Salvar had not slept.
This was partially the hand's fault and partially the fault of an unknown voice on a phone call at 12:03 a.m., and partially the fault of his own brain, which had taken the available information and done what it always did, which was arrange it into the worst possible configuration and then present it as a gift.
He sat on the toilet lid in the bathroom at the far end of the penthouse, which was the room with the best soundproofing and the most distance from Milo and Skyler, and stared at the wall.
Then he did what a rational person would do after being threatened.
"PAPA. I AM BEING THREATENED."
He did not scream this. He whisper-screamed it, which was a different thing, but only technically.
"WHAT?" Derek had clearly not been awake.
Salvar could tell because the word arrived with the specific quality of someone who had gone from horizontal to vertical in under a second.
There was a rustling sound. Mattress sounds.
