The gun in my hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy.
"Mia—" Maxwell started.
"Don't." The word came out broken. "Don't say my name."
"It wasn't supposed to happen like that. She wasn't the target—"
"But she's dead anyway." My voice was hollow. Empty. "My mother is dead because of you."
Isabella's laughter cut through the warehouse. "Oh, this is beautiful. You really didn't know, did you?"
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Three years. Three years I'd been drowning in grief, believing it was just a tragic accident. A drunk driver. Wrong place, wrong time.
But it wasn't random.
It was him.
"The Arrow Society ordered the hit on a city councilman," Maxwell said, his voice strained. "Your mother was driving past when it happened. She saw my face. I didn't know—I didn't know who she was until later—"
"Until later?" I turned to him, tears burning my eyes. "When? When did you figure it out?"
His silence was answer enough.
