You wait until the car is on the main road before you start clawing at your bandages. The others watch, gazes intent, as you peel back the bloody strips to reveal the wound in your chest. It's puffy, pink, and criss-crossed with stitches and staples, but looks and smells healthy.
"Shit, Gideon Mercer..." Marco whispers. "That looks like it should've killed you."
"But it didn't," you whisper.
"Blackwell did this," Vicky says, looking at you in the rear-view mirror. "That's what you said? It was Blackwell who killed the Alpha? Blackwell who took the kids?"
You nod. "Yes."
"Where did he go?"
Your stomach roils. "So he got away..."
"Yes. Did he tell you where he was going?"
"No." You shake your head. "No, the only thing he said was..."
Take the acquisitions to Thank Q.
"...Thank Q."
"He said 'thank you'?" Marco echoes. "For real?"
"No," you shake your head again, more violently this time. "Thank Q. Like the letter. Q."
Vicky's frowning. "You're sure?"
"Yes. It's that stupid, pretentious way he talks. He really enunciated it. He said, 'take the acquisitions to Thank Q.'"
"Acquisitions?" Marco looks ill.
"The kids," Vicky mutters.
Ed pulls out his phone.
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