Kai doesn’t acknowledge any of it. His attention staysexactlywhere it was—on me. “Will was right when he said that Anderson didn’t have any other jobs worth mentioning. Except one,” he adds, and he’s watching every tiny flicker of reaction on my face, reading me like a book he’s already memorized.
That gets everyone’s attention.
Bea sits up straighter, tilting her head slightly. “What is it?”
I sigh, my pulse still hammering. I guess there really isn’t much of a way to avoid this now. But somehow it always leads back to this, to my father.
My fingers tighten around the fabric of my sleeve as I glance around, taking in their faces—completely immersed, waiting for an answer.
And then there’s Kai.
Looking at me with that same knowing expression.But how on earth does he know?
I internally scold myself because I keep making the mistake of underestimating him. It’s infuriating, but somehow, he’s always four steps ahead of everyone else.
“It was my dad’s shop,” I say finally, biting my lip.
Silence follows.
I stare down at my hands, my fingers twisting slightly in my sleeves, and for a moment, I let myself remember.
Ihadbeen there before, on rare occasions. But rare was the key word. It wasn’t a place I was ever really invited to. Most of the time, Mason went with him, and Mason never went alone. He always insisted on bringing Naomi and Sam with him.
Christian shifts beside me, and when I glance up, I catch the loon on his face. He looks… guilty. Like he actually feels bad for me.
I hate that.
“What did he sell?” he asks gently, breaking the silence and I’m grateful for it.
“Just random vintage stuff,” I say with a shrug. “It’s not important.”
“But does that mean Anderson worked with your dad?” Bea asks, leaning forward slightly.
“Did you ever see him there?” Lilia asks.
I try to think. Reallythink.
I remember a lot of things. The dust-lined shelves, the smell of old paper and leather, the hum of music. I remember the customers who filtered in and out, the employees who came and went. Some I could name; some I could barely recall.
But Anderson?
No.
I shake my head. “Not from what I remember.”
“I remember.”
My head snaps toward Kym so fast I almost get whiplash.
She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t look at anyone. She just stares ahead, expression distant, voice unnervingly calm.
“I’ve been there before,” she says simply. “I saw him.”
Silence.
Will, who up until now has shown little interest in this conversation, suddenly speaks, his voice sharper than usual. “Are you sure?”
It’s the first time he’s looked at Kym since we got here, and when their gazes lock, I can practically feel the shift in the air.
