But beneath that veneer of control, a shiver of fear danced down my spine.

"Abby," he said, "you don't sound okay."

I pressed the phone tighter against my ear, as if by doing so I could bridge the physical distance and draw strength from his presence. "It's been a long night," I admitted, allowing him a glimpse of my vulnerability. "But I'm safe, Dad. That's what matters."

"Safe doesn't have much currency when you're in the company of snakes," he retorted. “You’re with them, aren’t you?”

With them? I suppressed the urge to let out a manic laugh. I wasn’t just with them; I was one of them. "Just… trust me, okay? I know what I'm doing."

There was a pause, heavy and burdened with the things left unsaid between us. I could picture him there, the furrow of his brow deepening with worry. He had taught me everything I knew, yet here I was, keeping secrets and walking a path he couldn't follow.

"Alright, honey," he finally said, his voice strained but laced with an undercurrent of faith. "I trust you."

"Thank you," I whispered, feeling the weight of his trust anchoring me amidst the storm of my own doubts.

“But now that you’re on the phone, I have questions, and I need you to answer them.”

Great.

"Abigail Harper, what in God's name were you thinking?" His tone was like a slap across the face, every word laced with a cocktail of anger and worry. "An agent is injured because of this stunt. I taught you better than this."

I pressed the phone harder to my ear, as if that could somehow lessen the distance between us or the sting of his words. “Hayes is alive? And she was found?”

“Yes, she’s alive,” he replied. “Did you think…wait, you knew she was hurt?”

“I knew,” I said, feeling a little bit of tension ease from my shoulders at the fact that he didn’t know I was the one who shot her. That meant I was off the hook for now–and that she was out of the picture, at least at present. “I’m glad she’s alive. Will she be okay?”

“You better hope so,” he replied.

The urge to cry was swelling up inside me, a knot forming in my throat. I hated disappointing him, yet here I was, definitely disappointing him.

"I'm sorry," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. The admission tasted like ash in my mouth. "I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."

"Sorry doesn't patch up a wound, Abby." There was a pause, and I could almost see his hand raking through his hair in frustration. "Where are you now?"

I hesitated, my gaze flicking around. This place was well-hidden–an old shipping warehouse, from the looks of it, under an unused lighthouse. We had to be hours from San Francisco at this point. "I can't tell you that, Dad." My voice was steady now, but it was a facade, brittle and ready to crack.

"Damn it, Abigail!" His disappointment was fierce, intense. I could practically feel it over the phone.. "You're playing with fire. You know that, don't you? You’re betraying the Bureau, you’re in with dangerous people. I don’t know how many times we need to have this conversation. I know that you explained some things when you told me about your current…condition. But you’re doing some dangerous shit, and I’m worried about you. I can’t protect you from all of this."

I swallowed hard, nodding even though he couldn't see me.

"Listen to me, Dad." My voice was firm, even as I paced the narrow garage, phone pressed to my ear. "I didn't betray the Bureau. This isn't about that.”

"Then what is it about?" he shot back, his voice a sharp crack in the stillness of the dawn.

"It's about family," I said, my heart pounding with an urgency that left little room for doubt. "It's always been about family."

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