“And how to keep her safe.”
“That should have been your first concern,” he says.
“It was,” I snap. “That’s why I ran the test.”
“And now?” he asks.
Now? Now I’m standing in a house that never felt like mine, holding a truth that could destroy the one thing that does and trying to figure out how to do the right thing after I already did the wrong one.
“I tell her,” I say finally. The words are heavy and final. No more flaking. I stick to my resolution this time.
My father studies me for a long silent moment, then nods once. “Soon,” he adds, not as a suggestion but as a requirement.
I nod in acceptance.
He’s right, waiting doesn’t make it better. It just makes it worse. I stand, turning to the door. Every second I don’t tell her, is another second she’s living in a version of reality that isn’t true.
And I don’t get to decide any more how long she stays there.
Chapter 36
Liv
My muscles are still tight from my shift. It wasn’t even a bad one, not by our standards. Routine calls with nothing about them that stuck. There was just a lot, barely enough time to grab another cup of shitty coffee at the station before our radio went off again.
I was relieved when I saw Manny in the typical car outside the station, something that’s become a talking point around the station over the past few days. They don’t know why it’s happening, but they all assume it has something to do with Alex and the case.
Alice says I should just be glad for the break from walking to and from work for a while. She thinks I should enjoy it while I’ve got it now that the air is starting to have more of a winter chill in it.
Really, I’d rather have the cold walks. Because at least I’d be back in my home.
The manor feels strangely quiet when I get back from my shift. I don’t see Wilfred as I come in and make my way to my room and when I walk in, Alex is sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the doorway like he’s been waiting for me to walk in. But he’s too still and too quiet. Not the normal kind of quiet this place has, that polished, curated silence that comes when there’stoo much open space not filled with life. This is different. He looks like something terrible has happened.
I close the door behind me, dropping my bag on the dresser, and take a deep breath. Is he gonna tell me they found another dead body? Or another live victim with a gut-wrenching testimony?
Now it feels like the whole day of constant moving was just preparing me for this, when the world suddenly feels so slow in his gaze that it makes my skin itch.
“Alex?” My voice carries farther than I expect.
He doesn’t answer.
I take a step away from the dresser, not yet in his vicinity. The room feels like a pressure keg that talking will set off. But I think that pressure keg is just whatever it is that he’s fighting himself to say.
He’s sitting there, watching me. He hasn’t moved, or more uncomfortably, said anything.
My heart rate speeds up. “Hey,” I say slowly. “You okay?”
He’s quiet for an uncomfortably long moment. “We need to talk.”
Yeah, I gathered. Whatever’s on his mind is screaming loudly, but in a language I don’t understand.
On top of the concern, he used the phrase, the key phrase to signify that something bad is coming. Because “we need to talk” never means anything good.
I huff out a small breath, rubbing the back of my neck as I walk the rest of the way toward him. “That sounds ominous,” I breathe out, trying for light.
It doesn’t work, of course not. He doesn’t smile or soften, just stays there all tense and coiled, like something’s holding him in place.
Okay, not light then. “Alright,” I say, stopping a few feet in front of him. “What’s going on?”
