“Nothing important,” he finally says. “You’re my son. I keep tabs on you. I know you had a girlfriend. I know she died.”
My jaw tightens.
I step back but keep my eyes on him.
Why mention her now?
Why so casually?
The unease that has followed me since I entered this house tightens.
I glance around, and the feeling presses against my chest.
I need some damn answers, but all I have is confusion.
He knows about Octavia. He has likely known for a while.
Why bring her up now?
To wound me?
To provoke me?
To remind me he can use her now that Kira is dead?
But could he, when she isn’t here anymore?
Fuck.
I turn away before I actually kill him.
I don’t ask another question. I don’t listen to whatever he snaps after me.
I bloodyleave.
As I walk toward my car, her name echoes in my head, distorted by the sound of it in his mouth.
Fuck.
Why am I this wound up? It’s the house. It holds too many corrupted memories.
That’s all.
And yet the feeling doesn’t ease.
What if he is involved? It isn’t his style, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
My head is so fucked up that nothing makes sense anymore.
All I know is that I don’t like the fact that he mentioned her.
He has just secured his place at the top of my list of suspects.
