CHAPTER 40
GAbrIEL
◆
I woke to an open door.
Helena had dragged the visitor chair close to my bed and fallen asleep with one hand inside mine. Her red lipstick was gone. A faint bruise crossed her wrist where Vale had held her.
The hospital monitor counted my heart with irritating accuracy.
For once, no Bastion screen interpreted the number for me.
I simply felt it change when she opened her eyes.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“Research.”
“On?”
“Whether you remain beautiful after forty minutes of sleep.”
“Findings?”
“Disturbingly conclusive.”
She sat up and checked the IV, the bandage, the open door, and then my face.
“Pain?”
“Yes.”
“Good answer.”
“I am trainable.”
She poured water into a paper cup and held the straw for me. I drank without explaining that I could manage it.
Care felt different when it was offered without turning either person into a child.
“How long?” I asked.
“Ten hours since surgery. Thirty-four since either of us behaved sensibly.”
“Vale?”
“Still detained. Six justices suspended him. Congress opened an impeachment proceeding. Federal prosecutors froze his institute accounts and Artur’s contractor network.”
“Tomás?”
“Cooperating badly. He keeps asking about his sister. Camila says she is protected and furious with him.”
“Lucia?”
“Free. Giving a statement. She threatened three prosecutors with a spreadsheet. They appear impressed.”
“Sofia?”
“Published the preliminary ledger guide and slept face-first on a press-room table. Mara put a coat over her and denied doing it.”
I closed my eyes for a second.
They were alive.
The relief had individual names.
“My father?”
“In the cafeteria arguing with a vending machine. It has rejected two cards and become a symbol of everything he hates about democracy.”
I laughed and immediately regretted it.
Pain pulled under the bandage.
Helena leaned forward, hand hovering instead of grabbing. “Breathe shallow.”
I did.
When the pain eased, her fingers settled over mine.
“The prosecutor is waiting,” she said.
“I saw her.”
“She wants a recorded interview before they discharge you.”
“They are not discharging me.”
“Not from custody. From surgery.”
“What are the charges?”
Her mouth tightened. “Unlawful surveillance. Participation in illegal detention. Obstruction. Data misuse. Conspiracy is still under review.”
“Accurate.”
“Do not sound relieved.”
“I am relieved the charges have names.”
She understood.
Secret guilt had no edge. It filled everything. Named guilt could be answered.
“They may ask for prison,” she said.
“I know.”
“I hate that.”
“You should.”
“I also believe you should face what you did.”
“You should believe that too.”
She looked toward the open door.
“I don’t know how to love someone and let the law take him.”
“You taught me love does not mean making every door disappear.”
Her eyes returned to mine.
“I haven’t fully forgiven the tracker.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to use almost dying as emotional bribery.”
“Unfortunate. It was my best argument.”
She fought a smile and lost.
“Idiot.”
“Journalist.”
I touched the bruise on her wrist with one finger.
“I will not ask you to wait for me without knowing what waiting means,” I said. “If they seek years, you choose your life.”
Her expression went cold.
“Do not offer me an exit so you can pretend abandonment was noble.”
“That was not—”
“It was exactly that.”
She stood.
I had survived bullets, court orders, and a justice’s gun. Helena standing beside a hospital bed with disappointment in her eyes frightened me more.
“You do not decide for me because prison makes you ashamed,” she said. “You tell me the truth. I decide what I can carry.”
I let the correction land.
“The truth is I want you to wait,” I said. “I want every visit. Every letter. Every vulgar detail of your day. I want to come out and find that you built a life large enough to include me without shrinking around me.”
Her anger softened.
“Better.”
“The truth is also that I would hate every day you lost to my consequences.”
“Then give me very good visits.”
I laughed carefully this time.
“You negotiate like a prosecutor.”
She bent and kissed me.
The kiss was slow, warm, and free of cameras. When she pulled away, she left her forehead against mine.
“No cages,” she whispered.
“Even the legal ones?”
“Those we fight honestly.”
The prosecutor knocked on the open door.
She was in her forties, with a gray suit and a folder thick enough to change a life.
“Mr. Salles,” she said, “I am Renata Cruz, special prosecutor for the E11 investigation. We are prepared to discuss a cooperation disposition.”
Helena squeezed my hand once.
Then she moved to the chair beside me instead of leaving the room.
Prosecutor Cruz opened the folder.
“The first proposal includes a permanent ban from government security contracts, dissolution of Bastion’s surveillance division, full victim compensation, and thirty-six months in federal custody.”
Helena went very still.
I looked at the open door.
Then at the woman who had taught me not to confuse escape with innocence.
“Let us discuss the victims first,” I said.