But I couldn't tell anymore whether he was really calling my name, or whether my dying mind was just telling me what I wanted to hear.
When I woke up in the hospital, Leon was sitting beside the bed.
He looked exhausted. A flicker of guilt passed through his eyes, there and gone.
I struggled to sit up, reaching for water. He pressed my shoulder back down.
"Easy. You were out for three days. Don't push it."
"Oh—once you're discharged, we'll move to the villa on the west side of the city."
My lips were cracked and dry.
"Leon, you can stop pretending you care. Whether I live or die doesn't actually matter to you, does it?"
"I'm nothing but Pamela's walking blood bag."
I pulled the blanket higher. "Don't worry. I'll rest up and recover like a good girl."
And then I'll disappear for good.
His expression darkened with irritation. He opened his mouth to say something, but his phone erupted in a frenzy of vibrations.
He answered, and whatever he heard changed his face completely. He turned and walked out without another word.
I tugged the corner of my mouth into a bitter, self-mocking smile.
That was when my own phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
"Want to know who killed your daughter?"