“What’s the alternative? We just keep running forever?” I grab his face, forcing him to focus on me. “Bastian, I’m tired. I’m tired of hiding. Tired of being afraid every second of every day. We survived the alley. We survived the clinic. Your own brother shot you in the goddamn stomach and you’re still here.” I take a deep breath and paint him a picture. “Imagine waking up and your first thought isn’t, Who’s coming for us today? It’s What do you want for breakfast? We’d have a little house somewhere with a yard. All ours. Our baby would learn to walk on grass that belongs to us, Bastian. They’d go to school and make friends and we’d have a refrigerator papered with crayon drawings of our little one holding Mommy and Daddy’s hands.”
His breathing changes. I press on.
“Witness protection
