Thiago Maxwell.My father.
The man who’d left a six-year-old girl alone, who’d disappeared into nothing, who’d become a ghost story I told myself on the worst nights in Hudson’s apartment.
“How did you find me?” My voice was steady despite my emotions.
“I’ve been searching for years.”
His eyes welled with tears. They tracked down the lines of his face, catching in the grooves beside his mouth, and with his raw emotions.
“I tried to raise you but your mother’s death really broke me. As you grow up, I couldn’t cope anymore so I ran when I should have stayed.” He reached for my hand. “I thought you’d be better off without me. I’m so sorry, Mira.”
I didn’t take his hand. My fingers tightened around the coffee mug instead, the ceramic warm against my palm, an anchor.
“You left me in foster care,” I said. “And never tried to contact me.”
“I know.” The tears fell. “I know what I did. There’s no excuse. I was selfish. I destroyed the relationship with the only family I had left.”
His voice cracked on the word family, and the sound hit me in a place I’d spent two decades trying to protect. “I don’t expect forgiveness. I just... I needed to see you. To know you’re alive.”
Through the bond, I felt them. Lucian’s suspicion, calculating behind his calm. Solomon’s unease running deeper and Percival’s protectiveness, a warm wall at my back.
None of them trusted this man.
But beneath their suspicion, buried under years of scar tissue and survival instincts, a six-year-old girl inside me was pressing her face against a window, watching the driveway, waiting for a car that never came back.
“How did you know this cabin?” Solomon’s voice from behind me. A question that sounded polite but carried the weight of an interrogation.
Thiago turned to him. “I heard in town that Mira was connected to some firefighters. The Valdris brothers.” His expression was unguarded. “People know you live somewhere in the woods off the main road, but nobody had a specific address. I drove the back roads for two days until I found the right turnoff.”
Solomon’s jaw tightened by a fraction.
“You didn’t answer how you found the town,” Solomon said.
“Private investigator.” Thiago’s hands spread, palms up. “I’ve hired three over the years. The latest one tracked Mira’s records to Ashvale six months ago. It took me until now to work up the courage to come.”
The explanation was reasonable and logical.
I looked at them. Through the bond, their feelings were a chorus of warning. But their faces held the same expression:this is your choice. We won’t make it for you.
“Fine,” I said. “I’d hear you out. Maybe… maybe try to get to know each other but only for one week. I’ll only allow you a week in my life and decide if I want to reconnect with you after all these years.”
Thiago’s smile was warm, grateful.
“Thank you,” he said. “That’s more than I deserve.”
***
The afternoon that followed was the most bizarre social experiment I’d ever participated in.
If someone had pitched this scenario to me six months ago, I would have assumed they were either drunk or writing the most unhinged fanfiction in existence.
Lucian sat in the armchair with the posture of a king receiving a foreign dignitary he suspected of treason.
“And what is your profession, Mr. Maxwell?”
“Please, call me Thiago. I’m in consulting. Private sector.”
“Consulting.” Lucian repeated the word. “How versatile.”
