“Perhaps,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “I may have underestimated you.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
“I hardly noticed you at all,” Alexander admits with surprising candor. “When your parents brought Aria to meetings, you were invisible. Background. The daughter who stayed home and colored inside the lines.” He smiles, almost rueful. “I don’t think we exchanged more than a handful of words in all those years.”
I smile tightly. “I wasn’t meant to be seen.”
“And now . . . you’re rewriting the narrative.”
“I could do more,” I whisper. “If someone would just give me a chance.”
“Could you? Your parents never seemed to think so.”
“But you do.” I can’t keep the edge of urgency from my voice. “You see what they missed. You wouldn’t be sitting here with me if you didn’t.”
“Perhaps I do.” His fingers find mine again, and this time, he doesn’t pull away. “You’re not the same girl I once ignored. These past weeks have revealed a very different Luna Ellis.”
“Let me prove it.” I lean forward, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his chestnut eyes. “I know things about their work. Notesthey never shared with anyone else. Clues Aria didn’t even notice. I could help you finish what they started.”
His voice is a murmur, almost indulgent. “And what is it you’re asking for?”
“A chance.” I don’t look away. “A position in your research division. Real work, not filing reports or attending donor dinners. I want access. To contribute.”
“To be . . .” His thumb draws slow, teasing circles along my inner wrist, “valuable?”
The word simmers, and I nod eagerly.
“Oh, sweetheart. You already are.” The endearment makes my cheeks flush. “And if I did give you that chance, what would you expect in return?”
“Nothing you weren’t already planning to offer Aria. I just want what I deserve.”
“And where does your sister fit into all this?”
Something twists inside me at the mention of Aria. “She’s been poring over one of our mother’s old journals,” I say, careful now. “Has convinced herself that . . .” I hesitate.
“That what?” His tone remains gentle, but there’s an edge beneath it.
“That you orchestrated their deaths.” The words sound absurd aloud, and I watch his expression shift, pain softening the lines of his face with almost unbearable sincerity. “It’s insane. After everything you did for our family. How close you and Father were.”
I remember those late-night meetings. How their voices would carry through the house. Talks of research, vision, progress. My father had looked at Alexander like he was the future incarnate.
“The journal you mentioned?” he asks, with a faint note of concern, as if troubled not by accusation, but by the mental state of someone he once valued. “What did Elyra write?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Aria won’t let me see it. But if it were truly dangerous, if it had any real substance, she’d have told me. She’s grieving, and sees conspiracies where there’s only progress.”
“Are you certain? Grief can distort loyalty and breed secrets.”
“We’re sisters. She doesn’t keep things from me.”
His lips curve into a smile. “If you learn something useful, you’ll bring it to me?”
“Of course,” I whisper, willing to promise whatever it takes to prove I’m not her. That I understand, just like Father had.
Something softens in his expression. “I appreciate your honesty, Luna. It’s refreshing to have someone I can truly trust.”
He reaches into his jacket, and when he slides the leather-bound notebook across the table, my breath catches. My father’s meticulous handwriting marks the spine; those exacting numbers he always used to date his research.
“Perhaps we could help each other.”
