I follow him down the hall, my mind already racing three steps ahead.
Tomorrow I'll be close enough to see if there's anything left of the woman I used to know.
NINETEEN
KEIRA
Idon't remember walking downstairs.
One moment I'm sitting on the floor in the hallway where I cried myself empty, and the next I'm standing outside the dining room doors. My face is clean. My dress is smooth. My hair is pulled back.
Apparently there were some hours in between then and now, but I don't seem to remember.
It used to scare me when I would lose chunks of time, but now…it's sort of nice to check out.
The guards stationed in the foyer have changed again. Most of them I recognize—blank faces, rigid postures, men who've learned not to see me even when I'm standing right in front of them.
One of them piques my interest, though.
He's taller than the rest. Broader through the shoulders. A balaclava covers most of his face, and a ball cap is pulled low over his eyes, casting shadows where features should be. He's standing near the dining room doors, arms crossed, watching the hallway like he's expecting a threat to materialize at any second.
There is something about him.
I don't know what. I can't even see his face. But my skinprickles and my breath catches, like my body is trying to warn me to pay closer attention.
He doesn't look at me as I approach. Just reaches for the door handle and pulls it open without a word. No acknowledgment. No eye contact. Nothing.
I'm a ghost to all of them.
As I walk past him, his scent hits me. It's like I've encountered it in a dream…or maybe a different life. My heart kicks up for reasons I can't explain.
You're officially going crazy. Congrats.
Ewan sits at the head of the table, all the way on the other side of the room. He gestures to the chair beside him as I approach. Not across from him, where I normally sit, but beside him.
I don't even care at this point. I feel completely numb. He's done the worst—what else could he possibly do to make today any worse?
"You look tired," he says pleasantly. "Did the afternoon rest not help?"
"I'm fine."
"Should we adjust the schedule? Do you need more time to yourself?"
"No. I'm fine."
He reaches for the wine bottle and pours into my glass. "How was your day?"
As if he doesn't already know.
But this is my opening.
"Not great."
His brow arches, fake curiosity in his dead eyes. "How come?"
"I was surprised you decided to move Hale and hire a nanny without telling me."
"You were gone for the day," he replies mildly. "So I made the decision as his father."
