“No, you didn’t.” His tone gains a sharp edge. “And I’m not stupid enough to believe it was a mistake. You wanted me to live,Yul. If not consciously, then deep inside. Because if you’d truly wanted me dead, I’d be rotting at the bottom of the Hudson witha bullet hole in my skull. So why don’t you cut the s**t and come over to my side already?”
Desya’s words seep into me like an infection. That night—did I let him go? Did I give him that 1% chance to save himself outof cruelty, or out of mercy?
Did I actually let my family’s killer go free?
No. The rejection burns bright in my gut. I killed him. Tied cement blocks to his ankles, carved out his eye, pushed him intothose dark waters with my own two hands.
“Well?” Desya’s tone is laced with impatience. “Nothing to say?”
“I’ve got nothing
