If You Could See the Sun (58)

But he’s rich, which is what matters.

“I mean, I’m not saying I’d be thrilled to get involved in a toxic decade-long intercompany rivalry and kidnap a minor—”

“That’s a really great way to start a sentence,” Henry says drily.

I glare at him and continue, “But if you think about it, this one large crime pays the same amount as ten or eleven medium-sized crimes, so we’re actually just...just maximizing profit and minimizing sin.”

He makes a sound caught halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “So what’s next, then? Actual murder?”

“Obviously not—I’d never—”

“Really? Never?”

“No,” I snap. “How could you even think that? Andrew said himself that Peter wouldn’t be harmed. That’s completely different from—from taking someone’s life.”

“I don’t know, Alice,” he says, his dark gaze unreadable, pinning me in place. “A few months ago, I wouldn’t have thought it possible for you to consider kidnapping your classmate either.”

Anger surges up inside me, hot and sharp and sudden, cutting my words into blades. “Oh my god, Henry, don’t be such a hypocrite. You didn’t say anything when I told you about the exam mission—”

“Well, it was clear you’d already made up your mind—”

“Then it’s all my fault. Is that it?”

“No.” His voice is infuriatingly calm. It makes my skin itch. “No, that’s obviously not what I’m saying—”

“Or do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“This.” I point to him, to me. “Because I made it pretty clear from the beginning that this wasn’t going to be a fun charity project—”

“If my memory serves me correctly, I signed up for an app, not a criminal organization—”

“Then quit.”

The words come out harsher than I intended, and my mouth goes dry as they shoot forth to meet their target. It’s too late to retract them.

A muscle strains in Henry’s jaw; a rare sign of emotion.

“Do you not know me at all?” he says after a long pause. “I never quit anything.”

You quit violin, I almost counter, but the memory of him confiding in me about his lessons, his lovely features illuminated by moonlight, the mottled bruise stretching over his cheek like a shadow, suddenly threatens to overwhelm me. Softens the acid on my tongue.

Even now, I can still make out the faint outline of the bruise on his face.

“I never quit anything either,” is what I say instead. “Which is why I think—I need to see this task through. I’m so close to...”

To earning enough money for me and my family. To feeling safe for once in my life. To never having to worry about those awful school brochures again. One million RMB. Do you have any idea what that means to me?

But the question sounds ridiculous, even in my head. How could he? He’s Henry Li.

“I’m just so close.”

“Close to what?” He sounds genuinely confused.

“You wouldn’t get it,” I mutter. I look away before he can question me again, and the vestiges of my anger turn heavy in my stomach, draining all the fight out of me. “I know you think I’m a bad person,” I say quietly, and without meaning to, I leave an opening at the end of the sentence, room for him to step in and say, that’s not true.

But he takes a beat too long to respond. “...I don’t—”

“Whatever.” I straighten, stride over to the window. The sky hangs gray and heavy with unshed rain, and from afar, the pale, bare branches of the wutong trees planted around the playground look like bones. “It’s fine if you think that. Really. I”—for a fraction of a second, my voice cracks, and I force it to harden—“I was never trying to be a hero anyway.”

“You could be, though,” Henry says quietly.

“Don’t be naive.”

“Why no—”

“Because,” I snap. “Because this isn’t a Marvel movie. It’s not about good versus evil—it’s just about survival. And even if it were,” I add, dragging a finger down the cold pane of glass, “I’d rather be the villain who lives to the end than the hero who winds up dead.”

I turn back around, just in time to catch the look on Henry’s face. It’s not disgust, as I expected, or even shock. His lips are set in a tight, unyielding line, but his eyes are soft. Strangely tender.

As if I’ve given away something about myself without realizing it.

“Look, I don’t need your approval, Henry,” I say, determined to ignore that expression, the way it makes my chest ache like a pressed bruise. “I just need to know if you’re fully prepared to do this mission with me.”

Seconds tick by.

Minutes.

A century of him sitting there, not saying anything, killing me with his silence. But just when I’m about to give up and walk out the door and pretend all of this never happened, he nods, yes.

“Good,” I say, and it’s not until the word leaves my lips that I realize the extent of my relief. It startles me. Unsettles me. Maybe I care about this partnership more than I want to admit.