“With Ichabod Crane.” It isn’t a question.
I hesitate, but there’s no point in denying it. “Yes,” I say simply.
His jaw visibly tightens. “I don’t think you should be spending time with that man.”
I frown. “And why not?”
“He’s a professor at my university. He’s too old for you.”
I scoff, crossing my arms. “He’s not that much older than me.”
“Katrina, I work with him. He’s a grown man and you’re just a teenager.”
The words sting more than they should, coming from him. “I’m nineteen,” I retort. “I can make my own decisions.” But I wince internally, hearing the petulance in my own voice.
“Of course you can. I’m just telling you to be mindful of who you spend your time with and who you put your trust in. You barely know the man and…”
I cut him off. “And you don’t trust him?”
“I don’t trust his intentions with you,” my father volleys back. “You’re young.”
“I’m not a child,” I snap. “And maybe if you’d been around for the past ten years, you’d know that.”
A flicker passes over his face, guilt or regret perhaps, but it vanishes just as quickly as it appeared, once more replaced by stoicism.
“Katrina, I can’t change the past. But I just want what’s best for you now.”
“You don’t get to decide what that is.” I cock my hip.
“No,” he concedes. “But I can still try to protect you.”
There’s that word again, protect.He and Meredith both keep using it. It’s not unusual for parents to want to protect their children, but this feels like something more. Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
“Is something else going on here?” I finally ask.
His back straightens ever-so-slightly.
“I just don’t want you wandering the town with someone you don’t know,” he says slowly, as if each word has been carefully selected.
“Because as much as you all keep pushing thisterrible accidentnarrative, the deaths in town definitely make it seem like there’s a killer on loose? Is that it?”
His eyes flash.
Recognition. Or panic.
But the moment passes, and he stands taller, smoothing the lines of his suit jacket over his stomach.
“This isn’t up for discussion. You’re not to see that man again, and don’t leave the house after dark.” Before I can interrupt, he continues. “Dinner will be ready shortly. I suggest you freshen up.” With that, he turns his back to me and returns to his study.
I stand stiffly, staring at his retreating back for a moment, before heading for the stairs. I can’t believe how quick he was to cut me off, to treat me like a child. Expecting me to just blindly follow his orders, with no explanation or discussion.
When I reach my room, I close the door behind me and let out a slow breath, my mind still reeling from the conversation.
My father says he’s trying to protect me. But from what? Ichabod? Or something else entirely?
13
The crisp morning air carries the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves as Brom and I stroll through the woods. Gold and rust foliage crunches underfoot, and the skeletal branches overhead reach up to scratch the pale autumn sky.
