Daddy leaned back slightly, a slow breath leaving his chest.
Momma looked at me hard. “You’ve changed.”
“I’ve grown,” I said.
She was quiet a moment, then added, “I’m sorry I tried to push you and Marshall together. I didn’t mean to manipulate you. I didn’t know you’d dated before. I just …” Her lips pressed together. “I felt like I had no choice. We were running out of time.”
“I believe you,” I said. And surprisingly—I meant it.
We sat with that for a while, the clink of cutlery and hum of conversation around us filling the gaps.
Eventually, Daddy looked over his cup and asked, “Sloane, what are you and the Danes planning?”
I glanced down at my hands, then up at him again. “Something necessary. We’re going to expose Marshall and anyone tied to him. Whatever happens next … it’ll be dangerous.”
“You need to be careful,” he said. “More than careful.”
“I will be,” I promised. “But I won’t be passive.”
I looked at Momma.
“And what about Byron?” I asked, soft again. “Is there anything else I should know? Anything I haven’t heard yet?”
Momma’s lashes swept down. She was silent for a long time before she answered.
“There isn’t much more I’m ready to say right now,” she said. “But I’ll dig out some old papers. Letters. Photographs. If you want to see them later … they’re yours.”
I nodded. “I want to see everything. I want to understand.”
“Then you will.” Her voice cracked on the last word, but she lifted her chin. “Just make it back to us. That’s all I ask.”
“I’ll try,” I said. “But if I don’t—know that I went in with my eyes open.”
Daddy reached across the table this time. His palm was warm against mine.
“We see you now, my girl,” he said.
I believed him.
28
CHARLIE
Iwatched Sloane from two blocks away, my binoculars trained on Juneberry’s terrace, where she sat with her parents under a striped umbrella. I’d told her I was sending one man to keep eyes on her—Hal, a trusted Dominion operative—but that was a half-truth. A full team was in place: Hal at a nearby table, two snipers on rooftops, and a driver idling a block over, all linked by comms in my ear. No way was I taking chances with her safety, not with Marshall’s threats and Department 77’s shadow looming like a storm about to break.
This was the lull before the fight, the quiet before the next punch, and I knew it was coming soon, a gut feeling honed by years of battles.
My hands gripped the wheel of the armored Bentley, its sleek black frame too ostentatious for my taste but safe—run-flat tires, bulletproof glass, and enough horsepower to outrun trouble. I stowed my truck for this, prioritizing Sloane’s protection over my pride, my possessiveness a living thing I couldn’t shake. Sylvia’s confession about her deal with Department 77—Sloane’smarriage to Marshall to save the Carringtons—still burned, and I wasn’t letting her out of my sight.
The meetup seemed to drag, Sloane’s posture tense but composed as she faced Sylvia and Thatcher, their conversation hidden by distance but heavy with the weight of secrets.
I scanned the street, my eyes flicking to every passerby, every car, searching for Marshall’s sedan or Department 77’s telltale signs, but the morning was quiet, the cobblestone streets of Broad Street deceptively calm.
My comm crackled, Hal’s voice low. “She’s wrapping up. No threats spotted.”
I nodded to myself, my pulse steady but tight, knowing the real danger was waiting for us at the meeting with Marshall.
Sloane’s phone pinged mine—and when it did, the screen lit up with *Done. Ready.*,
