“You have it?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
“We don’t know.”
The phrase struck me with almost comic cruelty.
Three adults had rearranged my life around answers none of them possessed.
I reached for the edge of the desk.
“Why marriage?”
My father glanced at Niko.
Niko answered.
“Because someone sent your father a photograph of you leaving the university.”
I stared.
“People photograph me constantly.”
“This was not taken by a journalist.”
He removed his phone and opened an image.
I stood on the university steps wearing a red coat, my head bent as I searched inside my bag. The picture had been taken from across the street.
A black circle had been drawn around me.
Below it, typed in plain letters, were six words.
ELENA’S DAUGHTER WILL FINISH HER WORK.
Cold moved across my skin.
“When?” I asked.
“Monday,” Arthur said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted you somewhere secure.”
