“Gyon,” I warn.
He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a juice pack he must have snagged from craft services. He hands it to Pepper.
“Grape,” he says. “For the space pirate.”
Pepper beams. “You remembered!”
I watch them. He’s huge, scarred, and terrifying to everyone else in the room. But he hands her the juice with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.
He looks at me over her head.
Tell me,his eyes say.Tell me she’s mine.
I look away.
“Lunch break!” the AD calls out.
“Come on, Pepper,” I say, grabbing her hand. “Let’s go.”
I drag her away toward the trailer, feeling Gyon’s gaze burning a hole in my back every step of the way. This isn’t going to work. I can’t keep this up.
But as I look down at Pepper, who is happily sucking down the juice he gave her, I know I have to try. Because if the world finds out what she really is, the movie set will be the least of our problems.
CHAPTER 30
GYON
Pepper smells like me.
I’ve known it since the park—since the second she ran past us, her little feet kicking up sand, the faint ozone edge in her scent cutting straight through the city’s smog and recycled air. I pretended I didn’t notice. I pretended I didn’t feel my chest tear open and try to rebuild itself in the same breath. But I’ve always known. My instincts don’t lie.
I’m just waiting for Liora to admit it.
Every day she doesn’t is a new wound. A shallow one, but persistent, like a blade dragged over the same place again and again. It doesn’t kill me, but it keeps me bleeding.
I tell myself I’ll confront her. I tell myself I’ll pull her aside, press her to the wall, and growl,“Tell me the truth. She’s mine.”
But the words never pass my teeth.
Because another voice slips into my skull before I open my mouth—low, ugly, too close to fear.
What if she hid the child because she didn’t want you?
Didn’t want you near her?
Near your daughter?
The thought poisons me.
So instead of confronting her, I stay close. Close enough to smell Pepper’s sugar-sweet hair. Close enough to hear Liora’s heartbeat trip when she looks at me. Close enough that I can pretend things might still be salvageable.
Pepper barrelsinto me during lunch break, nearly knocking over two light rigs.
“GYON! Look, look!” she squeals, thrusting a paint-smeared hand in my face. “I made you a dragon!”
I look down at the paper. It’s just a swirl of colors and a very enthusiastic smear of glitter. But I crouch to her level anyway.
“A dragon?” I say. “Where are its fangs?”
