If You Could See the Sun (70)

No.

I give myself a mental shake. This isn’t so different from a prank. Just a higher-stakes version...with corporate executives involved.

Besides, Andrew She’s men aren’t actually going to lock him up forever or abuse and murder him. Andrew even promised me Peter would be well-fed and cared for until the promotions were announced, which should be in less than a week from now.

It’ll be fine. Peter will be fine. I’m doing the right thing.

Right?

Peter’s stopped outside the room now, the numbers 2005 gleaming bright gold in the light, like some kind of sign. An invitation. Andrew She’s men are waiting for him on the other side of the door.

And one million RMB is waiting for me. A future at Airington. A better future, period.

All I have to do is see Peter through it.

He clears his throat softly, adjusts the collar of his jacket, and I wonder if he can sense that something’s wrong. If he’s thinking about turning around, running away to the safety of his own hotel room.

I don’t realize just how much I want him to do exactly that until he raps the door once, shoulders braced.

And everything happens very quickly.

Too quickly—so quick that it’s almost anticlimactic.

The door swings open and I think I catch a glimpse of a gloved hand reaching out, pulling him in, and I manage to grab Peter’s phone from his pocket just in time for the door to slam shut again, with Peter trapped behind it.

There’s a rustling sound from inside, a series of thuds, and Peter’s voice, more confused than afraid: “What are you—”

Then it cuts off into silence. Just like that.

It isn’t violent. It isn’t anything.

If I weren’t gripping Peter’s phone so tight my knuckles bled white, I’d think he was never here at all.

I stare at the door for a long time, as though in a dream, a nightmare, until a small voice in the back of my head urges: Leave.

Get out of here. Your job is done.

I tear my eyes away and move, but the second I turn the corner, my legs give way beneath me.

I sink straight to the floor as if someone’s removed all the bones from my body. I gasp for air that doesn’t seem to be there, wait for the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach to go away because I’m safe—I did what I had to—I succeeded—

But the sick sensation only grows. Nausea rises up my throat, filling my mouth with saliva, the sour taste of regret.

God, I must be the worst criminal in the world.

I should be celebrating. I should be thinking about all the money that’ll be added to my bank account. One million RMB. Enough for me to never have to stress about being sent off to Maine or a local school again. I won’t even have to stress about college.

But instead, all I can focus on is whatever’s happening on the other side of that door. Peter had stopped talking midsentence. Does that mean they’d gagged him? Hit him? Surely I would’ve heard it if they did...

Peter’s phone beeps.

I almost jump out of my skin. My hands are shaking as I hold up the screen, expecting to see some kind of criminal alert or imposter warning or a message from the police.

But it’s none of that. It’s worse.

It’s a Kakao message from his mom.

Are u having a good time in Suzhou??

U must already be sleeping (if not, go to bed right now!!! your body still growing), but your father and I miss u very much. He wanted to call u earlier, but you know how busy work has been for him... It’ll all be worth it when he wins the campaign.

Oh! We made some yummy fish today. Here is a pic.

There’s a somewhat blurry photo of a half-eaten grilled fish dish below, a pair of chopsticks lying casually beside the plate, and the hunched-over silhouette of a man in the background. Peter’s father, most likely.

My chest tightens, tightens until I can’t breathe. The back of my eyes burn.

But more messages are coming in.

It’s a new recipe, and your father says it’s very good. I’ll make some for u as soon as u get home (and your favorite black bean noodles too)

Take care, my son. Make sure you eat well and stay safe and wear a lot of warm clothes! I checked the weather and it says it’s going to be cold in Suzhou tomorrow. Remember your health matters more than “fashion”

Your father is scolding me for nagging you now, so I will stop here

We love you always. Give us a call when you can!

I turn the screen down, my stomach in knots.

I should throw Peter’s phone away. Now. Crush it and destroy all the evidence, make sure no one can track him or contact him, just like I was told to do. This is the last stage of our plan. Once I’m rid of his phone, I’ll be able to go back to my room and forget about this whole task for good. But—

God, his parents are going to be so worried. And they have every reason to be.

The worst part is that I’ve met his parents before. They’d volunteered to help out at the Global Community Day festival a year ago. His father had bragged to everyone who came within a five-foot radius of him about his genius, hardworking son, beaming so wide the entire time it must’ve hurt his face, and his mother, with her sharp tongue and small frame, the way she’d scolded Peter for not wearing a warm-enough jacket, had reminded me of Mama.

And if someone were to call Mama up in the middle of the night to tell her I’d disappeared in a city far away from home—