The rest of the car ride to the airport was tense and silent, and I found myself glancing at Florian. He was back to blank yet again, his eyes solemn and sleepy, his grip on the steering wheel light.

I swallowed hard as I turned away from him towards the scenery in front of me, a sigh escaping my lips.

My father was now dead. We are heading to Macau. I know Florian will not afford my mother and brother the same grace he afforded my father, of not being the one to kill him with his own hands.

I sighed again, just as we reached the airport. Florian grabbed...