Hayward stood watch over Katrin’s hospital bed. She was still under sedation. Her cheeks had hollowed out during her ordeal. Her body had wounds that would heal into scars but Hayward wondered if her heart and soul would ever fully mend.
The weight of responsibility never left Hayward. He had repeatedly offered his life in exchange for hers, but his willingness to sacrifice himself was no exoneration. Guilt and remorse pressed against his chest.
Joao had not survived the explosion. There was even speculation that he had died of his injuries before the bombing occurred. Maria had bled to death while Hayward waited, just meters away. Katrin had been savagely beaten and raped. None of it would have happened if Hayward hadn’t come into their lives. He tried to tell himself that if he hadn’t been the CIA’s access agent, then someone else would have been, and the outcome might have been even worse. But this offered little consolation. Hayward couldn’t escape the truth that he had brought this unspeakable evil into their lives.
Katrin slept and he watched her, recalling the music of her laughter and the warmth of her smile and the magic of her embrace. His heart stirred for her. Her face had a radiant, ethereal quality despite her injuries.
But it disappeared when she awoke. Her eyes found him, and her reaction to his presence told him more than any words might. A darkness descended, her jaw set, and her eyes became hard and wary. If he had held out any hope for the two of them, it died with one look in Katrin’s eyes. His heart broke.
And it broke again when she asked about her mother and father. He answered through his own tears, and he knew that her wail of despair and loss would haunt him to his grave.