I look away. “I got a hit,” I stress.
That stops him. “What kind of hit?”
My chest tightens. It’s truth time, no longer about what I did but what it means. At least for now.
“Familial match,” I say.
Mason’s expression hardens. “To who?”
I meet his eyes for the first time since we came out to the alleyway. “York.”
Mason goes unnaturally still. “You’re sure?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“How close?”
I swallow. “Direct.”
Derek was right because there’s only one way that works. Only one explanation that fits the age difference.
“Her father,” Mason says quietly.
I nod. “York Malone is her biological father.” The words feel wrong in my mouth, like they don’t belong. They feel like some kind of improbability, as wrong as saying “the moon is a cube.”
Mason drags his hand down his face. “Does she know?”
“No.”
“And you’re just… sitting on that?”
“I just found out.”
“And your plan is what?” he presses.
That’s the ultimate question right now, and it’s one that I don’t have a clean answer to. “I don’t know yet,” I admit.
Mason exhales sharply. “Jesus, Alex.”
“I know.”
“You can’t keep that from her.”
“I can’t just drop it on her either,” I snap. “Not like this. Not when she’s already-”
“What?” he cuts in. “Traumatized? In danger? Living in your father’s house because someone is trying to get to her? That ‘someone’ being herdad, remember?”
When I don’t respond right away, he continues. “She deserves to know.”
“And if it puts her at risk?” I counter. “If knowing makes her a bigger target?”
“She alreadyisa target,” he shoots back.
That’s the truth, and we both know it. I lean back against the wall, staring up at the sky. Clouds are rolling in, a storm’s coming. Fitting.
“I don’t know how to do this right,” I admit.
Mason studies me for a long second. “Start by not lying to her.”
