I laughed, sharp and bitter. "That's your answer? It couldn't be helped?"
"Levi—"
"No," I cut him off. "You don't get to 'Levi' me. You faked your death. You left us with nothing but a flag and a story. You let Mom bury an empty coffin. And now you're sitting here telling me it couldn't be helped?"
His face crumpled for just a second before he caught himself.
"I'm apologizing for all of it," he said. "And I'll keep doing so. But right now, we need to talk about the present."
I opened my mouth to argue, but Delphine appeared with two plates—mine piled high with eggs and bacon, his with something lighter.
"Eat," she said, setting them down. "You'll feel better."
She disappeared before I could thank her.
I stared at the food, then picked up my fork.
What better way to distract myself than by eating?
Byron watched me at first, then attacked his own food. And for a moment, I saw it—the same man, the same mannerisms I remembered as a little boy. The way he held his fork. The way he chewed thoughtfully, like every bite was part of some larger calculation.
I used to peek over the dining room table, trying to sit up tall like my hero dad.
The memory hit me harder than I expected.
"I missed having a father," I blurted out.
Byron stopped chewing. His eyes met mine, and I saw the grief there—raw and unfiltered.
"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want to hear sorry anymore," I said. "At least, not today. So let's talk about the present. What's so pressing?"
He set his fork down. "The note Amelia received at the restaurant—and quite possibly the reason she's here to investigate Dominion Hall—may all be tied back to my past."
I frowned. "Your past."
"To an organization so powerful," he continued, "that it has the clout to turn the mightiest heads in the world in whatever direction they want. And right now, that organization has their sights on me and my sons."
My pulse kicked up. "Why?"
"For what I know," he said. "And what I've done."
"What exactly?"
He shook his head. "I don't know exactly. At least not yet. I thought this organization—The Vanguard—would leave me alone. That we had an understanding. A pact. But obviously, that pact has been severed, and I don't know why."
I set my fork down. "Are they really that dangerous?"
His expression went cold. "Yes. They've already inserted themselves into the lives of your brothers. All of them except Micah."
My eyes shot up. "Wait—what?"
"Your brothers have been here," he said. "And they're coming back. Maybe today."
"What the fuck?" I said. "All of them?"
"All except Micah," he confirmed. "The only Montana Dane who hasn't made it to Charleston yet."
