Page 37 of The Shape of my Scar
Thane’s gaze snapped to its owner.
A woman stood just behind the child—wavy blonde hair tucked beneath a frayed scarf, blue eyes too large in her thin face. She wore a faded cardigan, well-worn shoes, and a hollow expression carved deep into her features.
Trish approached, all smooth confidence. She crouched beside the girl and ruffled her hair like they were old friends. “This is Gillie,” she said softly. “Hiya, love. How are you doing, sweetheart?”
Gillie didn’t answer, just stared at the ragdoll’s feet.
Thane gritted his teeth, struggling not to react as Trish kept talking to the child like they were old friends. He was vaguely aware of her telling Gillie about her adoptive parents coming to pick her up. Sick crawled up his gut as he struggled not to give the game away; instead, his eyes drifted back to the blonde woman. Something about her tugged at him. A memory, half-formed. A shape in the fog.
Trish glanced back and said, “And this is Theodora. She takes care of the children.”
Theodora.
The name clanged in his head like a distant bell.
The woman looked up then, right at him. And for just a second, something seemed to flicker behind her eyes.
Chapter 18
The car ride was silent.
Lirian didn’t say a word when Thane climbed in. He could see something had happened. It was in the hands held in tight fists, the lines of strain around Thane’s mouth and eyes. He just handed over a bottle of water and tapped the edge of his comms unit. Bugs these days were smaller than fingernails. As usual, they didn’t talk, not until they were back at the flat. Thane noticed the way Lirian kept glancing over, like he wanted to say something.
The neighbourhood had been chosen carefully. Cracked pavements, rusted gates, bins overturned in alleys that smelled of piss and oil. But it served its purpose, hiding the predators in plain sight. They parked two blocks over and walked the rest of the way to the crumbling eighteenth-century workhouse turned apartment building. They took the stairs two at a time to the third floor.
Before they entered, Lirian stopped him with a hand on his arm. This had become a routine. He crouched down, scanned Thane’s boots, belt, and collar. Then he plucked out two devices—one no bigger than a flake of pepper from Thane’s shoe tread, another clipped to the inside of his belt buckle.
Thane hadn’t even noticed them.
Lips tight, Lirian disposed of both quickly. Another routine sweep. Another day done.
Inside, the apartment smelled of sweat, old takeout, and the metallic tang of blood. Zel was sprawled on the couch, one arm draped behind his head, half-watching the flickering TV with hooded eyes. Maro was shirtless, drenched in sweat, pacing like a caged lion between push-ups and pull-ups on the bar bolted to the ceiling beam.
Thane didn’t say a word.
He walked straight past the others, knuckles clenched so tight his nails carved crescents into his palms. Then,crack, his fist slammed into the plaster wall. The drywall gave with athud, flakes drifting to the scuffed laminate floor.
Zel raised a brow and muttered, “There goes our security deposit.”
Thane didn’t respond. He stood there, hands braced on either side of the crater in the wall, shoulders rising and falling like a man forcing himself to breathe through a small straw. His voice came out low, sandpaper-rough with tension.
“When can we move on them? Tell me you have something.”
Silence.
“I don’t know if I can do this much longer,” he growled, barely under control. “Today…they brought a kid. She was so small. As tiny as…”
He didn’t have to finish. They all knew who he was thinking about.
His fists flexed against the wall again.
“That bitch, Trish…she sucked me off like a hooker. I overheard her say something about the time not being right, but she cut the call when she spotted me. She is fucking me todistract me. Something is…strange…I just can’t figure it out. And later, she talked to that little girl like she was gonna be adopted. All soft and gentle.” His jaw clenched so hard his teeth audibly ground. “She almost had me almost fooled.”
“What a sick fuck,” Maro spat, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. “I can’t wait to put a bullet in her brain.” He stalked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, chugging half before slamming it down.
Thane turned to face them. His eyes looked bruised, like he hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t since this nightmare began.
Thane sat at the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. The silence had dragged for minutes, and it was Lirian who finally broke it.
