“The glistening beauty of the rising moon illuminated Mouse’s bare chest and revealed a familiar tattoo with a music note, a cross, and a knife. But in this case, Chaos’ mark featured an addition. The knitting needles fit perfectly into the montage of brotherhood.Patterns.But this pattern had to come to an end.”

“The addition of knitting needles and twirling yarn made Beckett’s forearm ink the exact replica of the tattoo on Mouse’s chest.“He was my friend and my brother.”

“So you’re the music note, Beckett’s obviously the knife, who’s the cross?” She stroked Blake’s tattoo.“You’re about to find out. We’re headed to church.” Blake leaned in to kiss her forehead.“Of course we are. That makes perfect sense.” From hell to heaven.”

“I can’t leave him here. Not with them. Not in the fucking dirt.” Beckett grabbed his flashlight with every intention of handing it to Eve so he could carry his friend—no matter how fucking big he was—to someplace better, when the light landed on Mouse’s bare chest.“What the hell?” Beckett touched Mouse’s chest again, and Eve took the light and centered it on the tattoo in question.Beckett traced it for a moment, his finger lingering on the knitting needles that set it apart from his own, and bowed his head. “Now that’s too fucking much,” he said softly. “That hurts too fucking much. Eve, not Mouse. He can’t be gone.”

“If you could see yourself, hear your own voice, your music. . you wouldn't see darkness. . you'd see an illumination that is all your own. . light and beauty come together in you in a thousand different patterns.”

“Twelve men conducted the investigation, gathering as on a knitting-needle the accursed stitches of this complicated case all over Moscow.”