"I'm not leaving," I protest.

"Get your things together. We're flying back tonight."

"I'm not leaving, David. I mean it. I'm not done."

"I don't care," he says, looking from our bags for a moment between his frantic packing. "I knew this would happen. I knew I shouldn't have let you come."

I sigh and sit on the edge of the bed, watching him. "They're making Nicodra leave—you saw what happened. He's probably already gone."

"I don't care."

"I'm not leaving."

"Yes," he says louder and shoots upright, "you are. Look what he did." He motions to my neck. "What he could have done," he mutters.

"He said he wouldn't...