Page 117 of One Secret

'Don't be,' he says. 'It actually helped after... After what happened…'

Tension suddenly strikes through Cyrus, turning him to stone right there on the bed. His mouth is open, trying to form words that have left him paralyzed.

'You don't have to tell me,' I remind him. 'Whatever it is, you don't have to—'

'No,' he swallows but can't look me in the eye. He keeps his gaze focused on the ceiling. 'No, you need to know. To understand why I…' He clears his throat and takes a steadying inhale, then begins to relay the information like a report; an impersonal statement of fact. 'I was sent to take out a trafficker on the southern coast. The Machellis gave me all the intel I needed. And they're good at what they do. I had no reason to doubt any of it. No need to do a second sweep of the area. But really that was just negligence.' Cyrus's lips twist in disgust. 'I chose to follow what I had blindly and had picked my spot. I'd lined up my shot and wasn't going to risk losing it for the sake of a double check…'

I feel my heart thumping in my chest, my pulse rushing through my ears.

'I er… my target, he was on a leisure break and was supposed to be driving down an open street in a convertible. I was directly across from him. A ninety-degree angle. On the other side of the street was the river, so if my shot went wide or ricocheted off the car, it would fly harmlessly into the water.'

Obviously, that wasn't what had happened…

'You missed,' I guess, as Cyrus's words choke out.

His laugh is crusty and strangled.

'Oh no,' he assures me, tone full of self-hatred. 'I'm too good to miss. I just… I didn't know that my target had his kid with him.'

Oh God…

'He was in the passenger seat. The other side of the target. From my angle…'

'...you couldn't see him.'

'I would have,' Cyrus repeats. His fingers have balled into fists, my hand crushed inside of his. Instinctively, I squeeze back just as hard. 'Had I done the second sweep, I'd have known. I'd have seen the boy and I wouldn't have…'

'He died…?'

'Yeah. Complete through and through. Two bodies, one bullet.' His nose wrinkles over a snarl of self-derision. 'Like I said, I'm good at killing.'

I don't know what to say. My heart breaks for him. For the boy. For the whole situation. I've seen it before in soldiers: we can be familiar with killing but never with death. Especially when it’s a child.

Especially when you're responsible…

I rest my chin on Cyrus's shoulder, work my now tingling fingers from his grip and try to take his hand in a more reassuring hold. I stroke along the calluses on his fingers and wonder at the lives he's taken.

'You didn't mean to shoot the boy,' I point out, knowing it's not enough.

'No, but I did all the same. It wasn't anyone's fault but mine. Which made me feel so fucking guilty that I tried to forget that it had ever happened. Just erase it entirely.

'But… when I went back home… when I saw how my hometown was nothing like I remembered and held… well, nothing that I was attached to… I realized that everything in life—people, places, things—they're only significant if you make them significant, you know? They only impact you—for better or worse—if you let them.'

'So, you made the death significant?'

Cyrus nods.

'I left the Machellis and tried to lead a different sort of life. I worked a bunch of jobs, tried a load of different things. Nothing felt right. So, I went back to being a hitman… but with a change.'

'The freelance thing,' I realize.

'Yeah,' Cyrus strokes over the back of my hand, seeming to come back to himself a little. He blinks as if surprised to find his eyes so dry. He looks at me, a little more of his soul back in his gaze. 'Now I make the calls. I choose my targets, I bring in the information. I triple check everything.'

'So you're not reliant on others… And you don't have to trust anyone but yourself…' I finish.

That tiny curl at the corner of Cyrus's mouth has returned. He brushes his forehead against mine and I snuggle a little closer. He presses his lips to mine.

'Not unless I want to,' he says when he pulls back. 'But like you pointed out: trust is a choice. Life is a choice. You build it on what you think to be important. What you choose to make important. That's what I'm saying.'

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